Kochi: The news of Sreenivasan’s passing has reached Kerala like a heavy silence, leaving behind shock, grief, and an emptiness that words struggle to fill. For generations of Keralites, Sreenivasan was not just an actor or a filmmaker he was a mirror. With unmatched naturalness, he brought ordinary lives to the screen, making cinema feel less like performance and more like lived reality.
What set Sreenivasan apart was his honesty both in life and in art. He often said that he knew little about the lives of the elite. His world, and therefore his cinema, was shaped by the middle class he had closely observed. The anxieties, compromises, quiet dreams, and unspoken frustrations of ordinary families found a truthful voice through his scripts and performances. Malayalam cinema embraced this perspective wholeheartedly, recognizing in it an authenticity rarely seen before.
Sreenivasan also spoke candidly about his deep insecurity regarding his appearance. He never tried to hide the fact that he felt inadequate in a film industry driven by conventional ideas of beauty. He once admitted that this very sense of inferiority was publicly acknowledged at the state level and became a driving force behind films like Vadakkunokkiyanthram a work that transformed personal vulnerability into powerful storytelling. By turning his self-doubt into cinema, he gave countless viewers the courage to laugh at their own fears and confront them.
Reflecting on his entry into films, Sreenivasan revealed that cinema had not initially fascinated him. His dream was theatre. After failing to secure admission at the National School of Drama, he discovered an acting institute in Madras and joined it, believing that film training would at least support his theatrical ambitions. During an interview there, legendary director Ram Kariyat reportedly looked at him and bluntly suggested that he was not suited for cinema, judging by his appearance. The discouragement was sharp, but Sreenivasan chose persistence over defeat, continuing his studies with the simple belief that learning would never go waste.
Years later, when Sreenivasan received a director’s award named after Ram Kariyat himself, the moment carried a quiet irony. He later recalled laughing at the memory not in bitterness, but with the gentle humour that defined his outlook on life.
Awards, however, were never his pursuit. Sreenivasan repeatedly said that he made films for his own peace and happiness, not for recognition. For him, cinema was a space to speak honestly, to observe society, and to make sense of human contradictions through humour and compassion.
Today, as Malayalam cinema bids farewell to one of its most truthful voices, what remains is a legacy rooted in sincerity. Sreenivasan may be fading from the screen, but the middle-class lives he immortalized, the insecurities he normalised, and the laughter he used to tell uncomfortable truths will continue to live on quietly, deeply, and forever.