Salim Kumar's philosophy of reality: A life lived in the shadow of mortality

For generations of Malayalis, Salim Kumar was the face of satire, humour, and unforgettable characters. Yet behind the comedian who made millions laugh stood a man deeply aware of life's fragility.

In his speeches and interviews, he rarely glorified success or fame. Instead, he spoke about mortality, suffering, poverty, human dignity, and the inevitability of death. He reminded people that life is temporary and that competition, ego, and pride lose their meaning when viewed against the certainty of our final destination.

Perhaps that is why his words often lingered longer than his punchlines. Whether recalling his mother's unfulfilled wish to wear a simple gold chain, reflecting on his own struggles, or speaking candidly about illness and loss, Salim Kumar consistently brought audiences back to realities many prefer to ignore. His humour was rooted in life as it is—not as we wish it to be.

In one of his recent interviews, Salim Kumar criticised the tendency of the younger generation to regard thoughts about death as negative.

"I would not knowingly harm even the smallest living creature. People often create difficulties for others in pursuit of personal gain because they behave as if they are immortal. If we truly understand that one day we will die, we would be less inclined to hurt or trouble anyone.

In fact, remembering our mortality is a positive thought. It teaches us to treat fellow human beings and all living creatures with kindness and consideration. When we keep in mind that life is temporary, we become more compassionate. But today, if someone speaks about death, people immediately label it as negative thinking. It is not negative at all," he said.

On another occasion, he summed up the uncertainty of life with characteristic simplicity: "Life unfolds like a screenplay written by someone else. No matter how many awards we win or how much recognition we receive, in the end, life can come to a close in an ICU."

Salim Kumar was also remarkably candid about his religious beliefs. He openly identified himself as a non-believer and atheist.

"I do not believe God exists. I no longer visit temples. Temples, churches, and mosques seem to require money. We cannot communicate directly with God; we need intermediaries such as priests and religious leaders. I cannot agree with that. From childhood, the concept of God is instilled in us. But after passing through the realities of life, I came to understand that God does not exist," he said.

His National Award win did not alter his outlook on life. Salim Kumar often said that receiving such a prestigious honour was no reason to think of himself as a great person. Significantly, it was after winning the National Award that he became increasingly vocal about social issues, embracing what he saw as the responsibility of an artist toward society.

One of his most significant contributions to Kerala society was his openness about his own health struggles. At a time when unscientific treatments and self-proclaimed healers enjoyed public acceptance, Salim Kumar spoke frankly about how he had fallen into the trap of quacks during a serious illness and how the experience affected his life. His testimony challenged not only his own misconceptions but also many of the unscientific beliefs that had long been celebrated under the banner of "alternative treatments."

In a society where even responsible celebrities have often promoted pseudoscience and quackery, the courage he showed in publicly rejecting such practices was remarkable. By making his own experiences a testimony to the importance of modern medicine, he rendered a valuable service to public awareness.

His philosophy was reflected not only in his words but also in the way he approached money. Salim Kumar never believed that wealth was everything.

He once revealed that the remuneration he received for acting in the film Achanurangatha Veedu was, in fact, a bank loan of one lakh rupees. During the film's production, which was passing through severe financial difficulties, director and friend Lal Jose approached him and asked whether he could somehow arrange one lakh rupees to keep the project moving.

To support the film, his wife Sunitha mortgaged their property documents at a local bank and secured a one-lakh-rupee agricultural loan. Salim Kumar later recounted the incident in his autobiography. After the film's release, he was repaid fifty thousand rupees. He chose to treat the remaining fifty thousand not as unpaid remuneration but as his personal contribution to the film's survival—a gesture that reflected his commitment to friendship and cinema over financial gain.

Some of his most touching reflections were about his mother.

"I was very young when my father passed away. Sometimes I feel that if it had been my mother who died instead of my father, I might not have been able to bear it. Even today, I can vividly remember my mother putting on a blouse and mundu and going out to cut grass and work for our livelihood.

Back then, she had two gold chains around her neck. She had carefully saved them to give to her daughters. In time, she gave both chains to them, and nothing remained around her own neck.

My elder brothers would often say, 'Once we get jobs, we'll buy a gold chain for Amma.' They eventually found employment, but the chain never came. I had no income at the time, yet I was determined that one day I would buy a chain for my mother.

After I got married, I asked my wife whether she would be willing to give a gold chain to my mother. She happily agreed, and together we gifted one to Amma.

My mother wore that chain for nearly twenty years. After her death, the same chain came back to me, and even today, I wear it around my neck."

Despite often being a polarising public figure, Salim Kumar maintained a striking tolerance toward criticism.

"I never criticise my critics. It is their right. I never abuse those who criticise me," he said.

Perhaps his philosophy of life is best captured in one of his simplest observations:

"Life, to me, is an excursion from the starting point of birth to the finishing point of death."

The idea of mortality was never far from his thoughts. When actor-director Kochin Haneefa passed away, Salim Kumar told the media that he would happily bid farewell to his friend because he, too, would soon return to the same abode.

He also once spoke about watching the song "Enthe Innum Vanneela" from the Malayalam film Gramophone, in which he played the character Thabalist Bhaskaran. Reflecting on the song years later during a television programme, he observed that almost all the actors who appeared in that sequence had since passed away, leaving him as one of the few surviving participants.

"Whenever I watch that song, thoughts about the reality of life's end come to me. It evokes reflections on the inevitability of death," he said.

In one of his most recent reflections, Salim Kumar admitted that he had begun consciously detaching himself from emotional attachments.

"I am careful to remain detached these days. I do not try to maintain very strong attachments with anyone. When we understand certain realities, we have to decide to stop loving people in the way we once did," he said.

To many, Salim Kumar will be remembered as a comedian of extraordinary talent and timing. Yet beyond the laughter was a man who constantly reminded people of life's impermanence. In an age obsessed with success, image, and accumulation, he remained preoccupied with the most fundamental truth of all—that every human journey begins at birth and ends in death.