Murdock Memories- Doubt

A mighty king had once asked Murdock to explain to him a doubt he had for since a very very long time. The king was no mere king. He was an emperor of all the kings in the land. Murdock, in all his wit and glory, asked the king what his doubt was. The tyrant in all joy and arrogance asked him,” Define life.”

The smallest of questions hold the most epic answers. For the good and well being of one’s self, one must be ignorant of certain aspects of nature. Ignorance is but a bliss. Murdock’s answer thus began as a poem. A tribute, to what he called, Life. The poem as I understood is, I have portrayed, in my own words. Wish I have done justice to the ultimate appreciation of the holy phenomenon that we all experience, yet never praise nor acknowledge but at the very end, beg for.

First Stanza:

I am what I believe I can do. I am what I want to be. I am what I make others to see in me. But to me, I am my greatest mystery. Every human being has a unique path set by the Gods. It is not our goal, it is not our aim. It is our fate. What our path is has been written already by hands we do not see. Why we exist, how we live, when we shine, for what we whine and whom we meet are all but a game. A game called life.

Second Stanza:

To live it through and achieve nothing is a disgrace to the boon. To live for an end is better than not to have lived at all. When we take our leave from this realm, as we take those final gasps of precious freedom, who is with us, why are they with us, how have we lived, when we live and what we have accomplished is what makes us worthy to have carried a soul.

Third Stanza:

We all have a special place in our heart for someone. Someone we love. Someone who loves us back. Someone we care about and to be cared for in return. The mind sooths as hearts merge. Who is that someone, when will we find them, how will we know, why would they show and for whom we live, we live beyond eternity.

Fourth Stanza:

In life we love some, we hate some. Anger is but what makes us human. Anger is what makes us sane. Rage is known to all in heaven and earth. Spirituality in life is but a means to control the anger and bottle the rage. All aspire to replicate the qualities of the deity we worship. Religion shows you who is God, how he looks, what we should see in him, whom to worship and I ask you what is so spiritual in doubting the one who loves you.

Fifth Stanza:

When our moment comes, all the pieces will fall into a random pattern. Into a pattern so random, so chaotic, that in name and essence it is known as the chaos theory. This theory has a key. A key for each outcome that may arise out of our actions. The key is called as truth. Consequences are but the other side. They may be good, they may be bad. When will it arrive, what is the cause, who decides the effect, for whom is it true and why not a lie to jailbreak the safe of trust.

Final Stanza:

Our moment of triumph shall lead us through our fate. The threads that connect us, link us, bind us, bond us, trust us as we trust it, shall show true grace, goodness and give glory. Sins of mankind are but a reminder, not for what we did, but for what we shouldn’t. It is a journey. An unaccredited, unchronicled, unique journey. A chance. A chance to create history, to imprint our footprints unto the sands of time and not the tides of time. What must we do, why should it be us, who shall help us, for whom shall we strive yet how can I ever share my destiny?

I ask myself doubts. I leave them unanswered. Don’t I not know the answer? Am I scared of the answer? Can I not face the truth? Will I not die for it? Shall I please help myself to the answers I seek? Must I not seek them out for I am meek? Ought the meek not to inherit the earth? For then I am but the meek.

I ask myself Who, Why, When, What, How and for Whom. Yet I did not ask who, for I live my life for me. I did not ask for whom I carry my soul, for I support it for myself. I did not ask what, for I know what love is. I did not ask why, for I trust in God. I did not ask how, for the truth shall set you free. I did not ask when, for my time to shine is forever now. And I shall never ask where, for it is right here, right now that I live my life and never doubt my destiny. Never doubt myself.

What Murdock said left the king spellbound, I felt no less.

Lion's Roar

They say that the lion is the most ferocious of all known mammals. His very name inspires pride or instills a fear of epic proportions that the prey is petrified in pure awe! He dons a mane of golden elegance around his neck that shines like it’s made of tendrils of gold strung together. His claws are like razors, tearing down his prey. When they hunt, they hunt together and they sync in mind, body, heart and soul thus taking down the opponent in grace, in style. It is said that his roar can be heard for up to 3miles. Ladies and gentlemen, I can proudly tell you that it is true. I hear it today. I hear it tonight. And I roar with them.

One of the most important qualities of the King of the Jungle is their magnanimity. Fair play in every walk of life. No underhand tricks. Face any challenge head on. Each opponent was treated with courtesy and given due respect. There was no grudge held against any others. The global Alpha lion that never flattered. There was no vengeance, no revenge. Well retribution is a different matter.

Sometimes the lions become lazy. The prey is taken a bit too lightly. Some mistakes are made. Some are over looked. Some considered not worth the effort. They got away. Yet we got them back. Hunting them down at home always. Never flattered at our den. Our Pride Rock. Unbeatable at home turf. This not only proves how strong the defense is but also how observant we are. Each inch of the stronghold roars with us in unison. They say that he who conquers himself conquers the world. No surprises there either.

