Vilayat Khan ran away to every corner of India and the world throughout his life, but Calcutta remained the constant in his heart. The place haunted his imagination like a boatman’s song. Wherever he was, by November, he would be back there like a homing pigeon, and stay till February. He slipped into Bengali like it was his mother tongue. He loved his mustard fish, his walks along the Hooghly, and the first call to prayer which brought raga Bilaskhani Todi floating in through his window like a morning bird. It was one of the few things in his life that centred him, realigned him with himself,
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