Life has all the answers. Only, you need to ask the right questions.

Sathyendra knew this well. This actor, theatre artist, translator and film critic – and a well-known face in Chennai’s creative spaces – passed away on Thurday. In an unexpected wave of support, the city’s film and arts community rose to the occasion, collaborating to contact with his family and coordinating for a funeral.

So, who was Sathyendra?

If you have ever been to a film festival or screening, or a literature panel discussion in the city, chances are you would have seen him. Usually clad in a kurta and wearing a jolna bag, typical of old-timers in the city, Sathyendra’s would routinely be the first hand to rise when the floor is opened for the question and answer session.

His questions were mostly pointed and direct. Sometimes, even aggressive, thus eliciting a squirm from the panel members or audience. At times, the host would move on to other questions. But for Sathyendra, it did not matter. The questions had to be asked, and he would have to be the one asking them. “He loved to get attention,” points out filmmaker-writer K Hariharan, who cast Sathyendra in his Ezhavadhu Manidhan (1982), “He had a child-like quality and could not keep aloof. He never felt offended if his question was not answered; he would be happy that he had asked it in the first place.”

That Sathyendra would – in the corridors of Chennai’s Max Mueller Bhavan or Alliance Francaise, places he would frequent to attend lectures and social events. If he was not there, he would be in the cinema halls, consuming films from all languages and offering an opinion on the techniques used in it; Sathyendra’s viral moment, in fact, came when he gave a scathing review for the Vijay-starrer Leoin a typical convincing style without mincing words.

But, where in Chennai did Sathyendra exactly live? Who were his family and friends? Those are answers people seldom knew then. They still don’t. “He was an erratic guy,” explains Hariharan, “He would be talking to people and suddenly disappear and no one would know him whereabouts. But he had a gift for languages....”

The roots

Hailing from Tiptur in Karnataka – a place where he started watching MGR’s hit Tamil films from when he was barely 5 – Sathyendra left home for Madras chasing name and fame. Inspired by films like Oru Thalai Raagam and Nenjathai Killadhey, Sathyendra’s move to the then Madras in 1981, armed with just Rs 300 and a list of Tamil filmmakers he wanted to work with, was the biggest decision he made. Ezhavathu Manidhan, directed by Hariharan, is considered among his biggest films. Sathyendra also reportedly played minor roles in Man Vasanai, Sathya and Kadamai Kanniyam Kattupaadu.

Thanks to his proficiency in several Indian languages and German as well, has also worked as a translator in several films – which he himself revealed in an interview with Wow Tamizhaa. “I have a knack of learning languages in a fast manner,” Sathyendra says in the interview, “Apart from the many Indian languages, I am proficient in German. You can call me a German scholar. I have also learnt Japanese, Italian and Spanish in some capacity.” This exploration of languages and films also led him to make a few friends, most of whom he would meet at festivals where they would discuss the cinematic material for hours; popular Tamil film director Mysskin was one such confidante of Sathyendra.

While Sathyendra grew up watching Tamil films, his exposure and knowledge of international films would probably gain him entry into many film festival screenings. He was, in fact, a regular at the Chennai International Film Festival. Emanadar Thangaraj of the Indo Cine Appreciation Foundation (ICAF) vouches for that. “He (Sathyendra) was an ardent film lover and excellent critic,” says Thangaraj, “He would give a critical view of the films with authenticity. In fact, he wanted to have short films made by him screened at our festival.”

Kennedi Gopalan, a vedic astrologer and actor-filmmaker, writes on X about how Sathyendra and Tamil film editor B Lenin once screened a short film titled Knock Out about a forgotten Indian boxing champion who dies unrecognised on the streets.

Sathyendra played the role of the dead boxer in the film, and in a bizarre turn of events, he ended up the same way as the character he played as well: with no one around at the Royappetah mortuary, until word of his plight spread around. Tamil cinema swiftly acted, with actor Vishal directing the staff of the Nadigar Sangam to pitch in. Premallatha Vijayakant also offered assistance on humanitarian grounds.

Sathyendra’s life may have erratic but he will be remembered in Chennai as the film enthusiast who always asked questions. Some of them, unfortunately, will remain unanswered.

One for the arts: Multidisciplinary artist Pravin Kannanur on Sathyendra

We were not very close to each other, but we were never indifferent to the other. Actors Kalairaani, Pasupathi, Jayakumar and Prasad made it to Sathya’s funeral, as did Nassar and documentarist RV Ramani. We had all known him from the late Eighties, learning clowning and miming at the same workshops. He was exasperating in the way only committed people are; he’d never ‘perform’ politeness. We would emerge from films made by Ghatak or Tarkovsky, and he would articulate something I’d missed entirely. We rarely agreed. That was the point.

He taught himself cinema, languages, survival, and eked a living from it and in moments when that didn’t work, he would ask any one of us: Why don’t you offer me tea? Or: ‘Can you buy my ticket to Trichur? I’m catching ITFOK.’ He was treating his acquaintances as collaborators in his survival. We are poorer for the loss of that extraordinary passion and commitment.