In an era that saw an array of singers fade away from the limelight as quickly as they came into it, Lucky Ali could well be termed as a phenomenon that survived way past the '90s. We aren't sure if Ali, like many of his then contemporaries, worked hard to stay relevant. Ironically, we don't think he is either. "I've not given that much time to music," he says simply when we ask him about his upcoming tour touted to mark the decades he has spent as a musician. "I should have been some kind of a genius by now, but I'm not. My dedication [towards music] isn't as close to that that some of the kids today have. [I'm not] where I should have been, in terms of a musician, if we [label it with] years."

Our half-hour-long chat is punctuated with a generous dose of self-critical comments of similar nature. Yet, we aren't sure if the singer's statements stem from self-doubt or are merely laced with sarcasm, an attack, maybe, at the industry's notion of success. If you'd ask us, we'd pick the latter. For, it's hard to believe that Ali wouldn't be aware of the admiration he enjoys owing to his talent. Untouched by Bollywood's definition of a commercially successful singer, Ali, even in his subdued tone, screams of being a musician who is constantly in search of that 'something' which every true artiste seeks. "I am still learning; what will I teach?" he says, addressing a question on raising abled musicians. "My capabilities lie in recognising the solution required to address a particular situation. For instance, if there is a teacher who can conduct a master-class, and I know that certain kids will benefit from his techniques, I play the bridge in that scenario. Teaching, for me, would be promoting teachers to teach students, and promoting students to work together. I don't believe in the idea of treating music education like academics. It should be like a Gurukul. Fortunately, there are established musicians willing to share their technique at any time, and to any student."