Recollections of P. Balachandran

It took the death of my own mother to understand how infuriating most expressions of sympathy feel.

For a long time, the only thing that helped to console my mind were various recollections of her presence. Her voice, her laugh, the fights we had, the opinions she offered. I realised that when someone dies, they only truly cease to exist when they are forgotten. So the obligation rests with those who remember to nurture and sustain their memories.

It was this experience of grief that led me to make a film some time ago, the subject of which is a son’s inability to understand the intrusiveness of his emotions after the loss of his father.

The father character was played by P. Balachandran.

When I woke this morning, I saw a text message saying that Mr. Balachandran had died. Soon, another came, then another. My Facebook feed filled with images of his face, variously serious, smiling, in character. I added my own contribution — a behind the scenes photo of him on set of my film, smiling his cheeky smile, long hair tousled wildly, mischief in his eyes.

—

I love the film culture in Kerala, which is why I author work in the context of the Malayalam industry. But I am not a Malayalee and I have limited knowledge of the Malayalam cinema scene. That made trying to cast my film, which is in Malayalam, rather difficult. I simply didn’t know enough actors or how to find them.

My cinematographer suggested I talk with a fellow called P. Balachandran, whom he felt would be good for one of the lead roles. I Googled him; a cute looking elder gentleman. Had written some scripts and acted in a few films, apparently. We spoke on the phone and struggled to communicate effectively — my fault, not his, as his English was fine and my Malayalam non-existent. Somehow, I arranged to meet him at his house in Vaikom.

When I arrived, he warmly welcomed me inside. We discussed the outlines of the project in which I was seeking to cast him. He tied a towel on his head to get a feel for the role he’d be playing. I ate sweets made by his lovely wife. He told me about some screenplays he was writing. He was confident, humble and kind.

He never questioned my competence, my vision, or indeed the foolishness of a foreigner trying to make a film in Malayalam. He seemed curious and perhaps slightly amused. I can only assume that’s why he agreed to act in my film.

—

Once Mr Balachandran committed to the project, I continued to plan the shoot. When people found out he was to act in it, I began to understand who he was.

In my shameful ignorance, I had failed to realise that I had cast a legend of Malayalam theatre, literary and cinema circles in my little film. How humble he had been with me, and how foolish I felt.

—

The shoot started smoothly. Mr Balachandran arrived towards the end of the first day, as he didn’t have much to do until the next. But he was there, on set, observing, chatting, being adored. He was like our very own celebrity. I think most of us couldn’t believe our luck.

That night, dialogue translator Sreejith, artist Dhanil Krishna, Mr Balachandran and I huddled in his hotel room to go over the next day’s scenes. We read the dialogue together. As we worked our way through the pages, Mr Balachandran switched seamlessly into critic mode. He picked apart the lines, the intent behind them, their expression, and wondered whether they could be improved. He offered strong suggestions, some of which were accepted and some not. In both cases he collaborated with grace. It tickles me no end that some lines in my film were, in part, authored by him.

During the second day’s shoot, everyone was constantly huddling around him.

Mr Balachandran, it seemed to me, wasn’t just a teacher by profession, he was also one by temperament. Between shots, as I worked with the crew on our next setup, I would occasionally check on him. He would invariably be teaching something, his pupil most often sitting on the ground in front of him, listening intently as kind words were shared.

This, my first film, was my introduction to working with actors. And as anyone who has seen Mr Balachandran’s acting work knows, he was a damned fine actor. It was amazing to me that within a single take, as well as across takes and shots, he could summon such varied emotion, such a range of subtle expressions and feelings, with barely any direction from me. I don’t recall having to do a second take because of any issues with his work.

When our work was over, we had a small party at the hotel. Before joining, I spent a few minutes in Mr. Balachandran’s room filming some promo segments. Although he was tired (we all were), he did all that was asked of him and graciously suffered hugs from various members of cast and crew, all of whom were eager for their moment with him. He was bemused by the attention. Nodding towards me, he said: “You should be paying attention to him, he’s the director.”

No-one paid me any attention. Rightly so.

—

It took ages to complete the film. Mostly my inexperience. But it turned out really nicely. When it began to screen in festivals and win some awards, I reached out to Mr. Balachandran to keep him updated. Somehow, I did not find the time to visit and watch the film with him.

Before the film’s public release, I messaged Mr. Balachandran. There was no response. I tried a few more times and eventually talked with his son, who informed me that he had been taken quite seriously ill. After that, there were no updates, and I hoped he was recovering. I wrote to him the day before the film’s release. That email is reproduced below. I think it was too late. I never heard back.

—

I don’t share these recollections in an attempt to claim ownership over his memory. Many were closer to him. For all I know, I was a curious, brief, hopefully happy, perhaps quickly forgotten, detour on his long, distinguished career.

But my memories of him are fond. He was beautiful to work with. He was adventurous enough to give me a chance. He treated me, and everyone else, with kindness. I held his hand as we walked through a rice paddy. He was physically quite tiny and had a wicked smile.

And now he’s gone. Vale.

—

Dear Mr Balachandran,

I sincerely hope that you are convalescing comfortably and recovering well.

I just wanted to let you know that we’ve released our short film on YouTube today. Here is the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHfYasLRyaM

I hope that it pleases you.

Once you are able to receive visitors, I look forward to meeting you.

My deepest affection goes to you.

Julian.