“Love in the time of Cholera”

It’s absurd how the weather or how a film ends affects one’s disposition. After watching “Love in the time of Cholera” (while the pelting rains and strong winds beat the hell out of the acacia overhead), a great sense of depression set in.

When allowed a certain degree of liberty, the mind travels the road back in history, reliving memories and the might-have-been which were better off left in its current state of near obscurity.

The film, based on the novel of the same title by GG Marquez, struck me as the story of Florentino’s love for Fermina which transcended time and circumstance. His wait lasted 53 years, with the intervening time spent trying to forget (if I may add, without success).

If “love is an illusion” can be translated to “thank you”; and if the feeling is mutual (as it seemed), then there is only 38 years of waiting left.