I did not enter sound by choice, I fell into it. I actually wanted to study the art of cameras. After my studies, I was supposed to leave for Pune, but Priyadarshan sir, who is almost like family, asked me to join him. I grew up in studios because my father and uncle [M G Sreekumar] were in the film industry.

As a child, I went mainly for the biriyani, but I loved the smell of a studio. In the beginning, the mixer, with all those buttons, scared me. After six months, I felt I would never survive and ran back home. That is when actor Nandu, who’s my neighbour, urged me to return. I took the next bus to Chennai. If I am here today, it is because Nandu sir pushed me back into the studio.

Everything. If I am sitting in this chair today, it’s because music is in my blood. I am trained in percussion. I hear rhythm even when I am cutting effects. The music in my mind guides everything.

Indian cinema and Hollywood cinema come from two different cultures, and culture is closely tied to sound. In Hollywood films, people rarely shout, even when angry. Their conversations are calm and measured. Here, we begin loudly, even with a simple ‘hey’. So everything else naturally becomes louder.

Our sound reflects our culture, not a lack of finesse. People often compare us with Hollywood, saying our standards are lower, but we have evolved greatly. Today, if a Hollywood film comes to us for mixing, we can deliver exactly what they expect. I have worked there and realised how difficult it is for them to understand our culture, while we understand theirs because we have learnt from them.

I take lessons from Hollywood sound design and apply them in a way that suits our stories. Formats like Dolby Atmos, 5.1, stereo and mono are part of Hollywood’s legacy, created to give people a reason to go to the cinema. I truly understood the difference between analogue and digital while working on ‘Bhagam Bhag’. In a scene where Rajpal Yadav is hit by a watermelon, the foley recordings sounded like a small ‘tick’.
But when I recorded it using my guru Deepan Chatterjee’s analogue recorder and transferred it digitally, it was perfect on one track. That was when I realised what digital lacks. Analogue is milk and digital is milk powder. Digital is convenient, but it loses warmth. I would love to record in analogue and process digitally. That balance, I believe, is true sound perfection.

It is very difficult now because analogue hardly exists. Getting film stock is almost impossible, and the same goes for sound. Recording in analogue needs a lot of equipment and space. Earlier, to create reverb, we used real rooms with panels that we adjusted for decay. The sound had a natural feel. Now, a plug-in can do it instantly, but it is not the same. Bringing that quality back is nearly impossible.

Every sound is unique. The sound we record at any moment can never be recreated; it is like a photograph captured in time. One morning, while making coffee, I heard parrots fighting outside and quickly recorded it on my phone. I do this often whenever I hear something interesting.
Even in Kantara: Chapter 1, some of the Brahmarakshas’s breathing sounds were recorded on an iPhone and later processed to create that demonic voice. I record many such sounds. If you keep a microphone on and just listen, you will always capture something new. Every recording has its own life and character.

We have not done anything like that yet, as I have not had the opportunity in the cinema so far. Maybe with the upcoming chapters of ‘Lokah’, we will get that chance. When Hollywood made Gravity, the sound designers visited the space station and realised there is no sound in space. Such explorations will happen here, too. Things are changing now. The importance of sound has grown, and even common audiences have started appreciating it.

When I look back, most of the films that brought me recognition are horror films. In horror, the importance of sound reaches another level. We follow the same process for every film, but the overuse of music today often hides the sound. Many films are filled with music from start to finish, leaving no space for silence or natural sound. That should not happen, because sound itself can tell a story. In Dies Irae, for instance, we used silence instead of background music. In that quiet, even the burning of a cigarette could be heard clearly. That is the power of sound.

We build rich layers such as footsteps, birds, clothing and bangles, but when thousands of tracks play together, how much can the audience really hear? The key lies in choosing what to let stand out. In Transformers, everyone remembers the transforming sound because it was used perfectly. My mentor always said that when people leave a film, they should talk about the film as a whole, not about one single craft.

Of course I do — I am human. The funniest one was Pizza. I was alone while mixing it, and the security cabin was nearly a kilometre away. I would walk there in the night and get scared. In horror, you build a vacuum, then you hit with a bang. Even a footstep or a door creak can scare me while I work. When I get scared, I know it has worked. That’s my test.

In Jigarthanda, there is a scene set in an old theatre, the first film we worked on with Atmos technology. We placed each fan sound in separate speakers, creating a unique atmosphere where every fan stopped at a different time. It took me five days to perfect that. Later, when Santhosh Narayanan’s music was added, the scene became a montage, and my effects were removed. It was painful. But another single-shot scene in the interval block had no music, only sound design, and no one missed the music. When used only where needed, music can truly create goosebumps.

When I work as both designer and mixer, my involvement usually begins before or during scripting. For Empuraan, Prithviraj added me to the crew even before the script was completed. Once it was ready, he read it out to me and we had several rounds of detailed discussions through scripting, re-edits and shooting. It was one of the most well-planned projects I have done.

