Monique A Journey of Music, Mentorship, and Finding Her Voice

Pic Courtesy Monique

Q Tell me about your childhood and how music became a part of your life.

Music was always in my life. I think it came from the family. Like most kids, I grew up listening to the records my parents played—singing along to those same songs. But from a very young age, I was drawn to the stage. I just loved performing.

 

Absolutely. I started ballet when I was around three or four years old. My ballet teacher was Aunty Deanna. My mum was in a jazz group at the time, and she used to take me along to her classes. I’d watch, fascinated, and want to do the same. That’s where the desire to be on stage began—not just singing, but performing in general. I found joy in it, maybe even more than the audience did!

 

Very much so. My mum was a dancer, a speech and drama teacher, and a directress. She was immersed in the creative arts, and I think I inherited that passion from her. But she was also very strict—education always came first. Even though I knew by 15 or 16 that I wanted a career in performance, I had to finish my studies first.

 

Holy Family Convent.

 

Yes, at one point I wanted to be a lawyer. But after my A-Levels, I studied

journalism and specialised in television journalism. That led me to an internship at YA TV, where Dilip Gabadamudalige was the Music Director. I’d finish my assignments as quickly as I could, just to sneak into the music room and watch him work. Eventually, I started singing with him—and that’s how my professional journey began.

 

I performed jazz with Dilip for about five months, but I wanted more. So I joined a band called Ultimate. I stayed with them until the band dissolved. After that, I moved into radio—Radio One initially, which later became Prime Radio under ITN. Eventually, I joined Gold FM in 2011. During this time, music took a backseat as I focused on my radio career.

 

In 2013, completely unexpectedly. I met Sunil Perera at Blue Water during a Sunday buffet. He recognised me and asked if I still sang. I said yes, though I hadn’t performed in a while. He gave me his card and asked me to call the next day. True to his word, the very next day, he sent over music files and recordings for me to learn.

 

It really was. I thought it was just a temporary gig for the season, but when I asked him if I was done after December, he looked at me and said, “Why would I be practising with you if it was temporary?” That’s when I realised—I was in. I joined the Gypsies on 30th November 2013.

 

A huge learning experience. He was more than a band leader—he was a mentor.

He never tried to change me; he celebrated my uniqueness. He always pushed me forward, gave me the stage, the spotlight. He appreciated all genres and had a vision for the band that included elegance and versatility.

 

Completely. I was never made to feel like I was stepping on anyone’s toes. He wasn’t threatened—he encouraged me. I remember a gig in Manchester where most of the crowd was white, unfamiliar with the Gypsies. He said, “Go. Take over.” He believed in me.

 

He became Uncle Sunil to me. Not because of age, but because of the care he showed. He took time to talk to us, guide us—not just professionally but personally. He wanted us to grow as people. That’s rare.

 

Devastating. He had returned home from hospital, and we all assumed he was recovering. Then, one day, I got a call from an unknown number. It was him. His voice was weak and frail—so different from the booming voice we all knew. I didn’t recognise it at first. That call shook me.

 

It was a challenge. We all had to step up. We released a tribute track called Sunil Aiyya on his first death anniversary. We moved from being supporting artists to front-liners.

The industry also changed post-COVID—there were more gigs, more work. The band found its rhythm again.

 

Yes. I felt I had been part of a band for long enough. It was time to create my own legacy. I didn’t want to grow old with regrets. I stayed on longer than planned, but eventually, on 1st November 2024, I left.

 

That’s a whole new chapter... one that’s just beginning.