Zakir Hussain has left behind a treasure of values.

There is no day in my life that has scared me more than today. The news of the demise of Ustad Zakir Hussain, or ZG as I and many people refer to him, is not only shocking but also a massive void that has left the entire music community reeling, many fans and admirers Definitely disappointed. As someone who looked up to him first as a role model, then as a teacher, and most recently as a friendly guide, I still don’t understand his absence. Maybe, I’m just learning to stay calm.

I had assumed that ZZ would remain a permanent fixture in music, always among us in iconic and charismatic physical form, which immediately brought a wry smile to me. Just thinking about those rosy hair, beautiful hands and conversational mischievousness is almost an essential daily vitamin for me and many who were fortunate enough to interact with them.

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Musically, it is difficult to find another person who has brought together the entire musical fabric of the world with such a purposeful amalgamation. It was ZZ and his tabla that created connections and bridges where one thought they did not exist before. It is said that the voice is the best medium between heart and mind, but his tabla sang like no other voice had ever sung before. The dimensions of his exploration of what a tabla can do are defined by his individual creativity. The asymptote strongly approaches Z. From bluegrass to electronic, to orchestral concerto, and without question to Indian music, the ZG tabla sound was a natural embodiment of the highest aesthetics, erudition, and playful virtuosity.

As a teenager growing up in New Jersey, I first saw him live at Wesleyan University with Pandit Birju Maharaj in 1997 and then at Town Hall in NYC where he performed a double header with Pandit Jasraj and M. Balamurali Krishna . These two live experiences changed me deeply and suddenly the desire to learn Tabla became uncontrollable.

To this day, I cannot imagine that my luck would have allowed me to attend his annual tabla workshops at San Anselmo, to play mridangam solo in front of him at Abbaji Barsi in 2014, to go on the Masters of Percussion Tour. And eventually settle down to a personal consultation under him, talking about family matters and life lessons. I must be the luckiest man in the world.

As a teacher, he showed the greatest respect for what had come before: elders, repertoire, protocol and, at the same time, a thorough creative rationalist, he increasingly cast aside clear ideologies and discriminations. As a performer, his approach to music was one of uncompromising preciousness that lived in the improvisational moments at all costs.

Sound was his personal arrow like Cupid, which was released from the drums into the audience. We fell in love with the romance, sensitivity, excitement and depth of storytelling of his music making. When ZZ was on stage, the 2,000 audience thought he was playing for each person individually.

As I write this, the pain is slowly sinking in that it is actually gone. However, he has left behind an incredible wealth of values ​​for me and many others to ponder, decode, and ultimately develop. For all the success that he’s had, he wears it so easily and clearly. He always mentioned that the best place for a student is one who is always learning and exploring with the fire of knowledge.

I believe the greatest loss, even beyond all the Himalayan music he composed, is the infinite humanity he expressed. He willingly devoted himself to every single fan, every musician, organizer, etc. This list is very long. I remember well, an excited cab driver calling ZG from Manhattan to India to connect with his relatives. And of course, ZZ spoke openly and happily about cheering them on, even if it was right before their concert. In this way, I’m sure everyone has a ZG story and it is equally authentic, personal, and the most captivating gesture of generosity we have encountered.

I consider his humanity as his greatest legacy, which is also the most difficult to emulate. He was the true embodiment of the phrase, “It’s good to be important, but it’s more important to be good”.

ZG, miss you so much – love and respect always!

(The author is a renowned percussionist)