With Kantara: Chapter 1, I must admit I delivered an incomplete output. The final version was submitted three days after the release, so everyone who watched it during those first three days actually experienced an unfinished version of my work. Still, something remarkable happened: the film opened as a superhit, and the very next day the director and I were back in the studio remixing it.

No one usually bothers once a film becomes a success, because updating thousands of theatres is extremely costly. But this team chose to do it, simply because they believed in the work.

There is a limit to what the human brain can take in, and my job as a mixer is to act as the audience’s ears. Even if two thousand tracks are running, I may let you hear only two or three, depending on what the moment needs. Mixing is not about cleaning everything but about emotional balance.
In Traffic, when I first watched the scene where Chackochan’s [Kunchacko Boban] character tries to kill his wife, I felt empathy. But with heavy effects and music, that emotion disappeared. I removed most effects, kept a soft bass and a gentle piano, and the empathy returned. That is what sound mixing is about, shaping what the audience feels through what they hear.

The points I mentioned earlier also apply to design, as I had mixed the two while explaining. Sound design is about deciding how the overall soundscape of a film should be, in collaboration with the director. It can truly be called design only if it begins during the scripting stage. If I am not involved from that point, it becomes mere sound effects, not design.

The most important thing in remastering is to retain every mistake from the original. You cannot correct anything, because audiences of hit films want the exact same experience in a cleaner, enhanced form. I am completely against remixing.

For example, while remastering Manichitrathazhu, the kindi used back then was different from the one available now, so its impact sound changed. Someone messaged me saying the new version did not have the same impact. I apologised and rebuilt it by layering filters from the original. When I sent it back, he said it worked.

Oh yes, absolutely. I find it quite amusing. When I was mixing Arabiyum Ottakavum P Madhavan Nairum, Priyadarshan sir asked me to add an echo and delay in a desert argument scene. I was unsure at first, but he insisted, as it suited the wide shot. Later, someone messaged me asking if I had ever been to a desert and pointed out there would be no echo there. I explained it was only for impact. Priyan sir laughed when I told him. Sometimes what we do for effect may not please everyone. Some viewers even complain publicly about the lack of impact in fight scenes or criticise specific sound choices under my posts.

This is one of the biggest challenges I face. Sound is often used to hide a film’s weaknesses, and the discomfort some films create is sometimes intentional, used to distract the viewer. That is wrong, because sound should draw you into the film, not exhaust you.

I have been part of such projects too, since a technician must follow the director’s vision. In Traffic, for example, producer Listin Stephen once complained there was “no sound” in a scene, and I had to explain it was intentional. We often request filmmakers not to misuse the ‘loudness’ effect, but culture plays a major role. On one hand, films like Dies Irae use silence as a tool, while others misuse sound for impact.

Definitely. I watch films every day to stay updated, so when I get a scene like that, something I have only dreamt of, I naturally want to give my best. The mix the audience finally hears might be the seventh or eighth version. For example, the helicopter sounds in that scene were changed at least 10 times.

We experimented with different types, but still felt unsatisfied because of our fixed idea of how a helicopter should sound. Cinema often works that way, favouring perception over realism. Take thunder, for instance. In real life, thunder follows lightning after a delay, but in films, if we play it that way, people say it feels out of sync. So, we match it to the lightning, because that’s what audiences expect.

I have worked with more than 300 directors, and each has shaped my perspective. After Dies Irae, I leaned towards minimalism, but that approach fails in mass films. Every genre needs its own soundscape. A rom-com demands sweetness, an action film demands intensity, and the sound must shift with the storytelling. In Lokah, there is a scene where the character puts on her earphones and the ambience transitions into music. I was nervous about how [music director] Jakes Bejoy would react to my treatment of his song, but he loved it, proving that teamwork and perspective make sound design truly work.

Yes. As I mentioned about Empuraan, I was also involved in promotions. I have never attended an audio launch because, during such events, I am always working. When I worked on Kantara: Chapter 1, I worked almost round the clock for 25 days. The system never stopped. I would nap on the sofa while my assistant continued the work, sometimes going three days without even changing clothes.

It was an extremely stressful process. Whenever I was tired, I would eat sweets. A funny incident happened then. On the first day, I bought a bar of chocolate and Rishabh [Shetty] told me, “Sir, don’t eat too much chocolate, take care of your health.” I agreed, but four days later, he came back with a bag full of chocolates! (laughs)

The plan was to finish Kantara: Chapter 1 by August. But things kept changing, and it finally released in October, still unfinished. Once a release date is set, delays can cost the producer crores, so we technicians push through. For them, it is a dream project, but for us it is straight on to the next. Honestly, if technicians ever collapse, it would be from a heart attack.

