70-yr-old roadside poet from Kochi lost her son, but still dreams of seeing her story on big screen

Kochi: "Eni yennukaanum en ponmagane (When will I see my precious son again),

Ende jeevande jeevanam kanmaniye (The very soul of my life...)"

Sudhamma's voice fades into the roar of passing vehicles. The poem, written for her late son, carries the scars of an untimely loss in every line.

Seated inside a makeshift roadside shelter on one-and-a-half cents of government land along the Thammanam–Pullepady Road, she often revisits those memories. A few years ago, she published Pranamam, a collection of poems she had written over the years. Now, despite the hardships that come with being 70, Sudhamma is working on a film screenplay.

"It's a crime thriller. There is murder, revenge, police and an investigation," she says with a smile, refusing to reveal more lest she spoil the story.

For the past 45 years, Sudhamma has lived on this strip of roadside land with her husband, Vijayan. Born into a farming family in Kanjirappally, she had to discontinue her studies after Class 5. She moved to Kochi after marriage, and the couple has survived by serving meals from their tiny roadside shack.

Whenever business slows down, Sudhamma hums poems by renowned Malayalam poet O.N.V. Kurup:

"Perraiyathoru penkidave (O little girl whose name I do not know),

Ninne Nerariyunnu njan paadunnu (I know your journey, and I sing...)"

Books are her refuge from sorrow. She is an avid reader of the works of Pottekkatt, Uroob, Madhavikutty, Vyloppilli, Vayalar and Sugathakumari. She regularly borrows books from nearby libraries, including Vyloppilli Vijnanodayam Library and Thammanam Vinodaya Library.

A poem she wrote for actor Mohanlal's birthday went viral, leading to an invitation from a television channel. She later met the superstar and even posed for a photograph with him.

As she chats, Sudhamma glances anxiously at the sky. Rain clouds still fill her with dread. She fears that heavy showers could rip apart the tarpaulin roof over her home and flood everything she owns.

"My son's two children have grown up and are doing well. But I cannot leave this place. I have to live here until my last day. Many people promised that I would get land ownership documents, but nothing happened despite all the running around. I read in the newspaper that the government is planning a department for senior citizens. I wonder if people like us can hope for anything," she says, gazing at the busy street.

She still nurtures one dream.

"I told the brother of a film producer about my screenplay. They asked me to prepare a shorter version. Do you think my story will become a film?" Sudhamma asks, her eyes filled with hope.