In the Madras of the 1980s and part of the 1990s, if life could throw up a background score, it had to be Ilaiyaraaja. He was all pervading as his music seeped into your veins and blended with every upheaval, triumph, and adolescent quibble.
A college trip to Kodaikanal propped up on an overnight journey by Pandian Express and then a bus-ride up the ghats from Kodai Road Station would find Ilaiyaraaja as the accompanying friend, philosopher and guide. He was physically absent but his notes were a steady auditory presence. “Nila adhu vanathu mele” from Nayagan or “Raja rajadhi rajan indha raja” from Agni Nakshatram or “Nila kayum neram saranam” from Sembaruthi were all sung with gusto alongside a cassette player belting out these numbers in the bus. The trips may vary, once Ooty, another time Goa, but that one constant was Ilaiyaraaja’s music.
