Yes, thanks to social media. I have a lot of friends here in Kochi, in the industry and outside, who keep updating me. I am absolutely thrilled to see this kind of response, and that too after 25 years. Although I have worked in different languages, I have never seen such celebrations. I think the main credit goes to Mohanlal sir. He is the draw. He has brought the industry to a very good place today.

You won't believe, even after 25 years in the industry, I hadn’t met him until the rerelease happened. Stephen Devassy, a close friend, invited me for the inauguration of his new space where Mohanlal sir was also there. I had the chance to go up to him and congratulate him personally on receiving the Dadasaheb Phalke Award. After the ceremony, I asked Mohanlal sir if I could take a selfie with him, and that moment felt surreal. To finally meet the man I had admired for so many years, it truly felt like my Grammy and Oscar rolled into one! With the love of Malayalis, it felt like my life was coming full circle.

Not like what we are seeing now. I think it's also thanks to Gen Z, who have no inhibitions and express themselves freely. Although the response back then was very good, to see such frenzy after all these years has freaked me out. People are dancing for 'Ariyathe Ariyathe' on stage. In fact, someone told me that even 'Akasha Deepangal' had people dancing. All I'm thinking is, how? We created that song to provoke a different emotion. An emotion of sadness and empathy. More than the film, I think they are celebrating Mohanlal sir, the industry, and the content that they have grown up with. It's brought people closer to each other.

I got a call from Aashirvad Cinemas. I knew it was for Mohanlal sir. He and Mammootty sir are my favourites. So, it was a no-brainer.

I first got a CD of Devasuram from director Ranjith. Since I did not want to be influenced by the music of Devasuram, I did not look into it at all. We wanted to keep the sound as live as possible. So, every song has at least 80 per cent live musicians and 20 per cent of sequencing or modern elements. Almost every song has me drumming on it. It was a different experience. We were working like how Ilaiyaraaja sir did. 

Composing did not take time. We composed it on a guitar, and it sounds great on just an acoustic guitar. Then came the lyrics by Girish Puthenchery sir. We had many options for the opening words, but ‘Ariyathe Ariyathe’ was the opening that fit into the composition. What took time was the arrangement of the song. The sound engineer had the biggest job to do, recording everyone live, making sure it sounded wide for a theatre audience. We used only five instruments and they all had to blend. Technically, it took a lot of time for us to complete it because we were never satisfied.

They recorded separately. Chithra chechi had a fracture at the time, so we sent her the track on a CD. She insisted on singing despite the injury. That dedication itself was inspiring, pure magic. Jayachandran sir also took his time with it. We didn’t want to rush. Since we were using chorus singers instead of digital layers, it took longer, but gave the song that human touch. 

Well, we feel it. When the percussion is producing a groove, we will also be sitting and dancing inside the studio for sure. Music is all about emotion. Whether it's crying, romance, dancing or suspense, if you don't feel it, I doubt whether the audience will feel it too.

Plenty! We’d finish recording, step out, then suddenly think, “We could do this better.” And we’d go back and record again. The rule was not to release anything we might regret later. Even if it meant spending more money or time, we wanted to make it right. There are no shortcuts in music — it’s all about passion. 

The passion for music is there in almost every human being. Most people I know are bathroom singers (laughs)! We all start there, enjoying the echo and thinking we sound larger than life. But becoming a musician professionally is a calling. In school and college, I was always involved in music. I studied in Loyola College, Chennai, where I spent more time playing in college festivals than attending lectures. I was part of three bands. That environment made me realise that music wasn’t just something I loved, it was something I was born to do.

I had a passion for it very early. I still remember my first stage show at the age of four. One of my earliest influences was Biddu, who, in my view, is India’s first true pop star. He changed the sonic landscape. I was in Class 7 when I first heard it. To become a musician, you must first be an avid listener. If the calling is there, you begin to analyse. That began for me in school.

After college, I played in a rock band called Nemesis Avenue. Rahman too was in the line-up. We mostly played covers, and when Rahman played Pink Floyd, the sound was electric. I later joined an advertising agency as a film executive, which exposed me to films and jingles for major brands. That eventually led me to work with Rahman. I quit everything when he invited me to join him during Roja. 

I was ready to do anything. Rahman would say, 'Let's try vocal percussion or invent a rhythmic nonsense word.' It felt like going back to college with him as a true professor. Roja changed our systems, sonically and culturally. Much of that was also the magic of H Sridhar. Music is a collective craft. Only a few, like Ilaiyaraaja, who writes full notation, can truly claim sole authorship. 

I had sung in ads in a Michael Jackson style, but never in Tamil. 'Chikku Bukku Rayile' was the first. Rahman knew my delivery would not resemble anyone else. I sang it thrice. The first time was only a metronome and shruti, so you are singing blind, with no groove or guitar to lean on. He built the arrangement after the voice. The second pass had a few hints, but I still did not know there was a sax in the song until the third take. By then, both the tune and my confidence were firmly in place. Rahman’s patience is his real genius. I did not know then what that song would go on to do for me until the film came out.

