Sunnyy Vyas: I Imagine Every Dish Like a Song (RJ and Chef with 347K Followers)

 Sunnyy Vyas Interview

"I blend flavor, feeling, and frequency — because food and music both tell stories that connect us deeply."

1. Let’s start with your journey. How did your passion for both food and music take shape over the years?

Food and music weren’t introduced to me, they were always there, like breath. My mother was the hero of our home, the breadwinner, the warmth, the soul. As she stitched clothes to run the household, she’d keep the radio playing in the background. I once asked her, 'How do Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhosale fit into this tiny radio?' And with all the innocence in the world, she’d say, 'They turn tiny and sing from inside the radio.' That’s their magic. I believed that for years.

Music was stitched into the fabric of my growing years. And food? That came from our values. My mother had one dream- 'no one should ever sleep hungry', not just in our home, but even the neighbour’s. We didn’t have much, but she made it a point to cook extra rotis. Sometimes, we’d have only salt and oil with chapatis, but no one went to bed empty.

When I moved away for work at 20, she gifted me a small idol of Maa Annapurna and said, “You know how to cook. Now make sure no one around you sleeps hungry either.” That has stayed with me, through my radio days, through Covid when I helped people cook from scraps during lockdown, through feeding strangers and sending ration kits when they had none.

Food became my empathy. Music became my voice. And somewhere in between, I found myself.

2. You’ve been an RJ for over 15 years. How did that experience influence your personality and creativity today?

When I began RJing, it wasn’t about being a voice on the radio, it was about being someone’s morning friend, someone’s trusted update. Radio was the first screenless screen, before phones, before social media, and we were the voice people believed.

I started thinking radio was all about how you sound. But over time, I learned it’s about what you say, how you say it, and what it does to someone. It made me creatively disciplined. I never did recorded shows. My guru, Ravi Iyer, always said, “There’s fire in live radio.” That alertness when even your sneeze holds itself back for two minutes on-air shaped how I live and create.

I became a 'show prep monster.' If my show was at 7 AM, I was at the station by 5:30. I wanted to feel the pulse, breathe the city before I spoke to it. Each word was crafted, each emotion measured, not to manipulate, but to make people feel.  

And even off-air, it changed me. I still stop at red lights at 1 AM. Because I once spoke about it on-air. And I can’t betray my own words.

3. What inspired you to focus on vegetarian recipes specifically?

For me, food is energy. And I don’t mean it in a spiritual, woo-woo way. I mean it as a conscious choice.

In Sanatana Dharma, when someone dies, we perform Antim Sanskar, we do not marinate the body in spices and eat it. So why do we do that to other beings? I often say, 'My plate doesn’t carry anyone’s dead body or blood.'

We’ve evolved as humans, from fire to flight to AI. Shouldn’t our eating also evolve?

Vegetarianism, for me, is clean, conscious, and complete. And creativity thrives within it. People say, 'This sabzi is only made one way.' I say, 'Who told you that?' No vegetable has a single fixed recipe. If it tastes good, if it brings joy and that’s enough.

I often tell my followers- When you don’t know what to cook, just go to my page, click any reel, and that’s your meal.”

This isn’t about religion or forcing anyone. This is about awareness. The only food that truly nourishes us is the kind we’d offer to God.

4. Having worked in both the kitchen and the music industry, how do you balance such creatively demanding spaces?

I don’t juggle. I just prioritize.

Cooking, for me, is no different than making music. You start with an idea, gather ingredients, add layers; time, heat, colour, texture, and transform it into something soulful. It’s composition. It’s emotion. It’s therapy.

And while I don’t make music myself, I’m part of the artist journey from the business end. I help them navigate what’s right for them, not by judging, but by educating. Like in cooking, you can’t be rigid, you must understand flavour, timing, and audience.

The key? Passion. When I’m done cooking, the music business becomes my release. And when work is done, cooking becomes my meditation. They don’t pull me in different directions. They hold me in balance.

5. What’s one lesson from the music world that you’ve brought into your cooking?

Artists have a way of talking to their work. They question it, believe in it, doubt it, shape it. That’s what I learned.

When I cook, I do the same. I imagine every dish like a song, how will it look, feel, taste? Which spice will take the lead, which one will underplay? How will the texture feel in someone’s mouth? What should linger?

Just like an artist prays to Ma Saraswati before composing, I pray to Maa Annapurna. I ask her for ideas, for love in the food, for strength to give someone a better day through what they eat.

