Being Women

Moods, Memories and Love – An Ode To KK !

For his songs might grow old, but his voice will remain the timeless antidote. 

It is the year 1999. Summer vacations are on, which generally means a guilt-free overdose of naps and friends and MTV. Especially MTV. 

In a multitude of unimaginative remix numbers, I suddenly hear a refreshingly different original one day – the singer is a cutie called KK. The foot-tapping “Aap Ki Dua” (the first song I remember associating with him) becomes a favourite. 

Cut to another summer a few years later. The year is 2009. Temperatures outside notwithstanding, I am almost shivering with excitement. Because today is the day that I see KK live on stage. KK, who has by now sung many more songs that I love – some dreamy, some pulsating, some wistful. 

Given the other performers I have seen, I am expecting someone with airs and graces, a flashy outfit, and tantrums. But, when KK walks in, his outfit is as simple as his persona – a regular black tee and stone-washed blue jeans. He wears no airs and graces, but the impish grin of a prankster instead. And there is not a hint of a tantrum; in fact, his face is radiating genuine warmth. He could well be the boy-next-door, who can be approached for a cup of sugar and a fan-girl moment alike. 

Over the next few hours, his silken voice and that endearing smile melt hearts. His fans, me included, sway along with him when he sings the poignant numbers, and lose ourselves dancing to the peppy ones. And what makes that live performance even more special, is the exhilaration he feels while singing for us. Loving his audience as passionately as he loves his music, clearly comes easy to him.

The night comes to an end, like all good things do, and I return home feeling content and blessed. 

As I navigate the many complexities of life in the years to come, KK’s music continues to be a steady companion, the kind that just ‘gets’ you and keeps your secrets safe. The kind of ‘dost’ he describes in the iconic “Yaaron”.   

He is there, singing “Dil Ibaadat“, when I am feeling the heady rushes of new love. My feet assume a different rhythm when his “Koi Kahe” or “Desi Boyzz” transport me to another world. I love my eyes more when he sings “Aankhon mein teri” with that tinge of mischief. He helps me cope with heartbreak when he voices angst I can’t quite express, through “Tadap Tadap”. When I am feeling desolate, he journeys deep into my soul, with the haunting “Aawarapan”. He gives me hope with the determined yet childlike “Aashayein”. His “Yaaron” and “Pal”, anthems in their own right, are as much a part of our farewells and reunions as we are. 

Unknown to us, KK slowly became our voice for every emotion, every mood, every memory. 

Ironically, we understood this only three days ago, when the versatile powerhouse apparated into another realm in the blink of an eye. No one had the time to process what happened – he disappeared before the Insta-stories on his last concert. 

The angst following his sudden demise is justified. From where his loved ones and fans see it, he did not deserve to go. We are caught in a mire of ‘If-onlys’ and ‘What-ifs’. He had so much more to do, sing, live. 

And yet, like a former bandmate of his mentioned, “In music he lived life, in music he met death”. He spent his life doing what he was born to do. He went, having sung his heart out (literally), surrounded by love, both for and from his fans. And having attended his concert years ago, I know the joy his audiences gave him. 

In a world full of things unexpected, and where the end is never easy, perhaps it is a privilege to live like this and go this way. Like Steve Irwin, APJ Abdul Kalam, and Bob Saget. 

Maybe the biggest obeisance we could pay to KK, is to love him and his voice with fiercer intensity now. And introduce him to more generations, thereby keeping his magic alive. 

After all his music has done for us, we owe it to him.

And, when I want to time-travel, and savour a cup of nostalgia along with my coffee, KK will once again be an invisible shoulder to lean on. 

For his songs might grow old, but his voice will remain the timeless antidote. 

By Tanushree Banerji

Tanuhshree Banerji is an eternal writer at heart who is mostly telling stories either on paper or in her head. She runs her own consultancy as a Behavioral Facilitator, Content Specialist and Certified NLP Practitioner.

She can be contacted at

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One Response

  1. As usual Heartfelt writing,Really“In music he lived life, in music he met death”. loved the lines” it is privilege to live like this and go this way. Like Steve Irwin, APJ Abdul Kalam, and Bob Saget.”

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