Musically Yours - Srinivas(Singer)

So, for each of us, music is an inseparable part of life in one way or another. Sometimes we even create social media posts for our loved ones saying, “When I miss you, I listen to that song that reminds me of you—and then I miss you even more!” That’s how profoundly music shapes our experiences. Many of us have special keepsakes that make us feel proud to have lived during certain iconic individuals’ eras. I’m no exception, and I consider it a blessing just to have existed in the times of such great, greater, and greatest people. My list includes the “Musical Synonym” Shri M.S. Viswanathan, the brilliant scientist Prof. Umaa Shanker Raman, the mandolin maestro Amarar Srinivas, cricket legend Sachin (though I barely follow the sport, I’ll watch it for him), the incomparable poet Amarar Vaali, the ever-lively Vinay Ji, the remarkable Sujatha Sir, my all-time favorite “magical Stellar Musician” Srinivas Sir—known to me as Vasu Uncle—the celestial voice of Shri K.J. Yesudas, the soulful Chitra Ma, the splendid scientist Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, the writer of humankind Muthulakshmi Amma, the “Memory Master” Dr. Reddy, and so on. You may wonder why I haven’t put figures like H.H. Ravishankar or H.H. Parthi Sai Ram at the top. My apologies, but my limited spiritual knowledge has never let me write much about them, so I’ve placed them somewhere lower on my list.

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Let’s return to the “magical stellar Musician,” Srinivas Doraiswamy—or Vasu Uncle, as I affectionately call him. He kindly allowed me to address him informally, never insisting on “Sir.” He’s truly a marvelous figure in the music industry. Each time I hear him sing, I think he should have been born with a tag reading, “Musically Yours!” His soulful voice infuses listeners with a luminous energy. It’s pure bliss to hear him sing “Kadhal thaaimai irandu mattum, baaram enbadhey ariyaadhu!” or to smile at “Undhan Nizhalaruge oivugal eduthiduven…Idhu Kaadhal illai…Idhu Kaamam illai.” You can’t help shedding tears of pride when listening to “Mouname Unnidam, antha mounam thane azhagu.” This engineer-turned-musician has perfected every chord, pitch, and note so profoundly that you can’t help but fall in love with his music. If music were a religion, I’d listen to Srinivas every day.

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All of us have big dreams. Some of us never dare to chase them; others knock on the door of our dreams but don’t wait for that door to open. Still others, hurt by the thorns along the path, give up and merely daydream about what could have been. By contrast, Srinivas must have realized slippers exist for a reason. When thorns pricked his feet on his path, he persisted, determined to follow his dream. I always marvel at how his mind acts like a perfectly efficient reactor, generating a positive feedback loop under all conditions, offering us a flawless musical feast from t = 0 to t → ∞. (Yes, I’m referencing the chemical engineering and heat transfer principles from my college days.) He’s no ordinary man, that much is certain.

I read everything I can about this man who merges seamlessly with music, and I’m always struck by a glow of pride. Every interview I’ve watched or read shows him to be humble, down-to-earth, and wonderfully warm. I’ve even experienced his kindness firsthand—he has replied to or “liked” every little Facebook post of mine. Such simple, humane gestures speak volumes about him.

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There’s nothing quite like having a companion to enjoy Vasu Uncle’s music with, and I’m lucky to have an entire circle of friends who are fans. At the top of that list is my aunt, a sixty-five-year-old who loves hearing his songs nonstop. She can’t resist grabbing her phone to call me, shrieking in delight, “Hey Gaana, Sri is singing on ### channel—turn it on!” Without hesitation, I’ll snatch the TV remote from my bewildered dad (who probably thinks I’ve lost my mind). My aunt and I will stay on the phone until the program ends; even the commercial breaks are filled with our excited commentary about his gorgeous expressions. One of the most unforgettable interviews he did was with M.J. Shriram. Watching Srinivas sing, you can’t decide whether to listen or to watch; his facial expressions themselves are captivating. It’s a feast for the ears, eyes, and soul.

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I was around ten years old when Uyire was released. That’s when I first fell under the spell of Srinivas’s enchanting voice. Back then, I barely understood the lyrics; it was simply the pleasure of hearing such a fantastic voice. “Google God” or “Yahoo Upa Devatha” wasn’t an option, so we relied on All India Radio, “Pepsi Ungal Choice,” or local channels like “Manam Virumbudhey.” My grandmother—who had her own eclectic music tastes—would also join me, though she referred to him as “Srinivasan” (don’t ask me why!). She’d help me call the TV host to request his songs, and then she’d sit by my side until they finished playing.

Another partner in my musical obsession is my best buddy, Keats. I “infected” her with what we call the “Srinivas Syndrome” (and several other syndromes, to be honest). Whenever she has access to the internet, she heads straight to YouTube, searches for “Srinivas performances live,” “Srinivas songs,” “Timeless Classics,” and so on. She downloads them all just to flaunt her collection the next day—usually far surpassing mine.

Before Keats, my partner in mid/high school was Kavi, a fellow member of our “Srinivas Crush Club.” (We were young; forgive the phrasing!) Every recess would be spent chattering about Srinivas, trying to imitate how he sang this or that song, or debating who had the right lyrics. “Azhage Sugama” was the tune I always banked on, netting me plenty of chocolates. No math formula ever stuck to my brain quite the way that song did.

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Even now, each new album or track he releases can move me to tears—tears of pride. Some people we don’t know personally, yet they seem very close to our hearts. We offer them unconditional love, keep them in our daily prayers, and hold them in immense respect, whether or not they’re aware of it. For me, Srinivas is one of those rare people. Perhaps God realized not everyone can express love through music, or maybe even God needed someone to voice it, and thus Srinivas came into being. Early in his career, his name might not have caused an instant spark, but these days, just hearing “Srinivas” calls up a rush of adjectives in your mind: melodious, ardent lover of music, gifted musician, and so on.

If you’re feeling nostalgic or if this piece has given you the “Srinivas Syndrome,” grab your headphones, click on any of his songs, close your eyes, and you’ll be directly connected to a state of pure bliss.

Cheers and happy aMusi(KI)ng!

P.S. I’m not a “professional” writer, but I definitely write with passion. If acknowledgments are due, they go to the hero of this piece—Mr. Srinivas Doraiswamy—whose musical journey has given me so much to feel and to express. I also dedicate this post to all his fans across the globe.

(Pictures are snapshots from the Airtel Super Singer grand finale telecast on Vijay TV.)