of tarkovsky and his weather.

This is more about yesterday than today.
We had a class from 2 to 5.
Search for self in contemporary European cinema. Yup that’s what the course is called.
We discussed tarkovsky’s ‘the mirror’.
We, prem and I realised as the discussion progressed that we had not understood anything of the film.
But both had agreed that the film was beautifully shot.
Especially the overcast weather in the movie, made me melancholic (as I guess it was supposed to)
I have a thing for monsoons.
I hate summer.
Even if I dream of sunny weather I am disturbed.
God alone knows how I manage Hyderabad in the summers.
So here we sit discussing Tarkovsky in this AC eed classroom, darkened by black curtains,
Watching rains somewhere in Russia, and wondering why it can’t rain a little right now, in Hyderabad.
After the three hours, we come out of the building and can almost smell the rains.
There is a yellow light all over.
My mother would say, “Mahakaashe jhor” as in there is a storm in space somewhere.
The willow in front of the admin block with its new yellow flowers is enough to bring a smile in my soul.
We go to Sagar (the on campus grocery shop) thirsting for some coffee and cigarettes, and
Lo behold! It begins to rain.
Big fat drops of rain fall from the still yellow sky.
And premankur and I become little kids trying to and then trying not to get wet.
Puddles Puddles everywhere,
Gay cowboys kissing with passion,
Strange tunes playing in the background as they kiss
Ting ting ting
And this tarkovskian rain.
Rain against the trees,
On the trees,
Dog barking somewhere,
Crows getting wet.
Tarkovsky is dead, someone said.
Long Live Tarkovsky.
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