For me, Zubeen da was never just a singer. He was an emotion, a companion through my growing years, and the voice that gave shape to feelings I often could not put into words. His music defined a generation, and in many ways, it defined me, too.

I first discovered him through the Pakhi album. Pakhi Pakhi Mon resonated with us as students, a song that captured our innocence, our longing, and the restless dreams of youth. Then came Pakhi Meli Diye, which carried with it a sense of freedom. Listening to it felt like standing under an open sky, with wings ready to soar.

With Mayabini, Zubeen da gave us the love we were all searching for, that magical, all-consuming emotion that makes one ready to give everything for someone unknown yet deeply felt. Maya, in contrast, was not about falling in love but about rising in love. It lifted love into something purer, more profound.

But his music also reminded us that love carries its shadows. Bisara Morom revealed the quiet ache of separation, the hidden pain that lingers even behind the brightest smiles.

And then there was Nohole Porisoi. For us growing up, it was more than just a song — it was an anthem. It captured the spirit of friendship, the bonds we cherished, and the timeless connections that remain etched in our memories.

As I grew, Zubeen da’s music grew with me. He never lost the connection, never stopped being relevant. Looking back now, I realize that his songs were woven into every stage of my life. He was there in moments of joy and freedom, in times of heartbreak and loss, and in those quiet spaces in between, offering comfort, belonging, and a voice that always understood.

Today, as we mourn his untimely passing, I am struck by how much he helped us express, how deeply he shaped our emotions and memories.

Zubeen da lives on — in the hearts of students who still find themselves in Pakhi Pakhi Mon, in the dreamers who feel free with Pakhi Meli Diye, and in every soul that rises in love with Maya.