Oh, yeah. I mean, we didn't have to go for a Grammy and an Oscar. We just got it. I was young. Everything was overwhelming. But one nice thing is we always get back to the studio. Because seeing such great musicians grounded, we had nothing to do but just get back and see what we can do next.

I was a DJ in the late 80s and 90s. Rap was new then, but already in my ears. Our first attempt at a rap was actually for May Madham, but Rahman felt it did not suit the score and held it back. When Kadhalan came with Prabhudeva, he brought it out again. The word 'Petta Rap' triggered the whole thing. Shankar gave me words like sarayam, karuvadu, gilli, etc., and I set them rhythmically. The localisation, staging and concept were all by Rahman and Shankar. 

My album Minnal. That was my first full attempt at composing and arranging in my own language. We had earlier recorded with Nemesis Avenue, but this was mine, sent to my own audience. Working with a dream team at Media Artists made it deeply satisfying. As Rahman says, Ella pughazhum iraivanuke (All glory be to God).

With Deva sir, it used to be folk. He would start a song and give me the freedom to go ahead and complete it. I did one song for Vidyasagar in ‘Jai Hind’. I never sang for Ilaiyaraaja sir, but for his film 'Paa', I handled drums along with three musicians from Geneva. He created the music with just four or five people. 

I was not aware that Minnal was such a big hit in Kerala. When Rafi spoke to me, I had already finished a Tamil film called Coolie. I got curious about the title Punjabi House for a Malayalam film. The story was hilarious with great scope for music . To me, Malayalam means melodies and rhythm. I was apprehensive because I don't have a history of Malayalam music's influence, but they were confident. I even used a song from Minnal, but with a different arrangement to suit the emotions of this film. That's how 'Eriyunna Karalinte' happened.

I think for older songs, the recall value is already there. Like R D Burman and Ilaiyaraaja's songs. And recall value comes from excellent lyrics. That's why I loved working with Kaithapram sir, Rameshan Nair sir, Girish Puthencherry sir — my favourite with whom I hung out a lot. Recall value is a result of many things like the way you sing it, the instruments used, voiceovers, etc. Saturday Night Fever's tune, the voice-over in Thriller, the guitar part in Hotel California... If it doesn't have a recall value, then it's not a song.

If someone is keeping the song alive, why not? I don't have a problem with remixes by itself, but I won't listen to them. The Hindi version of 'Humma' had some very different sounds, yet, we still relate to the original Tamil one. Products repackaged should have its own purpose. I don't care how well remixes are done. An original song is an original because it's organic. Remix means synthesising. What's your effort?

When I create songs for Telugu, Tamil, or Kannada audiences, there are always very subtle differences, even in the arrangement. One of the reasons I took up Punjabi House was because capturing the heart of the Malayali audience is really tough. They are very intelligent listeners. So, for me, coming from Tamil and managing to win over the Malayalam audience was really special. Tamil had already slotted me as a pop/rap singer. Malayalam cinema, in a sense, rescued me. It made a musician out of me.

I didn’t start off to be a pop singer, it just happened because I never said no, and that gave me a career by itself. I’m thankful for it, but that’s not the whole part of me. Malayalam cinema gave me the space to explore that other side. For instance, when I was working on Runway with Joshiy sir, after songs like 'Shaba Shaba', he asked why don’t we do a complete classical song and that's how 'Pulariyil' was born. When I composed it, everyone, including myself, was amazed. That’s the kind of opportunity the Malayalam industry gave me. I wouldn’t have had that anywhere else. I owe it to this industry.

My ad film background made me realise that the same melody line could work in Gujarati, Assamese, Telugu, or Kannada. So, I thought if audiences are ready to take advertising, why not in music? After all, we are speaking to the same people, influenced by the same musical traditions — Hindustani and Carnatic. As a drummer, I had already played with great fusion artists like Balamuralikrishna, Vikku Vinayakram, Thiruvarur Bakthavathsalam, and L Subramaniam. So, classical influences were always part of me.

I always loved the hybrid voice in songs where I can bring in live musicians. Today, songs last very less because everything is synthetic and programmed. Longevity comes from live music. That’s why even today you can’t get anything close to Mozart. It was created by 200 live musicians. I call it 200 hearts. Here, it’s one composer with one heart asking the robot to keep doing something. I think the universe is so angry, it says, “Enough, I have got AI coming in. You can take a break (laughs).”

I take my words back. AI is fast and it’s the future. Even to be a great prompt engineer, you need to be a good musician. You must know what you want. If you tell AI, create a birthday song in a Hindustani raga, it will do it. But do you understand what it created? That said, I, too, made a song in AI just to experiment. I cried listening to it. It was powerful. I wanted to tell myself that I created it, but I know I didn’t. That’s not how music works. 

