Tamil music had already reached its pinnacle with some extraordinary compositions by stalwarts like M. S. Viswanathan and Maestro Ilaiyaraaja. Their music continued to resonate with young and old minds and hearts alike. There was no visible vacuum, nor was there any obvious space waiting to be filled by a new music composer.
Then came 1992.
I had just completed my 12th grade when a cousin of mine handed me a cassette of Roja and said, “A new music director has scored the music. Just listen to it.”
I put the cassette into my National Panasonic two-in-one and pressed play.
Much like the experience of smelling an exquisite perfume, you can never quite explain what you experienced, but you know the magic has happened. That was precisely what happened to me at the age of 17 when I listened to A. R. Rahman’s music for the very first time.
Having spent five years in a hostel, Rahman’s releases for films such as Thiruda Thiruda, Kadhalan, Gentleman, Kizhakku Cheemayile, Pudhiya Mugam, May Madham and Karuthamma during the mid and late 1990s helped us survive the otherwise monotonous years of B.Sc. Chemistry.
Among the very few people in our hostel who owned a powerful speaker system, I was one. Rahman’s cassettes would play on an endless loop. I honestly cannot remember a single one of his releases that I did not buy.
And then there were the college culturals. Whenever I stepped onto the stage to dance, it was almost always a Rahman number. From Urvasi Urvasi to Andha Arabi Kadaloram to Usilampatti Penkutti!
Such was the mesmerising magic he cast on young minds.
Of course, Ilaiyaraaja, Deva and Vidyasagar continued to churn out some wonderful music. But to suggest that Rahman’s arrival did not give them a serious jolt would be an outright lie.
Rahman, of course, did not enjoy the same level of commercial dominance in Bollywood as he did in Tamil cinema. Later, he won an Oscar for a Hollywood film, taking his name far beyond Indian shores and making him an internationally celebrated Indian musician, perhaps even more widely recognised outside Tamil Nadu than within it.
He became so famous that even North Indians troll him today! And honestly, I loved his response when he said, “If you want to make everyone happy, go sell ice cream.”
A. R. Rahman was never just another music director. He was a phenomenon, the kind that happens perhaps once in a lifetime.
Even today, not a single day goes by without my listening to at least one of his songs. And whenever I buy a new speaker, headphone or music system, the first song I play is Chandralekha from Thiruda Thiruda.
Some musicians entertain you. Some musicians accompany you through life. And then there are a rare few whose music becomes inseparable from your memories.
For me, A. R. Rahman belongs to the third category.
Long live A. R. Rahman!