Sreenivasan loved satire & soil, created 102 acres of organic farm on barren land

Kochi: On a cold December morning nearly four years ago, Manu Philip, an organic farmer from Ernakulam’s Kandanad and one of Sreenivasan’s closest companions in agriculture, walked into a paddy field at Kandanad just after 6 am. The sun had barely risen. A thick mist covered the crops, blurring the edges of the land. Someone was already there. 

From a distance, Philip assumed it was a farmhand or an early visitor. As he walked closer, the fog lifted enough to reveal a familiar face. Sreenivasan stood in the field, dressed simply in a T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, inspecting the crops as if he had always belonged there.

“He smiled and asked me why I was late. Then he stepped into the slush and began checking the plants,” Philip recalled.

For Philip, that moment summed up a side of Sreenivasan the world rarely saw, not the actor or writer who reshaped Malayalam cinema, but the farmer who found purpose in soil.

For decades, Kerala knew Sreenivasan as the man who held up a mirror to society. His films forced audiences to laugh at their own hypocrisies about power, politics, class, and false morality. But away from sets and scripts, he began working on something far more personal - reclaiming land, food, and health. 

It began with an observation that was typically Sreenivasan - sharp, unsettling, and compassionate. He saw a disturbing paradox in “God’s Own Country” where hospitals were multiplying while paddy fields vanished; food became more dangerous even as healthcare expanded.

“We are building multi-speciality hospitals because we have forgotten the culture that kept us healthy,” he once said, arguing passionately for pesticide-free farming. 

Unlike many celebrities who stop at words or public statements, Sreenivasan acted.

Around 2012, driven by his growing concern over food safety and sustainability, Sreenivasan moved to Kandanad near Kochi. Farming was not a hobby but it was the reason for his relocation.

That was when he sought out Manu Philip, already known locally for his work in organic agriculture.

“Sreeniettan came to my farm and spoke at length about natural farming. He firmly believed food itself is medicine. Using chemical pesticides was unacceptable to him,” Philip said.

In 2013, they began cultivating organic paddy on about 2.5 acres. What started as a modest experiment soon expanded, first into vegetable farming, then into large-scale agriculture that eventually spread across nearly 102 acres. 

Sreenivasan adopted Zero Budget Natural Farming, rejecting chemical fertilisers and pesticides altogether. According to Philip, he treated soil as something alive, damaged by years of neglect, and in need of care rather than exploitation. 

When warned that organic farming would not yield profits, he was unfazed. 

“The profit isn’t money. It’s that my children, friends, and people around me aren’t eating poison,” he would say. 

Philip said Sreenivasan was determined to prove that farming could still be viable, especially for the younger generation drifting away from agriculture. By combining modern machinery with organic practices, he helped revive paddy fields that had remained barren for decades. His farms produced rice varieties such as Jyothi, Uma, and the rare indigenous Kalladiyaran, along with all sorts of vegetables and sunflowers.

Later, he expanded into integrated farming, blending paddy cultivation with duck and fish farming to create a balanced, self-sustaining ecosystem. Until his health declined about three years ago, Sreenivasan remained deeply involved. 

“He was often more energetic than the rest of us. Sometimes he would plough fields on tractors himself,” Philip said.

The December morning Philip remembers best still stands out. “The field was covered in fog. It was very cold. I didn’t expect anyone to be there. And there he was, already working,” he said.

A childhood bond with farming
According to Philip, Sreenivasan’s passion for agriculture went back to his childhood. “Once I asked him why farming meant so much to him. He told me his father, though a teacher, loved farming. He used to take him to the fields and make him help. In return, he’d give him a little pocket money, which he spent on sweets. That early association never faded and eventually he grew fond of farming. He always wanted to be a farmer, even when cinema took over his life,” Philip said.

Sreenivasan’s farms were never just about produce. He organised local harvest festivals, encouraged farmers to shift to organic methods, and stood by them during losses. 

Abi M Raj, another farmer who worked closely with him since the beginning, remembers that reassurance. “Organic farming involves risk. Sometimes we faced heavy losses. But Sreeniettan was always calm. He told us not to worry and assured us things would change. He was like an elder brother to all of us,” Raj said. 

The vegetables and rice grown on his land continue to be sold from makeshift roadside stalls near his house, still in high demand. Until his health worsened, Sreenivasan himself could often be seen selling produce to customers.

Living what he preached
Sreenivasan’s environmental ethics shaped his life beyond the fields. He founded Sreeni Farms and the Jaivam Amritham brand to deliver pesticide-free vegetables and chemical-free fish directly to consumers, a sustainable model his sons continue today. He also established a dairy farm with indigenous breeds such as Kasaragod Dwarf and Vechur cows. 

Even his home reflected restraint and care. “He didn’t want trees cut. So the house was built without wood. Doors and windows are metallic. It runs entirely on solar power. The compound is full of fruit-bearing trees,” Philip said. 

In his movies, the common man often struggled to win. But in his fields, Sreenivasan ensured the common man won every time a seed sprouted, every time poison-free food reached a plate. As Kerala bids farewell to the actor, it also mourns a farmer who chose soil over spectacle, as he returns to the very soil he revered.