Not even once. For me, Friday is never a “success” day. I wake up every release day with a pain in my stomach, like after writing an exam. If my phone rings around 11 am, I immediately think something is wrong with the sound in a theatre. People only call when there is a problem. When I went to a theatre to watch Lokah, the entire left surround sound was not working. The audience did not notice. Hardly any theatre delivers perfect sound and picture quality. When light and sound are reproduced as intended, that is when cinema truly works.

It was not a very satisfying experience. For Dies Irae, I did the mixing and Jayadevan Chakkadath handled the sound design. JD [Jayadevan], music director Christo Xavier, and I are all sound people… we sat together. After every scene, Christo kept saying, “Level, level!” I told him, “I don’t have a mixer or a mouse here; I am watching just like you.”

Theatres have strict rules against adjusting sound levels because, in the past, some films had extremely loud and poorly mixed audio that could almost hurt your ears. Now, theatres are overly cautious, and even well-mixed films suffer. The problem is that sensible filmmakers are affected by the lack of standardisation caused by others who are careless. It forces us to work below our standards too. I always say, when you are in a car, you simply turn up the volume if it feels low, so why ask me to “increase the level”? I am tired of hearing that. No one has ever complained that my sound was too loud, only that it was low. This mindset needs to change.

A film can be made without music or background score, but no one has really explored it yet. I wish to do such a film, treated entirely through sound design. In it, every sound will matter, changing the shooting and editing patterns and creating a deeper, more detailed sound experience.

We can usually tell whether a film is good or bad on the very first day. Earlier, I used to lie about it because it takes courage to tell the truth to someone you must work with for weeks. But after some bad experiences, I started being honest, as it actually helps the film. Everyone on the team usually knows how it has turned out. Honesty makes them think differently, and recently, some makers have even valued my input during editing.

Cinema is definitely moving towards sync sound. In Malayalam, we are nearly halfway there, and Mammootty sir insists on it whenever possible. Sync sound is difficult, because what you record on set is all you have, which is why such films often feel quiet. But technology is so advanced now that we can even extract clean dialogues from old mono tracks and rebuild the entire soundscape.

Not at all. Premam was not shot in sync sound, though many believed it was, and that misconception started the trend. The film was an experiment. Alphonse wanted the magic found in Priyadarshan’s films, where every space had its own echo and air. We recreated that feeling with modern tools. His idea was that even a blind person should know the location from the sound alone. After the release, people kept saying, “Sync sound alle?” and I kept saying no, but by then the trend had already begun.

Bramayugam was in sync sound. Dies Irae wasn’t, but the dubbing was very controlled. Horror films need that controlled space. Mammootty sir’s films nowadays are mostly sync sound. Kannur Squad is another example.

Films like Dune have left me speechless, and I hope to create something on that scale one day. I take many references from Hollywood because their storytelling is different, while ours is rooted. Even in Lokah, those ancient connections guide the sound.

Definitely. Since this is a community, everybody shares things among each other. Whenever there is a new technique that has been used in a piece, others will surely call to ask how it has been done. For instance, when Empuraan came out, Renganaath Ravee had called me to ask how the “tyre-blasting” sound was done. So yeah, we do discuss the technical elements.

No, because some films I thought had gone unnoticed later received the recognition they deserved. After Ananthabhadram, I expected a lot of work to come my way, but nothing much happened. I felt the film had not worked and that all my effort had gone to waste. The only person who called was Prithviraj, who said, “Chetta, I can see you in every frame. I did not see myself anywhere, it was all you.” That made me happier than any award.

Keerthichakra is another example. Three music directors worked on that film, and it was my responsibility to blend all their work into one coherent soundtrack. That experience proved invaluable when I worked on Pushpa 2, which had two music directors. Blending the creative ideas of different composers is not easy. It involves careful decision-making, knowing what to keep and what to remove, and ensuring everything flows seamlessly so the audience never feels the transition.

See, I am known as the son of the legendary music director M G Radhakrishnan, so why would I want to tarnish his name (laughs)? If he could compose in a few hours, I would struggle for 15 days to create something. Since mixing now comes naturally to me after years of learning, I chose to focus on it. But I am not completely away from music. Deepu Karunakaran, who made Winter, insisted that I compose for his film. He has already said I must do the music for Winter 2. I told him I would take a long time, and he said that is perfectly fine.

My passion is cinema, and once that passion is lost, I will not be good at my work. As long as it remains, cinema is a complete package, which means you must learn every aspect of it, including direction, to do justice to your craft. So yes, one day I may try it, not to become a director, but only if a subject truly pulls me in. Years ago, I felt that way about Kaaka Muttai. When Manikandan narrated it, I immediately asked if I could produce it. I had no money, but I wanted to make it. The next day he met Dhanush and Vetrimaaran, and they went on to produce it as their first film.