ON Guru Purnima day, I went to pay my respects to Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia, the greatest flautist in the world, my inspiration and my friend. Some months ago I had sought him out to learn the flute, and by encouraging me he had brought music into my life that had made a difference. Now on this auspicious day in the Hindu calendar when students revered the guru, I set out to say thank-you to Panditji.

I found him in Juhu, walking Bombay�s crowded Juhu Beach as if he hadn�t a care in the world. He was dressed majestically in a red silk kurta and white pyjamas, white leather slippers on feet that must have been touched by hundreds of students that day.

His flute, the biggest I think in his collection of 160, Panditji carried in a leather case with the pride of a Samurai bearing his sword.

When I came upon him, he was listening to a flute-seller on the beach who to advertise his wares was cheerfully playing the instrument oblivious to the God-like legend by his side. As luck would have it, the beachside musician was playing a tune out of the film Silsila. And the man who had scored the music for this film was Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia, recognisable to everybody else taking the air on the beach but the poor flute-seller! When recognition dawned, he dived for Panditji�s feet. Then rushed off and returned with a polaroid photographer to record his meeting with the legend.

Panditji was delighted to see me. He greeted me warmly then called for tender coconut, as the western flautist Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull might have called for champagne. And then, happily and without hesitation, he bought us both pudis of chana-jhor-masala from two vendors of the beach. I thought the celebrations were over, but Panditji wasn�t finished. �You must taste this bhelpuri,� he said, dragging me to one of the many stalls on the beach. �And will you care for some kala-khatta?�

I did not. My tastebuds, by then, had taken a beating, and I knew when to retreat. So we retreated to Panditji�s home nearby, where on entering, he hospitably called for Balram his cook, and ordered me a cup of tea, a bowl of rasogullas, and a plate of kachori. It was then that it occurred to me that Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia was a foodie. His daughter-in-law Kasturi, heavy with child, came out to serve the snacks, and I asked her about Panditji�s eating habits. �Oh, he loves food, he even eats meat and fish,� Kasturi revealed of the great musician.

Panditji, freshly changed, and on the verge of popping a rasogulla into his mouth, nodded his head vigoroulsy, �Yes, I love food. I like chicken, meat and fish very much, but I havent�t eaten beef and pork till now.� He is now 65, and said he began eating non-vegetarian food when he was 19. Before that, coming from a religiously strict Hindu home in Allahabad, he ate only saatvik food: which is simple vegetarian fare, and without the influence of onion, garlic and other spices.

He told the story. His father, a wrestler, wanted the young Panditji to take up the fighting sport; but the boy was already interested in the flute. So he did both. He trained to become a wrestler and on the sly, he studied music. He flexed big biceps to show me the effects of his early training. But there was no hope for musicians. They only played in temples and on All India Radio. So Panditji, who was a stenographer for the Uttar Pradesh government in Allahabad, went to Cuttack in search of better employment. And there he became a non-vegetarian.

�Vegetarian food was not popular in Orissa, and I was forced to give it up,� he explained. He started his gastronomic journey innocently enough with an omelette curry and rice. Then enjoyed it so much that he tried chicken and mutton (�goat�s, not lamb, that is rubbish�) and was soon experimenting with sweetwater fish like the Hilsa. �Orissa has the Mahanadi River and the Chilka Lake from where this fish is got. A Bengali woman who treated me like her son, deboned it for me. I was 19. �Don�t worry, see I am also eating it,� she said to me,� Panditji added.

Today, his wife Anuradha, who is from Cuttack, cooks Panditji all the non-vegetarian food he wants at home. On his travels abroad, and Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia has been everywhere, from Israel to Mexico and Lebanon to Pakistan, he eats the local fare enthusiastically, but not adventurously. �No alligator meat and things like that,� he said. And when he is in some remote area like a village in the interiors of Switzerland, where all he gets to eat is bread and cheese, Panditji cooks his own food. Yes, he can cook dal-chawal-sabzi, good enough to keep the fires within him burning.