As a diehard music fan, the emptiness that results from passing of singers and musicians is a painful experience personally. The loss is tough to bear. I remember being downcast when Covid snatched away the versatile S P Balasubrahmanyam.  Prayers of innumerable fans for his recovery from clutches of the dreaded virus were in vain.

A similar sinking feeling overcame music lovers in Kerala when P Jayachandran, known for his unique style of pitch and notation-perfect singing, which did justice to emotions and sentiments the lyrics meant to express, left us on January 9 2025. His passing wasn’t entirely unexpected, as he had been ailing for a while. But, when such gifted luminaries actually leave us, unbelief makes the void too hard to bear.

 The irrelevant and inevitable question, ‘who will substitute him, or her’ which defies an answer soon renders the sound of silence that shrouds the loss louder.  

Jayachandran’s passing came as a rude shock to me as I chanced upon him a few days before advanced cancer had its last laugh. He was admitted to the ICU I work after an operation to fix a fractured hip bone. He occupied the bed to the left of my designated station in the ICU, with a curtain separating us.  I couldn’t believe the presence of the man on whose songs rendered mellifluously and uniquely I grew up on, was lying next to my chair in the ICU, recuperating from an operation.

I chose not to disturb the man who had just been operated, as I left the ICU that evening. The next morning, I found an alert rotund man, with the characteristic pigeon beak-shaped nose, and a moustache curled up at either ends, and reasonably comfortable sitting on his bed after the physiotherapists had ambulated him.

Finding him in a receptive mood, I decided to strike conversation with him. Aware of the short fuse and unpredictable temperament the man was believed to possess, I spoke to him with great deal of trepidation. I tested the waters by sharing my views on the general deterioration of film music in terms of lyrics and music, which he agreed to readily. As we discovered commonality between us on the subject of music, we discussed his songs, especially his more famous ones. Egged on by nurses, and aided by YouTube he even crooned a few lines of some of his famous songs, with a smile despite the discomfort of an operation he had gone through the other day.

He spoke in superlatives about the superior singing qualities of his senior contemporary, KJ Yesudas. To quote him, ‘Yesudas is music, and vice versa’. He waxed eloquent about Devarajan Master, Dakshinamoorthy Swami, Ragavan Master, Arjunan master, MS Vishwanathan, MS Baburaj, and Salil Chowdhuri, Mollywood’s music directors of yesteryears, and poets whose lyrics had inspired those directors to create gems from. He had thousand tongues for Mohammed Rafi, and many other singers, and directors from other Indian languages who he adored. He spoke in superlatives about M Jayachandran, the contemporary music director in Malayalam.   I appreciated his generosity, and the musician in him.

Personally, the highpoint was when we sang together few lines of the Tamil song mounam polum madhuram a duet he sang with S Janaki for Sagara Sangamam in 1984. I was over the moon. I couldn’t believe I had crooned with the legend.

By the time I left for home after work, he requested for a photograph with me the next day, which I agreed to unhesitantly.

On the next day he was shifted to his room. He had recovered well after surgery that he no longer needed to be in the ICU. When he waved me goodbye as he was wheeled out of the ICU on a trolley, I never imagined that I will never see him again. The ICU door closed behind him and on the unique opportunity I had to take a picture with a legend who spun music magically without formal musical training. I gathered he might have forgotten about the offer to pose for a photograph with me in the excitement of joining his family in his room. I could have cashed the offer he had made to pose for a photograph with me by visiting his room after he recovered completely from the operation.

But I chose not to, as I didn’t want to disturb him. Moreover, I wasn’t sure if one of my favorite musicians would be in his obliging self and temperament when I approach him for a photograph. I later learnt about his discharge from the hospital. A few days later, he was gone. As did the opportunity to pose with him for a photograph which I would have cherished as my most-prized possession.