Vipindas Vidyadharan @vipindaskv - Twitter Profile

vipindaskv retweeted

Sabeer Bhatia

@sabeer

5 days ago

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Vipindas Vidyadharan @vipindaskv

24 days ago

@MahuaMoitra have you received the refund ? This is currently happening frequent and we need to chat with their support team.

Swiggy @Swiggy

24 days ago

@MahuaMoitra @MahuaMoitra We totally get how frustrating this can be, Mahua. We're reaching out to you right away. We'll review the order cancellation and the associated charges with you and work towards a resolution without any further ado.

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Vipindas Vidyadharan @vipindaskv

about 2 months ago

@narendramodi Don’t you have enough courage to protect people from your country ? Or you just show drama as usual. Please protect the right of their families. https://t.co/gli7WanO5n

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vipindaskv retweeted

Malay Krishna

@Malay4Product

2 months ago

You probably have no idea who Salim Kumar is, but every Indian should read all about him today. Salim Kumar was a Malayalam actor who passed away on Saturday night in Kochi at the age of 56. If you don't watch Malayalam cinema, strap in because his story is one of the most remarkable careers Indian cinema has produced, and it deserves to travel beyond Kerala. He came from nothing. Born in North Paravur, a small town in Ernakulam, into a family that struggled with money. Government school. Graduated from Maharajas College. So, no film connections, no family wealth, no shortcuts. He started as a mimicry artist with Kalabhavan, a performance troupe in Kochi that has been the launchpad for dozens of Malayalam actors. Stage shows, comedy routines, television spots. He was funny in a way that was impossible to ignore, the kind of performer who could make a room laugh in an instant. His first film was Ishtamanu Nooru Vattam in 1997, a small role nobody remembers. For years he played supporting parts & background comedy. Then the 2000s happened. His role as Mattancherry Mammathu in Satyameva Jayathe gave him his first real recognition, and after that the comedy roles started coming fast. Pulival Kalyanam. Thuruppugulan. Kunjikkoonan. Marykkundoru Kunjaadu. If you grew up in Kerala in the 2000s, his face was in half the films you watched. He became the comedian audiences showed up for, the one whose scenes people replayed and quoted at family gatherings. What separated him from most comedians was precision. He did not rely on volume or slapstick. He used his face, his body, his pauses. He could get a laugh from the way he blinked. Directors started writing characters specifically for him, because they knew he would take whatever was on the page and make it three times funnier than they imagined. For over a decade, he was the biggest comic face in Malayalam cinema. Then came 2010 and a film called Adaminte Makan Abu. A quiet, small-budget film directed by Salim Ahamed. The story follows an aging Muslim couple in a Kerala village whose only dream in life is to go on Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. They save every rupee. Things keep falling apart. The film is about their dignity, their patience, and their faith through one disappointment after another. Salim Kumar played Abu. The man who owns nothing except his wife and his belief, and holds onto both with everything he has. There is no comedy in the role. No punchlines, no funny faces, no playing to the gallery. It is the complete opposite of everything audiences had ever seen him do. The entire performance is built on stillness, restraint, and pain carried quietly behind the eyes. He won the National Film Award for Best Actor for it. That is the highest acting honour in Indian cinema. The film was also selected as India's official entry for the Best Foreign Language Film at the Academy Awards (Oscars) that year. In one role, Salim Kumar went from "the funny guy from Malayalam films" to one of the most respected actors in Indian cinema. He simply disappeared so completely into a character that you forgot you were watching a comedian at all. He followed it with more serious work. Achanurangatha Veedu, which won him the Kerala State Award. Traffic, still considered one of the finest ensemble films in Malayalam cinema. Perumazhakkalam. Each time, he proved the National Award was not a fluke. The man had range that most actors who only do drama cannot match. Unfortunately, Salim Kumar suffered from liver cirrhosis, a condition he said was hereditary in his family and not related to alcohol. His brother had the same illness. He underwent a liver transplant a few years ago. He tried naturopathy. He talked about all of it openly, without shame, without self-pity. He kept working between treatments. He kept being funny. He kept showing up, even when his body was failing him. He was also fearlessly outspoken about politics and social issues, which in any film industry can cost you work. He did not care. He said what he believed and lived with the consequences. He passed away Saturday night at a hospital in Kochi. He was 56. The Kerala government bore the funeral expenses and gave him police honours. The Chief Minister paid homage personally. Mammootty, one of the biggest names in Indian cinema, mourned him publicly. Thousands of people lined up at the North Paravur Town Hall on Sunday to say goodbye. 350 films in three decades. A National Award for Best Actor. An Oscar entry. A career that started from mimicry stages and ended at the very top of Indian cinema. The reason most of India does not know his name is because Malayalam cinema, despite being one of the best film industries in the country, still does not get the national attention it deserves. Actors like Salim Kumar live and work in a language bubble, and their stories rarely cross over the way a Bollywood career would. This is a loss for everyone who never got to watch him. A man who came from poverty, made millions laugh, then proved he could make them cry just as hard, and fought his own hardest battle with utmost dignity. If you watch one film after reading this, make it Adaminte Makan Abu. It is a masterpiece.