നടന്ന ഒരു മനോഹര സ്വപ്നം

(Nadanna Oru Manohara Swapnam)
He was not just a performer—
he was an ordinary miracle,
a genius wrapped in simplicity,
a man whose humour always bowed
to humanity.
My memory of Srinichettan
is not from a screen.
He walked into my office in Dubai
one February afternoon,
the day before my birthday—
with my parents beside him
and Vimalachechy holding his arm,
two love birds,
unaware of the weight
the world had placed on them.
We spoke of sustainability—
homes that breathe,
technology that respects nature.
I saw the spark at once:
a curious, restless mind,
“DONE,” I said.

I laid down two simple rules—
not as control,
but as care.
And Srinichettan listened.
That became our quiet bond.
Like his commitment to truth, in his writing which was his നിലനിൽപ്പ്—(nilanilpu)
My diligence to honour any responsibility I accept.
Architect friend came from Delhi, ideas travelled,
But what stays with me
is not design.
It is their love.
They walked together.
Giggling, teasing, laughing—
like teenagers in love,
finding joy in ordinary moments.
They stayed with us for ten days.
Not luxury.
Fish curry mornings,
simple meals, laughter,
A home untouched by noise,
and nothing demanded.
The world will remember
his genius,
his humour,
his craft.
And it should.
I remember
the man who listened,
the artist who trusted ME

What we shared
was not a project.
It was നടന്ന ഒരു മനോഹര സ്വപ്നം—
a dream that walked into my life,
laughed with me,
ate at my table,
and now walks gently
into memory.
Forever

20th December 2025

I watched Ponmuttayidunna Thaaravu again,
and Nadodikkaattu—
and laughed till I became light,
as if joy loosened its grip on me.
I wasn’t watching a film.
I was walking with them—
singing, arguing, erring,
not the hero or heroine,
but everyone at once.
Srinivasan spoke—
plain, matter-of-fact.
When he romanced, I laughed;
he let me be my real, uncomplicated self.
A relay of lives passed through me,
one dialogue at a time.
Mohanlal only looked,
or touched, or held—
and suddenly the heart knew rhythm.
When he loved, I felt it.
When he cried, I wept.
That was the magic—
two men being themselves,
and letting us become them.
These films will outlive time
because they are not stories.
They are us—
simple, flawed, loving, human.
Srinivasan wrote life and teased it,
laughed at it, understood it—
a genius who gave us mirrors,
not heroes.
And Mohanlal—
he stepped into those mirrors
and made them breathe.
And above them all, the director—
the quiet master who held it together,
placing every moment just so,
turning life into cinema,
and cinema into something
picture-perfect and lasting.
That is why we return:
to feel light,
to feel love,
to feel alive,
to feel human—
to remember who we were,
and still are.     21st December 2025

“Randuperum agaatha premam… sathyam.
Pakshe Srinichettan premikkumbol nammal chirikkum;
Lal premikkumbol nammale thanne aanu premikkunnathennu thonnunnu.”