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Occasionally he makes a sale, but in a curiously offhanded way as if this
were incidental to his enterprise. Sometimes he breaks off playing to talk
to the fruit seller. I imagine that this has been the pattern of his life for
years.

Meditatively: thoughtfully
Offhanded: casual; not showing much interest in something

The writer saw a flute seller selling different bansuris. He was
different from other hawkers. He was standing in a corner of the
square outside the hotel. He was holding a pole which had an
attachment on top of it. There were 50 60 flutes stuck in it. It
resembled the thorny body of a porcupine. There were flutes made
of bamboo and also cross flutes and recorders. The man would
keep the pole on the ground and would play different flutes for
short durations. He was calm, only the music of the flute could be
heard. He played it meditatively and was not anxious to attract
attention.

At times he sold one flute but did not seem too interested to have a
good sale. He would take breaks to talk to the fruit seller standing
next to him. It seemed that this had been his routine since many
years.

I find it difficult to tear myself away from
the square. Flute music always does this
to me: it is at once the most universal
and most particular of sounds. There is
no culture that does not have its flute —
the reed neh, the recorder, the Japanese
Shakuhachi, the deep bansuri of
Hindustani classical music, the clear or
breathy flutes of South America, the
high-pitched Chinese flutes. Each has its
specific fingering and compass. It weaves its own associations. Yet to
hear any flute is, it seems to me, to be drawn into the commonality of all
mankind, to be moved by music closest in its phrases and sentences to
the human voice. Its motive force too is living breath: it too needs to
pause and breathe before it can go on.

Fingering: way of placing the fingers to play different notes
Compass: here, range