No matter how big the challenge, no matter how many kings came, no knight rider nor daredevil, no warrior or duniya hilane wala, no tusker nor royal, no matter how big the charge was the opponents were dealt with. Efficiency at its maximum and effectively enjoyable.

This may be a tribute. This may be an attempt to appreciate the Kings of IPL. But friends I can tell you one thing. It is impossible to bind their name, fame, guts and glory in mere words! NAMMA CHENNAI KU WHISTLE PODU \m/

PS: NAMMA SINGUM DHONI KU PERRIYA WHISTLE ADINGA \m/ \m/ \m/

Murdock Memories- The Pensieve and The Alchemist

Dumbledore has one. Snape has one. Pretty much every somebody has one. One what exactly? Stone closet with skeletons? Pretty much sums it up. But what exactly is it. Fantasy and fiction apart, our brain is the ultimate natural pensieve. Thoughts and memories which lie deep within our sub-conscience like hidden potential, just waiting to be tapped out. I remember one of Murdock’s entries which spoke about something related to this. But he spoke of it in a different context though. His excerpts are below,

“…and to be quite frank with you, everyone in the blessed world has millions of thoughts. Thoughts formulate into ideas. Ideas that bubble up in the pensieve of memories and thoughts in their heads and turn into words. Metaphorically that is what happens. As a divine angel said unto me,

” You must strive to attain a bigger net of imagination. In our world, each mind is unique. Each mind is a mass of thoughts. A pond, a lake, a sea, an ocean or sometimes barren land. What we see inspires us, influences us or over takes us. One must be adept and calm in mind, body and soul to net better fish. Do not worry about the extinction of fish or of its variety for after all production, progress, fission and fusion of thought are an infinite process.”

She set me thinking. He who steals the nectar of tangled memory is a sinner beyond redemption for God gives us a unique device. This device is none the less our brain to give unto the world new blossoms of ideas. Now all have heard of alchemy. None, of its true meaning. I shall tell you a small incident,

‘From the age of the Pharaohs to this day, I have never once believed that I shall witness the true powers of alchemy. Alchemy as many of you know is governed by the most powerful number in the world. Nay, not petty five. One may have five senses and five fingers but the true beauty of nature lies in symmetry. A pair of two limbs-without which fingers and toes don’t exist, a pair of lobes- without which the body can’t decipher the codes of the senses. Four, my friends, is the most powerful number in the world. Four rules that govern alchemy.

“Dark and impure lead to glittery and noble gold,
the elixir of life, the cure to the soul he sold,
dissolve his sorrows, clarity to uphold,
shall give thee wisdom, O brave and bold.”
-Murdock (mid 2600 BC)

Almost two millenniums later there comes along a short resolute Frenchman. Flamel his name was, Nicolas Flamel. Determination and perseverance were redefined by him. Unlike most alchemists he was one of a kind. A true alchemist, who understood the four rules while others, in greed, knew two. Wisdom. They say he never really made the philosopher’s stone. Some say he did. I knew the truth.

The philosopher’s stone is not a stone. Why, it’s not even an object. It’s the human mind and thoughts which is man’s elixir. His mind and heart. The mind can transform a simple idea into a source of income. The pensieve in him holds his salvation. His memories save his soul from eternal damnation and his thoughts help better the lives of many of his fellow beings, thus is the true elixir of life. And the ultimate solvent? The mind can solve any problem, dissolve any trouble, distill any thought and destroy any evil. Ironically I am not surprised but it was the Chinese who figured out this clause of my poem. They are synonymous to clarity. And they maintain that their words ring clear in the minds of men, yet it’s meaning they must clarify. If they choose to. Calm but passionate, clear and peaceful. Hence it is again no surprise that they answer me in riddles. The Moon Pool, high atop in the Hall of Warriors in the Jade Palace through the Valley of Peace. My journey there proved to me that they have answered my riddle in full. Again Wisdom.

Let me explain. The water in the pool is clear and reflects, like a mirror, my image and portrays the contents of my pensieve to me. Collaterally, as a blossom of the peach tree fell on the crystal surface creating ripples, it distorted my image. Conscience. Clarity. Chinese.”

“He who looks deep into hisself shall see a sea of thoughts. He shall drown hisself in them is an Alchemist. He shall never want to return from his memories- his past, his fantasies- his future, into his nightmare- his present. But what he sees not is that his Pensieve is his nightmare- his dream world and those who are lost to it must awaken. Awaken.”

-Shravan “Murdock” Santosh…’

The above lines were found etched in a stone pillar among the debris of some kind of shrine near the Wu Dang Mountains. It still remains a mystery as to how those words were etched as they seem to use no tools or carving materials to inscribe them on stone. Though we all at least know who wrote them, don’t we.

