My earliest memory of music is from back when I was about 6 years old. As I snuggled deeper into my blanket on cold Saturday mornings, Dad would blare Abida Parveen ghazals on the speaker. Ghazals yes, that's how most of my mornings started. By noon, we switched to Shakira. Mum still tells me how happy I would get when the singer fell into the water in the Whenever, Wherever video. Full disclosure, I still do. And evenings brought with them the sweet sound of Celine Dion. This is how I was introduced to my lifelong companion, music.
I never thought of myself as a connoisseur of fine music, I am but a mere admirer. A lover. A ship gone astray that needs its guiding star to bring it back on course, if you will. During times of despair and anguish, I often find myself seeking solace in a gentle melody, as you do too, I'm sure. But music can be just as heartbreaking. All it takes is one song for the memory that you had been evading for months to come flooding back. A disgruntled lover, a distant friend or a voice singing along, one that you'll never get to hear again. All it takes, is one song, and down you spiral.
That's the great thing about music though. It means something different to each of us. Or in some cases, it means nothing at all. Just something to dance to, devil may care. It can be as deep or as hollow as you want. As brooding, and as mirthful. No expectations, no complications. Maybe that's why it is universally popular. We are all finding in those notes what we couldn't in life. Simplicity. Comfort. Freedom. Closure?