It is A.R. Rahman’s birthday today. For many, it is a day for posting their favourite songs, playlists, throwback videos, and tributes to a living legend. For me, it is something more intimate. The day is a reminder of how Rahman’s music has held me together at times when my life was falling apart.

There have been times when life felt unbearably heavy. We do not talk about depression that often. But it is a living reality. It drains the colour from ordinary days. You carry on with your life but wonder at the futility of it all. Anxiety keeps you on the edge. I did not always have the language to explain what I was feeling, and I did not always have the strength to ask for help. What I did have was music. And again and again, it was Rahman’s music that held me together.

Over the years, his songs have become emotional anchors. Each one tied to a specific mood, a specific phase, a specific version of me that was trying to survive.

Agar Tum Saath Ho arrived at a time when I was dealing with heartbreak. When love slipped through my fingers and left behind a persistent ache. Irshad Kamil’s words, Rahman’s soulful score and Alka Yagnik’s voice reminded me I wasn’t alone, and there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. ‘Tum saath ho, ya na ho, kya fark hai’ felt personal. It was like Rahman was speaking to me through his music, asking me to move on.

Tu Hai played when I felt the love of my life slowly drifting away. It was at times of helplessness, the fear of knowing someone precious is fading away, that Rahman’s humming, and Javed Akhtar’s lyrics helped me try to hold my life together. When Rahman hums ‘Tu hai mera ye sansaar saara. Main aur mera pyar saara. Tere hi liye hai’ it feels more than personal.

Then there were times in life when I felt completely down and out, when hope felt like a luxury I could not afford, and I felt like giving up on life completely. O Palanhare became a refuge in these periods of darkness. It was less a hymn and more of a reminder that asking for strength is not weakness. ‘Tumre bin humra kauno nahi’ in the truest sense.

Kun Faya Kun stayed with me during my bleakest stretches. The song is the epitome of spirituality, one of complete surrender, of letting go of the illusion of control and trusting that something beyond you might still be at work. Urban loneliness is a real epidemic we hardly talk about. That helplessness of not being able to confide in anyone, the desperate urge to be with someone — it all dissolves when you surrender yourself to the Supreme. And Rahman’s music has that healing power.

And there are the distractions. Whenever you want to drain out the noise around you, dive into a zone of contemplation, and just revel in the ‘silence’ of music, Rahman’s compositions provide the perfect shield. Be it the latest chartbuster Jingucha or the soulful melody Marakkuma Nenjam, or the symphony from the finale episode of Prime Video series Harmony, you can just immerse yourself away from all worries.

I am still here today, alive, still hopeful, and raring to go, because of Rahman’s music that met me in the dark and guided me through the turmoil. So on his birthday, this is my personal note of gratitude.

Happy birthday, A.R. Rahman. Thank you for your music.