As a musician and educator from Bangladesh, freedom to me is not just the absence of barriers—it is the presence of possibility. It is the ability to compose without fear, to teach without constraint, and to dream without borders. Freedom is being able to choose my own rhythm, my own silence, my own scale—both in music and in life.
Freedom means creating sounds that are true to my culture without being bound by the cultural hegemony of others. It means building platforms—like orchestras or educational initiatives—that reflect our own stories, not just replicate imported ones. It is having the right to ask difficult questions, to reimagine traditions, and to speak in a voice that is my own, even if it breaks away from the chorus.
For me, freedom is deeply personal and undeniably collective. It is about dignity in artistic labor, equity in opportunities, and the space to nurture future generations of creators who are not forced to choose between authenticity and acceptance.
Freedom, ultimately, is the courage to live and work with purpose—on our own terms, with our own people, and in our own language.
