How my father turned a Led Zeppelin song into a lifelong love affair with music

Long before playlists and streaming algorithms, my father introduced me to the music that would shape my life. On Father's Day and World Music Day, I look back at the songs, memories and listening rituals we still share.

In Short

• During pregnancy, the writer hoped her baby would absorb classic rock early
• Her toddler instead prefers APT, underscoring how children form independent tastes
• Father’s Day and World Music Day prompted memories of her father’s influence

When I was pregnant, everyone had advice. Eat this. Don’t eat that. Sleep more. Walk more. Stay calm. Stay active. It felt like every person I met had a new rule for me to follow. But there was one suggestion I actually loved: listen to lots of music. The baby can hear it too, they said.

Finally, advice I could get behind. So I did!

I spent months convincing myself that my daughter was secretly soaking up the good stuff—some Led Zeppelin, a little Crosby, Stills & Nash, maybe even a carefully measured dose of Nine Inch Nails. In my head, I was raising a future classic-rock connoisseur: a tiny human who would one day nod appreciatively at a guitar solo, debate the greatest rock albums of all time, and understand why turning the volume up is sometimes the only correct response.

Life, of course, had other plans.

Today, at just over a year old, her favourite song is APT, a stark reminder that children arrive with tastes of their own.

But with Father’s Day and World Music Day being celebrated on the same day this year, I find myself reflecting on something deeper than the music my daughter listens to. My thoughts keep returning to the person who first taught me how to listen in the first place—the man responsible for the soundtrack of my childhood and, in many ways, the person who shaped my relationship with music itself: my father, Saurabh Kalita.

Long before playlists, streaming algorithms, and endless recommendations, there was my father introducing me to songs, artists, and sounds that would quietly become a part of who I am. The music I love today didn’t appear out of nowhere; it was passed down, one song at a time.

My father’s relationship with music began long before mine. He grew up in Shillong alongside his three siblings, in a city where music is far more than entertainment— it is woven into the fabric of everyday life.

The four siblings carried that spirit into their own little band. My father played the violin, my pehi (aunt) was the singer, and my khuras (uncles) provided the rhythm and melody on the guitar and tabla.

Years later, I would end up there too.

Because my parents worked in Guwahati and believed the schools in Meghalaya offered a better education, I was sent to live with my grandparents in Shillong. I attended Loreto Convent, while my parents made the journey every weekend to see me.

I was a solitary child. While other children played outside, I found myself drawn to a different kind of playground. My grandmother kept these steel briefcase-like boxes filled with cassette tapes that belonged to my father and his three siblings.

I would spend hours opening those boxes, pulling out cassettes, staring at the artwork, reading the names of bands I didn't yet know, arranging everything carefully before putting them back. I didn't know it then, but those boxes contained the soundtrack for the rest of my life.

One weekend, when I was around 10 years old, my father was visiting Shillong. We had a small Philips single-cassette player at home, the kind of device that today would look more at home as a vintage prop than a music system.

My father opened one of the cassette cases, selected a tape and slid it in. Then he said something I have never forgotten.

"Listen to this song. It starts very slow, but it becomes a giant towards the end."

The song was ‘Stairway to Heaven’ by Led Zeppelin and that moment changed everything. For the next eight minutes, I sat there listening as the song slowly unfolded into something bigger than anything I had heard before. Decades later, Led Zeppelin remains my favourite band.

That was just the beginning!

Soon came Bob Dylan, Pink Floyd, Uriah Heep, Deep Purple, Scorpions, The Doors, Lyryrd Skynyrd. One after another, my father introduced me to artists who would become lifelong companions.

Looking back, I realise he wasn't just sharing music. He was sharing a part of himself. Every parent leaves traces of themselves in their children. Some pass on family recipes. Some teach a profession. Others pass down values or traditions.

My father passed down music. And with those records came curiosity, patience and an appreciation for art created decades before I was born. One of my favourite memories came years later when I was fortunate enough to watch the Scorpions perform live in Shillong. Standing beside my father, I saw him cry during 'Wind of Change'. We sang along together, father and daughter, connected by songs that had travelled across generations.

Today, at 37, my playlists are much broader than my father’s cassette collection I grew up with. Alongside the classics are grunge bands from the early 1990s, rock acts from the 2000s and even an occasional Kendrick Lamar track.

But no matter how much my tastes evolve, the foundation remains the same. Music remains one of the most important parts of my life. Some of my happiest moments still involve sitting with my father and spending hours listening to an entire Pink Floyd album from start to finish.

In a world obsessed with playlists, algorithms and skipping tracks after thirty seconds, those listening sessions feel almost sacred.

Now, I find myself on the other side of the story. I look at my daughter and wonder what musical memories will she carry into adulthood? Maybe she will never care for Alice in Chains or the Foo Fighters. Maybe she will ignore Led Zeppelin entirely. Maybe APT is only the beginning of a musical journey that will take her somewhere completely unexpected.

But I hope that one day I can recreate that moment my father created for me. I hope I can hand her a song and say: "Listen to this. It starts one way and ends somewhere completely different."

Because the greatest gift my father gave me wasn't a favourite band or a favourite album. It was the ability to listen. And for that, on Father's Day and World Music Day, I have only one thing left to say: Thank you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.

- Ends