My Kunji — The Love Jayanth Lost, and the Reason He Worships Vidya Balan

“My Kunji mol”

(A Ponmanipudi Story of Love, Loss & a Name No One Understood)

In Ponmanipudi, everyone knew Jayantha— the quiet painter from Kerala whose brush moved like prayer.

He painted real Gods with the softness of morning light.

He painted rivers like they were breathing.

He painted faces so real that people often stepped back, blinking. Amazed.....

He had one strange habit…

Vidya Balan.

Her posters on his studio walls.

Her interviews saved on his phone.

Her framed photo near the window.

And even in his pooja room, next to Saraswati…

a small glossy picture of the actress smiling....

And all Vidya Balan movies, minimum 5 times watched and laughter and cried too...

People teased him gently.

“Jayantha… fan-aa,...love aa?”

“Are you waiting for Vidya akka to visit Ponmanipudi and marry you?”

“Ayyo, see his face beaming… full surrender!”

But Jayanth never reacted....

He smiled divinely and continued painting his masterpieces....

And every evening at 6 PM, without fail, he lit a lamp in front of Vidya Balan’s picture…

and whispered,

“Kunji… be safe. I am here.....”

No one knew why.

One day, while painting a portrait of Nandini Amma, Jayanth suddenly fainted.

His palette fell.

Colours spilled like heartbreak on the floor.

The villagers rushed him to Dr. Chari.

When Jayanth opened his eyes in the clinic, Chari sat beside him.

“Jayantha… paavam da. What happened?”

Jayanth closed his eyes again.

“I saw her… in a dream,” he whispered.

“Who?” Chari asked gently.

“Kunji mol,” he said. “My Kunji.”

Dr. Chari had been observing him for months.

The obsessive devotion. The divinity....the aura..of love... or was it something ethereal?..

The fear and love in his eyes whenever someone spoke about Vidya Balan...

The lamp lighting ritual.

It wasn’t fan craze.

It was something older… deeper.

So Chari said softly,

“Tell me about her.”

Jayanth’s lips trembled.

For the first time in years, he spoke.

“Her name was Vidya,” he began.

“Not the actress.

My Vidya.

My Vidu. My Kunji....” Tears fell from his moist eyes..

“We were engaged. Wedding was two days away. Everyone said she looked like actress Vidya Balan. Same eyes, same smile, same copper skin and sharp menacing nose. And I used to tease her…

‘If Vidya Balan acts in cinema,

my Vidya Balan acts in my life.’”

He laughed weakly.

Then his face crumpled. Tears flowed down...

“On the 14th night… she went to light the lamp under the Banyan tree in the Navagraha Mantapa...

A cobra was hiding behind the stones.

It struck her ankle.”

Jayanth’s voice broke.

“She fell into my arms.

I held her…

I screamed for help…

but she…”

His breath shook, faded...

“She died before I could even say her name fully.”

Jayanth wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist.

“I couldn’t be angry with God. It was my Karma...na..aando..

I couldn’t forget her either. I can't...my kunji...

So when I saw actress Vidya Balan on TV…

my heart stopped.”

“She looked like my Vidu.

Same eyes.

Same innocence.

Same way of lifting her eyebrow when she smiles.”

“So I decided…

I will protect this Vidya.

If I couldn’t save my Vidu,

let me at least pray for the one who carries her face.”

He looked up at Dr. Chari.

“That’s why I call her Kunji.

It was Vidu’s nickname.

‘My little one.’

My whole world.”

He swallowed, quiet, serene and composed again..

“When I watch her films, I feel my Vidu is still alive somewhere in those frames… moving, laughing… safe.

So I do archane for her.

Light lamps for her.

Pray for her health.

Because if she lives long…

I feel my Vidu also lives long… in some corner of this world....in my heart”

The clinic fell silent.

Only Jayanth’s breathing filled the room.

Dr. Chari placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Jayanth… love like this never dies.

Some people leave their body…

but they stay in the faces, the voices, the echoes of others who resemble them.”

Jayantha nodded, tears sliding silently.

“No one understood,” he whispered.

“They all thought I’m mad.”

Chari shook his head.

“No, my son.

You’re not mad.

You’re faithful.

And your love is pure.”

He squeezed Jayanth’s hand.

“You didn’t choose Vidya Balan.

Your heart recognised a shadow, a energy of your Vidu…

and held on.”

That evening, as the sun melted into Ponmanipudi’s palm trees, Jayantha walked home slowly.

He entered his studio, lit the lamp before the little frame of Vidya Balan, and whispered:

“Kunji… live long.

Wherever you are…

live long for my Vidu.”

And in the flickering flame…

two faces seemed to merge into one.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough.

A painter…

a lamp…

and a love that refused to die....