Everyday he’d make it a point to introduce me to that one Elvis / Engelbert Humperdinck / Mohammad Rafi song that I absolutely needed to now about.

I’d like to think he was equipping me with tools to send me off into the world. I am eternally grateful now that among the many things in my bag of preparing-for-the-world paraphernalia, he told me that ‘music was to be used as a shield’ because as much as he taught me, in his way, to deal with the world, he also taught me to escape from it occasionally – and sure enough music has been my personal armour since, literally intercepting many, many attacks.

I’d know the Five o'clock Tea was drawing to an end, when he’d pop in a CD from his vast ghazal collection. Jagjit Singh always had the last word, his ghazal playing like an anthem to countrymen reminding them of past sacrifices.

With my father’s passing away, I naturally found solace in Jagjit Singh’s ghazals. While his smooth vocals breathed new life into poetry, his expression gave a soul to my sadness. His ghazals continue to come to the rescue of my memory when it struggles to make a connect to my father – Jagjit Singh never fails to remind me who my father was.

It’s safe to say as a Pakistani from my generation, a lot of us have grown up listening to the brilliance of Jagjit Singh. Almost all of us, at some point either directly or through a family member have been associated with Jagjit Singh, regardless of our preference in music.

With Jagijit Singh’s passing we are indeed drawing that much closer to the tragic end of a majestic era. There is a great sadness in acknowledging that legends, like him who have left a profound effect on our consciences, are no more. However, there is also that distinct delight in knowing that we now have the responsibility to pass on what we were so generously given. The legend truly does live on.