Venu Chettan always used to joke about the chronic depressive roles that we two used to land quite regularly.
‘’What is this, it seems that we have time only to cry. I don’t think we will be saved from such roles any time soon,’’ he used to say and the entire set would burst out laughing. That was the time we used to do a lot of films together, mostly as star-crossed lovers.
I always felt comfortable on the sets if Venu Chettan was around. He was such a sweet person and was always concerned like a big brother. I had a good rapport with him. At a time when I was just starting out, it meant a lot to have someone who offers ease and comfort.
I don’t have an elder brother, so during childhood I used to think that if I had an elder brother he would have called me Jelu. Strange though it may sound, chettan used to call me Jelu right from Ulkadal, our first film together. I still vividly recall the picturisation of the song ‘Oru Vattam Koodiyen Ormakal Meyunna ...’ in the film Chillu.
The location was the museum premises in Thiruvananthapuram. I was doing third-year BA privately and was also getting a lot of film offers. I had my feet on two boats. I found it hard to keep concentrating on both. In between shots Venu Chettan kept telling me not to drop out of studies. He kept goading me and saw to it that I completed my post-graduation.After I married and settled outside, I did not have regular contacts with him for a long time. But I was surprised when he came to my house after the death of my mother last July. I had not called him up to convey the news. He came after reading about the death in the newspapers. As he walked towards me smiling that sweet smile of his, I felt something was wrong. He could not walk properly and looked very frail. That was the first time I came to realise that he was ailing. That gesture of his touched me, it meant a lot to me.
He was in pain but still he took the trouble to come and meet me. I couldn’t thank him enough. Last time I saw him was on August 31, just before I came back to Bahrain. I went to see him in the hospital in Thiruvananthapuram with my daughter. His wife, Meera chechi, and son were there.
He had turned weaker. Meera chechi seemed to suggest that even doctors have lost hope. I sat with him for over an hour. When I was about to leave I held his hands and told him I would come back and meet him at his home. He didn’t speak, just held my hands and looked at me. His eyes seemed to say he didn’t believe what I said.