No…there are a lot of young guys as well. I have taught students who are interested in live music, jazz and stuff like that. Even when you ask them about making money or a career, they prefer doing this. I call it a spiritual path. There are people who go to church every Sunday, but some visit the Himalayas. Both are spiritual. When we thought Ilaiyaraaja was it, suddenly there happened to be a 26-year-old guy (Rahman) who just came and blew us all away. So, there will be the next one. 

Lots of them. I still think Yuvan (Shankar Raja) is doing a great job, Anirudh, Devi Sri Prasad, Thaman, Sushin (Shyam)... In Hindi, you still have Shankar–Ehsaan–Loy and Pritam — don’t call them old; they are still young (laughs). There is a lot of music being created, and no doubt each composer is offering the best of what they have. Even among singers, I am a big fan of Arijit Singh. After growing up listening to legends like Kishore Kumar and Sonu Nigam, we never expected someone that talented to come along. Then this kid came out of the blue and just stole my heart. He’s my go-to when I want to listen to something. There will always be someone new because, as they say, change is the only constant.

India is not just catching up, we are there. I remember when performing for 3,000 people it felt like a huge crowd. Today, it’s 30,000. I went to Dubai with Rahman and saw a crowd of 100,000 — all Indians. We have come a long, long way. Indian music is getting bigger crowds even abroad. 

I have been doing stage shows regularly, but not all of them are large shows. Some are small, where I play jazz which attracts a different kind of audience. When I play rock, it’s another crowd altogether. And film music brings a different set of audience. I really want to do something specifically in Malayalam. I feel I owe it to the Malayalam audience. Especially after Ravanaprabhu and seeing that crowd, I want to be part of that energy.

I really want to experience the Kerala audience in person. It made me think, what if we brought songs from Thenkasipattanam or Ravanaprabhu, along with the original musicians who played them, and performed live for today’s receptive audience?

Many times. The feeling of being stuck can come without any reason. It’s not always like, “Oh, I didn’t get a movie, so I feel sad.” Sometimes you have a movie and still feel sad. I think contentment comes when you stop being too harsh on yourself. It’s okay to lose or walk away or take time. After ‘Mr Marumakan’, I felt caught in a loop, doing the same thing. I decided to step back — to evolve. I went into teaching and started my own studio. When money becomes the focus, you lose out on life. Life should come first. 

I run a music school in Bengaluru. I also had a stint as a ‘professor’ at a university for almost a year. I want to experience everything. That's what life is for me. There are certain people who are created to stick to one place and grow, but not me. I am now here because of Ravanaprabhu. Had I been in the same place for 25 years, you guys wouldn't have called me here. So, there is a certain time. Sometimes a song takes time to grow like slow burn. That's how my life has been.

Rap has a lot of energy, and today’s youth have plenty of it. It’s a form of music that’s very expressive. Lyrics matter in rap. Rap is basically slave music, and it existed in India even without lyrics, like ‘Konnakol’. Today, it’s mainstream internationally. Even the Grammys weren’t ready to recognise rap for a long time, but now it’s recognised worldwide. You can do a lot of good with it because people listen. It has that power. People remember the lyrics.

That song was for a mother, and the story was heart-wrenching. When I sang it to producer Ravi Kottarakkara, he was in tears, even before the lyrics were written. Once the lyrics were done, we recorded everyone together. One metronome, no breaks, rehearsing over and over. The musicians elevated the song, and Jayachandran’s voice made it immortal. It was surreal to watch the doyens of Malayalam cinema featuring in that song. Certain songs, you just know they’ll last. Malayalam lyrics are deep, never frivolous. Even when we did frivolous songs, we kept them frivolous; they worked.

Swarnalatha was an extraordinary singer who always gave me more than I ever expected. Her voice, expression, and understanding of the song exceeded all expectations. There was nothing beyond music for her; she lived and breathed it. Her ability to convey deep emotions in every song was extraordinary.

With SPB sir, it was like a professor-student relationship. He was accessible, grounded, encouraging, warm, and frank. He knew exactly what he wanted, and I followed his lead. His pitch is flawless. Those days, singers like SPB sir, Swarnalatha, Chithra, Sujatha were all pitch-perfect. No pitch correction, no cutting or pasting. They rehearsed, perfected, and delivered.

I never recorded Yesudas ji in person. I would send him my track, and he'd send his rendition back. What correction can I suggest? It’s Yesudas singing! If SPB sir was the professor in the classroom, Yesudas ji was the principal. Both were masters in their own way. I wanted him to sing as much as possible, but I understood that wasn’t always feasible. Still, whenever he sang, his voice added unmatched depth and emotion. His phrasing, control, and south Indian flavour gave every song a distinct and divine character.

Malayalam, definitely. Malayali audiences gave me the freedom to experiment and fully express myself. They accepted new ideas and allowed me to explore my creative side. In Tamil, producers sometimes expect a particular style, which can limit my melodic opportunities. Malayalam gave me the space to innovate, and that became a lifeline for my creativity.