In 1984, I think, (I was 19 then) I first saw Shadows. It sort of haunted me for days. Paradjanov was not well known in India at the time. I saw it at the House of Soviet Culture in Trivandrum, now Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala. Then I chanced to see Ashik Kerib. Again I was hooked. I searched through book after book to get info about the man behind it all.

It became an obsession for me, changing the way I looked at art, Cinema, etc.

I got the chance to see Shadows a couple of times again coz the Program officer at the centre became a friend and knew of my great regard for Paradjanov, though he himself did not share it. Then, one morning, my sister-in-law called from downstairs, 'Satish, that Director of yours is no more'.

I checked the Indian Express of the day; it carried a small obituary on the Master, the only paper to do so. Immediately I called up Rajasekharan, the Prog. Officer and informed him. Why don't we conduct Homage to Paradjanov with the 2 films available in India? I asked him. He said he would try. He called up the Director of the National Film Archive, in Poona, Mr. P.K. Nair. Nair himself had not heard about the death and was only too willing to help us conduct the Homage in Trivandrum. He promised to send the 2 prints (Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors and Ashik Kerib). A date was set about 2 weeks thence. I also sent a small article for the Indian Express about the death of Paradjanov and about his work, got Xerox of a still from Legend of Suram Fortress, and they published it. So the city was prepared for the Homage. Meanwhile, I began to draw a picture of the man.

I painted for five days sharp, using my own technique. I used to paint a bit those days, besides writing and dreaming about becoming a film-maker. The picture was first sketched on a gold-coloured-card. Then I would scratch away at the surface to reveal the paper underneath. Then I would wipe oil paint on it so that the revealed scratched inner areas would absorb the paint and the rest would remain clear, gold. I got the likeness of the Maestro's face. I put a 12th (I think) century Russian crown on him. Then all around the head, I made similar drawings of oriental singers, characters from fables, folk-tales etc which, to me, approximated the spirit of the Master filmmaker. I also added the title below, in large letters: Sergei Paradzhanov, 1924-90. After it was all done, I began painting the overall surface in a manner of my own liking. As I had run out of linseed oil, I used coconut oil which I knew worked just as well, having tried it on a previous painting.

Meanwhile, Rajasekharan, at the Soviet Centre, knew that I was working on a painting on the Maestro and called me up. 'Satish, will you give us that painting so we can put it up as a poster to attract the people to the festival?' I said I would be honoured but added that the picture had not dried yet. Not to worry, he said, we shall put it in the glass enclosed display box on the main street itself. And thus it was done.

When I finished the painting, I was glad of the result, but just before signing it as I always did with my paintings, I pondered. This is not about me, it is about the artist I admire, so I shall remove myself from this work, I said to myself and so did not sign the picture.

Everything went on as planned. The picture was displayed right on the street and most people thought it was an original poster from the Embassy (they did not see the lack of skill of the painter I think). The big day arrived. Kerala's most well known film-maker Adoor Gopalakrishnan was invited to inaugurate the event (I had heard once that he had met Paradjanov one day).

There again I kept totally in the shadows, because the whole thing was kind of sacred for me.

While delivering his address, the chief guest mentioned that he had come to know that the whole homage had happened mainly through the effort of a young man named Satish, who he assumed was somewhere in the crowd, and that this was a wonder because not many people had recognized the greatness of Paradjanov in India and that it was a sign to him that Indian cinema had a future because of the fine taste of young people like Satish. I was thrilled to hear my name being mentioned on the same stage, in the same sentence as that of the great Master I admired. I did not go up to meet the speaker after the film but, on his way out, apparently his eyes were caught by the picture on the wall.
'Where did you get it from?' he asked Rajasekharan. 'It was painted by that person Satish', said R.

'I thought it was an original by Paradjanov himself' said Mr. Adoor. ''Paradjanov makes paintings and collages somewhat like that'.

Anyway, the event was over, and the picture came back to me. About 10 days had passed but it was still as wet as on the first day.

It remained in my shelf for a few months more, still as wet as ever. And then I had to leave town to study Graphic Design in Mumbai.  Through a friend, I managed to get a VHS of Legend and Colour, then unseen in India mostly, from London. When I came back on my holidays, the picture was still wet.

More than a year passed perhaps two years. I left to work in Delhi. Slowly I began to evolve my own style of film narrative apart from the master's. The picture continued to be wet.

And then, somewhere the magical hold of the Master began to leave me and I turned to my own new devices in my work. And then, one day, back in my home town on holiday, I unrolled the picture again and there it was, dry at last.

So I had it framed and put on a wall. It is still there at my home, and people who see it, like it. I like it too. For it tells the story of a great spiritual and artistic relationship I had with a  Maestro I worshipped from far away for years.

There are bound to be many good reasons for why the picture did not dry for so long. But I leave all that to conjecture. I prefer the magic of it all.

Unfortunately, I do not have a photo of it with me. I can get one of my students to take a picture of it some time and will gladly send it to you. Right now I live in another city, Chennai, but I will be shifting back to Trivandrum next month.

P.S. (In fact, during a course in Fashion Design I was teaching at the National Institute of Fashion Technology in Chennai, last year, I got my students to design garments inspired from the film Colour of Pomegranates, which I first showed them. They came out with good things!