This story is from March 26, 2015

Lissy remembers actress Sukumari

Lissy remembers actress Sukumari
There has not been a single day in last two years after I lost Kukuma —and the film world lost actor Sukumari — that she was not missed.
But I didn’t cry when they told me that she was gone. For, somewhere deep inside, I wanted her to fly away to a world of no pain and worries; where there is only love and happiness. She was a godsend for me. From the first time she touched my hands on the sets of Ithiri Neram Othiri Karyam till the real farewell touch inside the ICU of a Chennai hospital, Kukuma’s love always insulated me from everything.

Through the roller-coaster zoom of life, she, at some difficult turn, became my real mother. She gave me a sense of self-esteem. She moulded my thoughts and feelings. She taught me to respect the world.
Once I was cursing the cumbersome procedure of filling up an income tax form. She smiled and said: “Look at it this way. There are not too many 17-year olds paying income tax in this country. So be proud of yourself.’’
But I realized the cocoon effect of her love three years later when I faced a huge crisis in my personal life. Kukuma took me home and gave me strength to stand on my own feet. She helped me rebuild my career. I never felt an outsider in that hearth.
She would wait for me to return from shoots till late night. In the mornings she made sure that none disturbed my sleep by playing a song or speaking aloud. But I ignored her warnings and did the stupidest act which cost me my life and career. And this still remains my biggest regret.

She allowed me a special place in her heart too. I was the one whom her family would run to when they had to convince her to do something. Kukuma wanted to go to Delhi to receive the National Award for the best supporting actress for her role in Namma Gramam. But her son Dr Suresh was against it given her health condition. Kukuma had just undergone a heart surgery. “You are the only one who can convince her,” Suresh said. I sat next to Kukuma, put my hands on her shoulder and whispered: “We don’t want you to risk it. There will be another time.”
Her head drooped. I could see teardrops splattering on the mosaic floor even as she nodded. Her look through the film of tears still haunts me. Should I have let her go?
It was a similar pain that I noticed, when her welled up eyes pleaded to me inside that chilly, sanitized ICU where she battled for life. “This pain is unbearable. Please ask them to kill me...,” Kukuma begged of me.
I didn’t know what to say. She was writhing in pain. I cried aloud while driving back. Like they say, a crisis makes you think of venturing out to attempt the impossible. For some reason, I began to think that Chief Minister J Jayalalithaa would be able to get Kukuma the best treatment at that point.
My next effort was to inform Amma about Kukuma’s condition. Without thinking twice, I dialled Kamal Haasan’s number. “Sir, I need your help... I want inform Jayalalithaa ma’am about Kukuma’s accident and her condition,” I said. Within an hour, Kamal Haasan managed to get me an appointment with Cho Ramaswamy. From then on, things started moving at a quick pace. The chief minister’s office contacted me within a few hours. The next day, Suresh called and said Amma herself was visiting the hospital. Till then, we had no idea how close they were. Who knows, Kukuma may have been a mother-figure for Amma too. The love and concern I saw in the eyes of Jaya madam when she spoke to a team of doctors said it all. “This soul is precious. You have to ensure that we don’t lose her. Whatever it costs, I will pay from my pocket,” Amma said in her calm, but firm voice. This was an instance that showcased that latent quality of Kukuma — she never flaunted her clout or her famous friends. Her friendship with Amma was a special one, that the world came to know only at this point.
In the following days, Kukuma’s condition deteriorated. It was like a chain reaction. One after the other, her internal organs failed. Doctors said she had to be operated upon. We knew the future was bleak. Maybe that is why I felt relieved when doctors told me she was gone. “Why aren’t you crying...?’’ I kept asking myself. Even today, I always break down whenever I ask myself that.
Every single person mourning for Kukuma had a common thing to say — “She was like a mother to me.” From film personalities to journalists to light boys to production controllers... anybody and everybody — they all said that same thing. Kukuma was a monument of love and each of us who knew her lost a mother in her departure. But for me the loss was total. I have never been the same again.
Kukuma, I miss you. I hope you are happy wherever you are...Lissy
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