Tamil Comedian Actor Robo Shankar Passes Away at 46
Tamil cinema just lost one of its brightest lights, and honestly, it feels unreal to even type this. Robo Shankar, the man who could light up a room—or a dull TV show—with his antics, his dances, his mimicking, his larger-than-life presence… gone at just 46. Way too soon.
So here’s what actually happened, according to the reports coming out of GEM Hospital. He was admitted on September 16 in critical condition—turns out it was a massive gastrointestinal bleed and multiorgan dysfunction, something the doctors described as “secondary to a complex abdominal condition.” That’s the kind of medical jargon that makes you pause, because it sounds so layered, so complicated, like everything inside him just gave up at once. Even with round-the-clock care, he slipped away on September 18 at 9:05 pm. Just like that.
And you know what’s crazy? He was working—a new film shoot, in fact—just before this happened. He collapsed on set. It’s almost cruel, because fans had already noticed his drastic weight loss earlier this year, when he battled jaundice. People online were worried, asking if he was okay, and Shankar, being Shankar, just soldiered on, cracking jokes, diving back into commitments. The man couldn’t stay away from the stage, from the camera. That was his space.
I still remember the first time I saw him on screen—it was those robot dances on TV shows that somehow made him a household name. People either laughed because it was silly or because it was brilliant… maybe both. And then came those film roles—Aasaipattai Balakumara, Singam 3—you know the ones. He had this knack, this tendency to steal scenes without even trying too hard. Almost like he wasn’t acting, just being himself.
What hurts even more? He leaves behind his wife Priyanka, his daughter Indraja—yes, the same Indraja who acted in Bigil alongside Vijay—and a little grandson. Three generations right there, and suddenly the anchor of that family isn’t there anymore.
And call me sentimental, but it feels like Robo Shankar was one of those really human comedians. Not polished, not measured to the dot. He laughed big, he played big, he lived big—or at least that’s what it looked like from the outside. And maybe that’s why this loss is stinging so badly right now.
Oh, and another thing—it’s almost eerie how quick life can turn. Just a few days ago, he was shooting. A set, lights, cameras, some crew chit-chat about retakes. And then this. No one would’ve thought. I keep circling back to that thought—how fragile it all is, how even the people who make us laugh relentlessly can carry so much pain, often silently.
And I don’t even know how to end this. Because how do you wrap up a piece about someone whose energy couldn’t ever be neatly wrapped? Maybe we don’t. Maybe Robo Shankar’s spirit just lives on in every laugh we still get when clips of his mimicry resurface, or when some random “robot dance” finds its way on social media again.
Many actors are paying tribute to Robo Shankar
