He has made me smile many times. Changed my mood in a matter of seconds, made me happy always. And, funnily enough, helped me feel the things I’ve felt. And remember the things I remember. Like I remember when I was six or seven or eight. He would sing me to sleep. My mother would be ironing our school uniforms late into the night, tired from her day, as I lay on my mattress on the floor of our one-bedroom flat, between the pillar and the green steel cupboard, with Jose Feliciano singing Rain on the old mono amplifier my uncle had hand-made for us.

His distinctive voice coming out of those old, warm, valves is a sound I most associate with my happy, secure, worry-free childhood. And even today on a particularly rough day I seek him out for solace. Like the worn, comforting blanket that Linus must return to.

But he doesn’t know this. That when he plays Malaguena or Manha De Carnaval in his inimitable, passionate style, I can just close my eyes and feel the love he has for his guitar and let those notes wash over me, calm me, relax me.

Or when he sings California Dreaming or Light My Fire or First of May or Miss Otis Regrets I can see the things he sings of, places, brown leaves, women, child love, a killing even. And when he chats with his audience, as he did in Alive Alive O, (a record I must have played groove-less) I can hear the people smiling, just happy to be with him and his one liners.

Like the intro to Light My Fire: “This next song is for all the beautiful women in the audience (Pause). I know they’re out there (Pause). Because from up here I can smell all that perfume.” Audience laughs.

Then Feliciano plays what for me will always be the only version of Light My Fire I can ever listen to. Stretching each note, pouring into them meaning and passion, singing perhaps to every woman he has ever loved, as only he can.

Or on the rare occasions that he refers to his blindness, only as protest I suspect, as in “No Dogs Allowed”, I can feel his frustration: “When first I landed in London town/ The man at the airport/ He locked me in his car/ And said to me while smokin’ his cigar/ No dogs allowed He-ey, hey!/ No dogs allowed/ Well, you can sing and work/And play for the crown/ But I’m sorry, son/ No dogs allowed”.

Followed by typical Feliciano guitar riff. Or later, when I was in college I think, when Mackenna’s Gold released in Bombay, it was the first adult movie I sneaked into. I saw it twice. The first time for the little nude scene in the middle. And the second time to hear Feliciano sing Old Turkey Buzzard over the titles once again.

And now after all these years, and after all these memories that he has made for me, Jose Feliciano finally comes to Bombay. On February 10, as part of the One Tree Festival, bless them forever.

And I will be there. With my aunts, Maya and Usha, who love him as well. And if I can get close enough to that stage, there are two things that I know I will yell out to him: Encore! And thank you, Jose.