Mumbai: Even as I write this, it feels impossible to believe he’s no more. The tabla maestro Zakir Hussain is more than just a virtuoso. He is a symbol of humility, a disciplinarian, and a man whose love for music transcends ego. That’s how I remember him through the countless moments I have been fortunate enough to share.
One memory stands out vividly. I was researching my book on Padma Bhushan Pandit C.R. Vyas when I stumbled upon a rare interview where Zakirji credited Pandit Vyas for teaching him the nuances of the Tilwada taal. It was humbling to watch someone of his stature speak so openly about his teachers and peers. He frequently attributed his brilliance to those who walked alongside him, always gracious, always giving.
I recall him once urging Shankar Mahadevan to perform "Breathless" for an audience that was clamouring for more. He had this ability to amplify others’ voices, selflessly. My first direct encounter with him was in Goa. After a riveting performance at Kala Akademi, I sheepishly asked for an interview. With a twinkle in his eye, he agreed to 4:30 the next morning! I showed up at his hotel door, half-expecting him to forget or cancel.
Instead, he opened the door, tousle-haired, and teased, “You really are a bad penny, turning up at this ungodly hour!” Yet, within moments, he was wide awake, passionately discussing the nuances of Indian classical music. His dedication and clarity left me in awe. Goa was always special with Zakirji.
On one trip, he, Trilok Gurtu, and Rakesh Chaurasia insisted I try a local "bun" at a nondescript eatery in Panaji. Another time, after a solo concert, he and sarangi maestro Sabir Khan invited me for coffee under the stars on the terrace of Cidade de Goa. Zakirji was in a playful mood, singing old Hindi film songs, challenging us to guess the tune and film. The air buzzed with laughter and melodies.
