In my dreams I dream of recreating a huge college of flautists, a veritable Vrindaban in which students will arrive to learn and study with satchels full of flutes, live in mud huts, eat at a common langar.

A modern Vrindaban from which a thousand flutes will ring out everyday. For what else is there?

When my breath is gone and I cannot play anymore what do I leave behind?

Some dedicated students! When you leave nothing behind, you cry at the point of death, but I still dream, I dare to dream that through my playing and through my students my flute will be left behind as the memory of Krishna.