Years later, when the radio finally went silent, Arjun sat by the Hooghly, his chest full of those songs. He realized the music had been a map—of joy, mischief, sorrow—guiding him back to himself whenever life felt uncertain. He kept the melodies alive not by hoarding them, but by singing them on street corners, in kitchens, and at weddings, letting the city continue its long conversation with that timeless voice.