September Rain

The clouds consumed the Ganga and poured down the other day. In my little room in the old Haveli my Tarkovsky book "Sculpting in Time" was washed with the holy rain. Finally the images of Tarkovsky became a reality. The rain. The clouds, the panoramic views of Gangaji all became Tarkovskyesque. The parrots and the parakeets made their appearance and presence felt every once in a while. I could imagine seagulls in Benaras much like Kunigunda lost in the deserts of Dubai. Ajay Guesthouse, Chousatti Ghat. My room was probably 100sq.ft. but I was right on the Ganga. There were monkeys roaming around on my balcony. I remembered what it must have been like when Ginsberg was in Benaras. Always high, tripping on ganja with the other boys of the beat generation. They must have reformatted their brains to take it all in. I needed to look at everything with fresh eyes. My expensive Ray-Bans were with me twentyfourseven.