Kerala voters badly missed humour in election speeches, then Salim Kumar happened
Across Kerala, election speeches have taken on a serious, often aggressive tone, with candidates focusing on governance, allegations, and ideological divides. Exchanges between rival camps are frequently sharp and personal, leaving little room for levity.
Across Kerala, election speeches have taken on a serious, often aggressive tone, with candidates focusing on governance, allegations, and ideological divides. Exchanges between rival camps are frequently sharp and personal, leaving little room for levity.
Across Kerala, election speeches have taken on a serious, often aggressive tone, with candidates focusing on governance, allegations, and ideological divides. Exchanges between rival camps are frequently sharp and personal, leaving little room for levity.
Before memes and trolls shaped campaign pitches, there were leaders like Uzhavoor Vijayan. They spiced up stump speeches, tossing around zingers at will. In the campaign for the Kerala assembly election, speeches were devoid of humour; however, Salim Kumar was an exception. In an election season dominated by sharp rhetoric, calculated messaging, and high-stakes political positioning, he drew attention for campaign speeches laced with satire, wordplay, and irreverent humour, even as they stir controversy.
“I just have one thing to say to the Chief Minister of Kerala, don’t go and put your head into a tiger’s den,” Salim Kumar quipped at a recent rally, immediately setting the tone for his signature style. Campaigning for a political party he openly supports, the actor has leaned into his comic instincts, turning political commentary into performance. His speeches were peppered with exaggeration, cultural references, and playful jabs, often eliciting laughter from crowds more accustomed to combative slogans than comedic relief.
The contrast with the broader campaign landscape is stark. Across Kerala, election speeches have taken on a serious, often aggressive tone, with candidates focusing on governance, allegations, and ideological divides. Exchanges between rival camps are frequently sharp and personal, leaving little room for levity.
Against this backdrop, Salim Kumar’s remarks felt almost anachronistic. At one rally, he invoked a past political episode involving VD Satheesan and Thomas Isaac, reimagining it with a comedic twist. Recalling how Satheesan once challenged Isaac during the Santiago Martin lottery controversy, he joked that if Pinarayi Vijayan were to engage similarly now, he might be made to write “Hrithik Roshan” with his nose instead of “Dhritarashtra.”
This recalls an earlier era of Kerala politics, when public meetings were as much about engagement as they were about ideology. Political commentator George Pulikkan reflects on a time when wit, humour, and clever messaging made campaigns entertaining as well as competitive. During the tenures of K Karunakaran and E K Nayanar, campaigns often had a playful edge, and leaders used humour, anecdote, and wordplay to connect with voters in ways that lingered long after speeches ended. Today, Pullikkan observes, political messaging has grown overly serious, often leaning on religion as a tool, even though voters show little interest in such tactics.
Pulikkan shares several anecdotes that illustrate the charm of these older campaigns. In one memorable instance, Karunakaran consoled a candidate from his own party after an electoral loss. He explained that the defeat wasn’t really a reflection of failure: most people in the constituency knew the candidate well, and they ended up voting for the opponent, while those familiar with the opponent voted for him. “In a way, you haven’t really lost,” Karunakaran reassured the candidate.
Humour in campaigns also came in more creative forms. During the 1977 election in Adoor, a wall graffiti for Kerala Congress (B) candidate Mathew Muthalali became the talk of the town. It read: “Muthalalitham avasanippikkan Mathew Muthalalikku vote cheyyuka”, loosely translating to “Vote for Mathew Muthalali to end capitalism.”
Some campaign moments bordered on the cinematic. In the 1970 election, K J Chacko, contesting in Changanassery, was stopped by two young men claiming a woman had fainted and needed a ride to the hospital. Trusting the urgency, the candidate and his team obliged, only to discover that the couple had staged the scenario to catch the evening show at Popular Theatre. The episode became a humorous footnote, illustrating both the unpredictability of election days and the patience required of candidates.
Even in the 1987 elections in Pathanamthitta, held shortly after the formation of the district, political humour played a subtle role. K K Nair, regarded as the father of the district, contested as a UDF independent against Kottara Gopalakrishnan of Congress (S) in the LDF. Amid rising tensions over the Babri Masjid issue, BJP graffiti read: “Ramjanmabhoomi is not a matter of dispute.” Drawing inspiration from this style, the UDF painted: “K K Nair is not a matter of dispute,” cleverly targeting the opponent while engaging the electorate with wit.
Salim Kumar’s campaign style evokes this lost tradition. At rallies, his satirical twists, cultural references, and playful barbs recall a time when humour was an accepted and effective tool in politics. Yet, the reception to his approach has been far from uniformly positive. At a UDF convention in Paravur, the actor courted controversy with remarks suggesting that those who claim Kerala has developed should be sent to a mental health centre. He extended the comment into a satirical anecdote involving a remark by the Chief Minister, but the analogy drew criticism for trivialising mental health. The National Platform for the Rights of the Disabled (NPRD) filed a formal complaint with the Election Commission, seeking action against the actor.
Professor of Psychiatry at the Government Medical College, Dr Mohan Roy, also criticised Salim Kumar’s remarks, saying they were insulting to the mentally ill.
Salim Kumar has since clarified that the individuals mentioned in his anecdote were not real, and maintained that he would apologise only if someone identified themselves as being referenced. The explanation has done little to quell the debate, with critics arguing that humour in political spaces carries responsibility, particularly when it touches on sensitive subjects.
Other remarks have also drawn mixed reactions. At a cultural event in Kozhikode, he quipped that even Prime Minister Narendra Modi might not receive as many calls as young people glued to their phones. On another occasion, he joked that Lionel Messi avoided visiting Kerala for fear his Ballon d’Or trophies might be stolen, a pointed critique of the ruling government.