I had the pleasure of attending the ‘Maestro Forever’ tribute to Zakir Hussain at the NCPA, last evening. I must say that I had walked in without much expectation, but left with memories of a magical encounter and a few reflections.

My own relationship with the tabla goes back to my early teens, when I enrolled as a student of the instrument. It was a phase marked by instruction, practice and learning the discipline of rhythm. Sadly, it did not last beyond a few years. Life intervened, as it often does. Studies and other responsibilities took over, and the tabla was gently set aside.

Even so, the pull never really went away. One of the earliest moments I experienced its magic was attending a concert of the legendary Ustad Allah Rakha Khan sahab (Zakir’s father and guru). I did not have the vocabulary then to describe what I was hearing. I only knew that his handling of the instrument felt complete – not just as a support accompanying other artists. That evening would stay with me for a long time to come.

Allah Rakha’s greatest legacy, in my view, was uplifting the humble tabla to a place of its own. And Zakir ably built on that through his own contributions, making it fun, contemporary and accessible to audiences across the globe. He was not afraid to experiment and push the boundaries of his craft, thanks to a very intimate relationship he had with the instrument.

It’s been a year since Zakir passed away, and yesterday at the NCPA, his absence was truly felt. The event was a coming together of his friends and family, to honor his life and his music. What came through most clearly was not loss alone, but the pure joy in his approach, and the mastery he had over the tabla. Adding another dimension to the tribute was a well-curated photo exhibition on Zakir’s life. Walking through the gallery offered a glimpse into his life, both on stage and off it – a visual reminder of a lifetime spent in dedication to the craft.

There is something truly remarkable about witnessing world-class mastery through a live performance. Not on a screen or through a streaming service, but breathing the same air as the artist. You don’t need to understand every nuance, or be able to name every composition. What matters is being in the presence of the absolute peak of human capability in a given domain.

For me, the ‘Maestro Forever’ tribute also carried a sobering thought: We live in a time when such skills are increasingly rare. Not because talent no longer exists, but because the patience and dedication required to build it are nearly impossible to sustain. In a sense, when a Zakir Hussain or an Allah Rakha Khan leaves the stage for the last time, an entire way of knowing – and being – probably fades with them.

So, if there is a chance you can encounter greatness, don’t postpone it. Don’t assume there will always be another opportunity, another concert, another tour. Some art forms survive only as long as we choose to show up for them. And, if you wait too long, it may be too late.

You need to bask in the presence of anything world-class to understand what it feels like. For me, it’s always been a magical, inspiring and transformational experience. Here’s to many more ‘Wah, Ustad!’ moments in all our lives…