Cooking, for me, is not about perfection. It’s about presence. And when that happens, your food speaks, like a beautiful melody.

6. Mumbai is a city of flavors and rhythms. How has the city shaped your professional outlook?

Mumbai isn’t just a city I live in. It’s a city that happened to me,over and over again.

I’ve lived through moments that shaped this city’s history and my own. I walked past the 1993 bomb blast site between my school and home. I’ve seen burnt bodies, blood, and pain I never want any child to witness. I’ve been stuck in the 2005 floods, walking barefoot with bleeding feet from Churchgate to Borivali. I lost friends in the 26/11 attacks. I battled Covid twice.

But every single time the city, like me, stood up again. We both kept going.

Mumbai teaches you resilience without shouting about it. You ask yourself, 'What did I do today? And the city gently replies, 'Let’s try again tomorrow.

People say it’s expensive. I say it’s about choice. You can get idli for ₹1 or ₹1000, the city doesn’t judge. You want to live in a chawl or a skyscraper it’s all here. Mumbai is a buffet. You decide what you’re hungry for.

7. Many people struggle to turn passion into a profession. What advice would you give them?

Passion isn’t about talent or looks or voice or resources. It’s about truth. The truth that you know you have something worth pursuing.

Even if you love mopping floors someone turned that into an empire. Watching dramas? There are jobs in that too.

The problem is never passion. It’s permission. We wait for someone to say, 'Go ahead.' But most people don’t get it because it’s not their journey.

So my advice? Talk to yourself. Every day. For 10 minutes. No distractions. Just you. Then do this exercise: write 50 things about yourself in one sitting. It's not easy. I had to do it during my RJ training. By the time I got past 10, I struggled. But when I finished all 50, I truly saw myself.

Do that once. And then make every big decision based on those 50 truths. Add 10 more each year. You’ll never feel lost again.

8. As someone who's married and juggling multiple careers, how do you manage work-life balance?

I'm not very comfortable answering this question. But if you still want to keep it, here is my answer:

Honestly? I don’t juggle. I just live in balance.

Everything I do has its place. I don’t treat anything like a burden. I give time, energy, and attention to each role, and at the end, it all comes together like a well-conducted symphony.

Balance isn’t about being perfect. It’s about sorting things according to importance, and respecting your individuality.

I believe in walking parallelly with my partner, not getting tangled. Because once you get tangled, you need to detangle and sometimes that means breaking threads. But when you walk side by side, respecting each other’s paths, you don’t need to fix anything. I’m fortunate to have a partner who believes the same.

9. Is there a dish that tells your story? What’s the story behind it?

There are two.

First — Watermelon. Not because it’s a recipe, but because it holds a memory. I once sold a stitched piece of cloth my mother made sitting on the street, as a kid, and with the little profit I made, I bought a watermelon. It was a luxury for us.

I came home thrilled, thinking we’d all enjoy it. But I got beaten. Not out of anger but out of helplessness. My mom cried as she said, “₹30 could have fed us for four days.” That watermelon taught me value. Not of money, but of timing, of responsibility.

The second dish is Khichdi. Simple, nourishing, adaptable. It’s offered to gods and also made in the humblest homes. It never goes wrong, andit’s never intimidating, but always fulfilling. That’s how I see my life, a humble, heartfelt Khichdi.  

And I always say: the food you can offer to God is the food that will truly keep you well.

10. Fun one to end with, if you had to create a music track based on a recipe, what would it be called and why?

Before anything, I want to thank my parents and siblings. I grew up with them, sharing everything. Even a single ladoo was divided into six. That’s how I learned the value of food, of togetherness, of joy in simplicity.

Now, for the fun part, I wouldn’t need to create a food-based music track. Because someone already did.

The title track of the serial Khichdi is my anthem. It’s witty, warm, full of love and chaos, just like life and food. That show is my comfort watch, my go-to laugh, my downloaded therapy on every device I’ve owned.

It’s not just a song. It’s a reminder that the most powerful things in life are also the simplest.

Bio:

Sunnyy Vyas is a passionate voice in the world of food and music. A vegetarian food creator and music industry professional, he brings heart, heritage, and honesty to everything he does. With a background in radio, his storytelling bridges flavor, feeling, and frequency — always rooted in deep connection.

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Interviewed by: Anish Singh