The year was 2009. The farewell function organised in honour of the outgoing batch, after making pit-stops at the Principal’s address, performances by professors, felicitations, was now geared up for its last leg. The band, which had brought the college many a laurels over the last three years would perform for one last time.
‘Hum, rahe ya naa rahein kal,’
The lead singer could have very well
turned off the mike and headed for the wings. The audience knew the song by
heart.
In what could have been an exemplary
display of crowd participation, the entire auditorium throbbed as the students
sang along to the cult song, which forever would be synonymous with the voice
that became a part of our soul, a soul that seemingly has now lost its voice.
Fast forward to 2012. He has just
received a text from her indicating that the relationship, which was anyways
meandering in choppy waters for some time now, was over. The bottle of Old
Monk, that he had carefully rationed for over a week, at least till pay day,
has perhaps in the words of his favourite Economics Professor ‘had yielded its
optimum utilisation’.
‘Tadap Tadap ke iss dil se aah nikalti
rahi.’
From farewell parties to reunions to
serenading a woman to nursing a heartbreak, there is a KK song for all reasons.
He has not received a Grammy. No wax statue of his adorns the Madame Tussauds.
No big corporate has ever signed a multi-millionaire dollar deal with him. Yet,
his voice, to us millennials, is the richest asset we have, a loyal friend,
giving us a shoulder to cry on, a touch to calm our nerves, an assurance that
life was all about Hope.
When he sings ‘Aashayein khilein
dil ki’, we want to keep chasing our dreams.
When he sings ‘Aankhon mein
teri’, we want to believe that we’ve got a chance with the girl, even when
our friends have advised otherwise.
When he croons, ‘Sach keh raha
hain deewana’, our memory jogs back to that unrequited love.
When we hear ‘Yaaron’, we realise that
friendship, despite the trials and tribulations, is still a treasure worth
preserving.
And this is why, I refuse to refer to
KK in the past tense. His pristine voice, our memories attached to them, the
butterflies in our stomachs, that lingering feeling of pathos post a
separation, cannot be obliterated. And hence, neither can his existence in our
lives
As KK would sing, ‘Meri Chahat Ko
Rakhdena, Jaise Koi Nishaani’.
