By Kamil Plich

Winters in Northern Germany are usually grey and long. They have their charm, but they can be too much. Bored with the same naked trees outside my window, one of the options to find a new kigo—a season word in haiku—is for me to look from another window, for example, the one in the hotel room in which Bhumika Pardesi from the Netflix series She is staying in. Or I can watch Ayesha from Bombay Begums moving around the city and enjoy discovering its different corners with her.

long winter
looking for a kigo
in Bollywood

My neighbours tend to leave unwanted books or films in the hall of the apartment block. I sometimes take the books, but it is a bit more complicated with the films. I do not have a video player at home, and neither is my computer capable of reading any discs. If I happen to see some interesting title, I take a picture of it and download the film from the internet later, or I stream it.

old video tapes
I download the films
that seem interesting

What I like the most about Indian cinema is music. There are so many songs I keep listening to over and over, even though my memory of the actual film they come from is very vague and often reduced to a music video only.

left the cinema
leaves dancing to the song
I’ve shazzamed


I. Still from Lootera (2013)

II. Still from Haider (2014)

III. Still from Dil Se (1998)

Kamil Plich’s haiku can be found, among others, in Hakara, Narrow Road, Triya, Kontinuum, Modern Haiku and various anthologies. His work has been translated into Croatian, Hindi and Japanese.

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