The Alborz Mountains of Tehran were once visible from the living room window. Then a couple of years later the neighborbood began constructing buildings until eventually we had no view. In the films that my brother recorded, the mountains were almost always present, accentuated with their snow caps. They were the most beautiful sight, tall, majestic, almost surreally. The films were often accompanied by symphonies like those of Yanni, the Greek pianist whom my brother idolized. I remember his performances, how the public loved him, adored him, glorified him. We watched Yanni and envied his power with the piano. He played passionately, with all his heart and soul, his long hair flowing from side to side.
The other day I was talking to D and he asked if I knew who Yanni was. I said of course I know who he is. And that’s why I felt like I should revisit those days, just to remind myself that once, not too long ago, there was Yanni, the undeniably beautiful mountains and the glory that was Tehran.