Perfume - The Story Of A Murderer

Beauty is a very powerful force. It drives men and women to heights and feats far above their normal fill of dexterity. It fills the human spirit like a burgeoning balloon, lifting it up into the vast blue evanescent skies. Perhaps so it is to be. And for this reason is it termed God! Truth, Beauty and Bliss, the ancient scriptures intone in their gloriously pristine voices. For at the heart of all creation there is a beauty so cruel yet so divine, that had tempted the very source of beauty into this magnificent ever flourishing swirl of creation ... rushing on its speeding heels to absolute death, like the storm dashing to taste its stilling death at the bosom of the towering mountains of the north. But till the time so chooses to come to pass, the havoc of beauty will rule over all our lives. The dying embers that may be left behind glowing their last fading smiles may be good ... and sometimes ... may not be.

Often when confronted with such an empowering force, beauty, I used to wonder what is wrong in worshiping her, for she is the very heart of her creator. We do posses the answers to some of the deepest questions that we find looming over our lives. And all that it takes to bring those answers to light would be an outwardly inconsequential event. It might be a line we read in a book or a word spoken by someone or a note of music that we chance hear ... anything. For me, today, it was a movie. I would never recommend this movie to people whom I love, for I care for them. But I would beg of those in whom I see a light, to savor this film, for I care for them ... too. It is a story of a gifted soul... a soul who is the drunken slave of beauty ... the beauty of smell. So magnetized he is by the enchantment of perfumes... that he fails to honor the true consort of beauty, truth. A movie, that highlight in mystical light that when beauty abandons truth, the bliss there from is but in vanity and would soon fade like a mocking perfume, whose laughter would echo in the blinded darkness of hollow acts.

Watch this movie at your own peril.

Perfume - The Story Of A Murderer

Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Insane Galaxy

After a pretty long unexplained hiatus it feels good to be back. There are times in our lives that are so intense that we choose to snap all links and switch off from the rest of the world, with just the bare minimum left in place. Well ... it is more like an assumed hibernation, waiting for that damn blizzard or winter to die down or wear itself out, melt away or thaw. Gosh! I feel bad to turn this post into a spiritually introspective soliloquy. Hmmm.... well out of the blue I chose to fly against the sane flock, migrating to a colder place as winter sets in, I decided to move to the UK. I simply had to yield to that incessant, pressing, itching, bursting thrust in me. Got my visa, quit my decent job, left my loving family, flew out of my dearest motherland, and landed as a unemployed vagabond in the city of London, greeted by darkening clouds and peppering rain.

For over a month and a little more, I went blip! Missing from the radars of friends and relatives alike. Normally I am not a person of impulses or the esoteric tantric largely bonded towards unexplained mysteries. But this time, abandoning all reason and sound logic, I heeded to some kind of instinctive sixth sense urging. The past 2 months have been extremely intense, spiritually cleansing and sensibly the most needed jerk to get me back into the shoes of an eternal hitch hiker ever willing to explore newer territories, fortes and pastures. But as most changes or jerks it has not been an easy one! Nevertheless, it was worth it. It has left me richer in character and more sound and complete as a person. Well ... to cut the long story short (every story that I ever write is so damn long!)...here I am once again with renewed energy and buoying with a spirit of adventure, in a new land, with a new job, amidst new people. Hmmm.... I wanted to write more ... but Hell! My lessons are mine and I don’t want to sound like a withering Mosses coming down Mt. Sinai to discourse on the stone tables in his hand. So, from Namma Chennai to the city of bloody rain, London.