BOOK
WATCHING THE hippies taking in his rain-lashed Woodstock set, sitar maestro Ravi Shankar was aware that his music was not getting the rapt attention it deserved. “They were all stoned, but they were enjoying it,” he shrugged. “It reminded me of the water buffaloes you see in India, submerged in the mud. Woodstock was like a big picnic party, and the music was incidental.”
Oliver Craske’s includes a detailed account of Shankar’s adventures in the psychedelic west, although the celebrated classical musician was
