Mala Aravindan gifted us the luxury of uninhibited laughter. He himself kept on laughing, until death.
“I am not sad about getting fewer films or jealous about others getting more,” he once told me. “I asked for a handful but god gave me by the cartload.”
I had a role to play in Mala’s career in cinema. I shared it only recently. A play featuring Mala, Kuthiravattom Pappu and Nellikode Bhaskaran was staged at Manaloor near my house. I was then an assistant director with Dr Balakrishnan. After watching Mala’s performance, I recommended him to Dr Balakrishnan, who cast him in his next film. We became really close after that.
I was always amused by his affinity to family. If the role demanded many days away from home, he would accept it only if he were allowed to go home frequently. He could not be away from home for more than a fortnight. Everyone in the set knew of Mala’s wife and children. He shared everything. He would be constantly worried even if his child had a slight fever. For him family was as big as cinema.
He could bring in his own style to any role. This style became the winning factor for many movies. It was not easy to establish such a signature in the days dominated by Adoor Bhasi, Pattom Sadan and Bahadoor. An axis of Jagathi Sreekumar, Pappu and Mala followed that era. Mala has acted in fewer films than the other two. But he never complained. In fact, he recommended them for many roles.
His first vehicle was a motorbike. He called it Geetha, his wife’s name. He would ride to the shooting set in Shornur from Mala. Whenever he came without the motorbike, his colleagues would ask, “Malachetta, you didn’t bring Geethachechi?”
Mala did not snatch away anyone’s roles. He was happy with what he got. And he made others happy. He insisted on living in his village, Mala. Maybe he was a model when I took a similar decision to stay on in Anthikkad.
He played the tabla well. The sense of rhythm helped him in his acting career and life. A happy life without missing a beat. Isn’t that enviable?
