It is post-dinner time in Mayo College, Ajmer, and we are here in November: the time of balding trees, retreating bees — a winter with a mind of its own. If you enter the school from the main gate, you will hear the faint hum of clarinets, punctuated by the bugle. If you are lucky, the winds, blowing from the Aravallis, will carry stray tunes from a cymbal that has been hit too hard.

It is only when you are truly inside — past the domineering statue of Lord Mayo, past the pigeons and cuckoos sleeping in the eaves, beyond the Mughal garden, moving along the classrooms — that you reach the source of the sound at the Music School. The campus stretches further than the eye can see, almost 200 acres, depending on how you measure it. If it were daytime, you would have peacocks cutting your path, dancing on the rooftops in the evenings.

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