From all of us here at Grateful Web, we gather in heavy hush, the sound of distant thunder in our chests, to mourn and honor the passing of our dear brother Zakir Hussain. Like a star-spun traveler caught between midnight and morning’s glow, he drifted from this mortal coil on December 15, 2024, leaving behind a legacy of rhythms and echoes that will haunt our halls for ages.

There was something mythic in his fingers, something that sang in leather and wood, in the shimmering heartbeat of tabla skins and the subtle sighs of distant strings. When he first journeyed to the States as a nineteen-year-old seeker in 1970, the land knew him not, yet soon bent an ear to his uncanny pulse. He found his way into the cosmic currents of George Harrison’s quiet meditations, Van Morrison’s swirling mystic vision, and John Handy’s jazz-bound dreams. In the company of Mickey Hart and the tribe known as Planet Drum, he created a beckoning rhythm that danced with the spirits of wind and water, weaving subtle spells that made even silent mountains hum with life.

In ’73, he gave birth to Shakti, formed with John McLaughlin, forging a sound that coaxed American audiences beyond familiar borders. Their notes curled and soared, blending classical Indian grace with Western improvisation, summoning a grand and moody river of song. It shimmered on stage and record, pushing open doors of perception, leading listeners through hidden gardens where old traditions and fresh experiments swayed like phantom dancers beneath moonlight’s delicate eye.

Through the decades he honed his voice, as if guided by a secret muse, his rhythms painting shadows of ancient temples and half-forgotten lullabies. In 2024, crowned with three Grammys in a single year—one for Shakti’s offering to the world and two more for a daring alliance with Edgar Meyer, Béla Fleck, and Rakesh Chaurasia—he affirmed his place among music’s most revered wanderers. He played as if possessed by holy wind, forging paths where lovers of every land could meet on common ground and share a quiet nod to fate.

Now that he has slipped into that vast unknown silence, we grieve and sing his name. The absent heartbeat of his tabla is felt in every gust and whisper; its ghostly cadence lingers like a secret hymn whispered by old gods. We at Grateful Web bow our heads, raise our voices, and remember him not just as the tabla maestro who transcended time and place, but as a gentle guide who taught us to hear the music in all things. May his memory rise with the dawn and dance, forever free, beyond the boundaries of our dark and dreaming sky.