Birthline- The Test of Time

He sat on the shore after a long day. It was a gesture of good will, a gesture to the people and to his conscience. Sitting on the golden shore he looked into the distance and could see the sun sink into the sea, the huge ball of fire being engulfed by the Mediterranean. How could the ocean consume the sun like that? And how did the sun rise again the next day restored to its former glory! No, not miraculous, not magic but nature. That was the nature of things. One must fall to rise. Winning without obstacles is just victory, he overcame obstacles, and thus he created history.

Le petit caporal. That’s what they called him. Nobility can fight in an army but they will never work. He was nobility, in title and in essence. He was born to rule the seas but never went to the navy. A challenge he saw in anything and everything. At the Siege of Toulon, he rode defying the conventional strategies and led his self devised assault in which he injured himself but emerged victorious. In his own way, he rose to command the French army in Italy after being demoted. He fell to rise again.

He fell many times over only to rise again greater than before. He helped himself to treaties by backing empires into corners. His assessment of outcomes based on numbers and deception by inception was a unique skill he deployed on his enemies. He saw the consequences of his words and actions and acted accordingly. No man has every commanded an army which he treated as his own family. He never lost many men. His tongue spoke where it should and stalled when it should. He conquered the Alps. He was like no other the world had seen in a while, and they were baffled. His wars led to peace. He didn’t rule the people, he served them. On 2^nd of December, 1804 he was crowned the Emperor of France.

His rise to power was unprecedented. No one had witnessed a man rise to such heights. His fall, when it came, was too grave. As to be repeated by another great hero in years to come, the Russian weather was his undoing. His fall would have not struck him hard if not for the deaths in his family. His men, his toils of sweat, tears and blood. The heart could not take the fall.

Exiled to the island of Elba, he waited. His fall was great, his rise will be greater. Seas surrounding were swarming with British dogs. But dogs are chained by masters, and the masters were blind bats. He returned in style. Men of Honor are different from the tyrants of Europe. Corsican blood was beget to be spilt for the glory of France. He fought. He slew. He conquered. He won. Talks of false friendships to subdue the Imperial Majesty by the Grace of God between Prussia and Great Britain were held. He laughed at their faces. Despite his failing health, on the 18^th of June 1815, he went out to battle at Waterloo. Against all odds he won the battle fair and square, but…..

So much to do, with so little time. So much time, with nothing to do. How nice would it be if we could put time in a storage facility and use it when we want at our leisurely pace. We would then have all the time in the world! The very thought sets us dreaming of dreams and countless scenarios where we may benefit from stored time. But as always, only time will tell.

“I may win some battles in life, I may lose most, but what matters to me is what I do and only what I am responsible for and thus I am Immortal.”

-Shravan “Murdock” Santosh

Murdock Memories- Of Lame Foxes and Blind Cats

“Pinocchio, Pinocchio,
Thought life was just a joke-io,
‘Til the morning that he met that cat
And the fox in a long red cloak-io.

They cried, “Come on, Pinocchio,
We’ll entertain the folk-io,
On puppet strings you’ll dance and sing
From Timbuktu to Tokyo.”

Pinocchio, Pinocchio,
Got sold to a trav’lin’ show-kio,
Got put in a cage by a man in a rage
With a stick to give him a poke-io.”
-Shel Silverstein

As I read through the Ribbons of Fate from Murdock’s journal I didn’t quite get what he had meant by lame foxes and blind cats. It just seemed to me like it was one of his “lame” comparisons which he himself might be too “blind” to see! But nay, it was not to be so. Interestingly it was the lesser known phrase “I’ll take you from Timbuktu to Tokyo” which was used by Murdock the other day which got me thinking. I Googled it and, LO! I found out about his foxes and cats.

Though I had my share of luck and internet connection all I needed to do was flip a page to see what he meant by it. A few excerpts from his journal…

“…. but rest aside I was reminded about the lame foxes and blind cats I was talking about the other day. In today’s world, as cruel as it may seem, there are people who are the perfect definition of the word low-life. These creatures, for their daily food, don’t even think before they destroy the lives and dreams and aspirations of a minimum of two generations. Child labor and trafficking is not a crime in the book of law. It is a crime against the very fabric of the purpose of our existence. The poor in the slums and distant villages all across the world we live in suffer either of the two in any form. They are coaxed into this evil.

‘Once upon a time in the small village west of Genoa, Italy, there lived a young boy named Giuseppe. He was short for a boy his age and thinner than most kids around. He had peculiar set of mismatched eyes and jet black hair combed back. He never really knew his father. His mother told him stories of how his father was fighting for Jesus. He grew up listening to his mother talk all day of his father’s home coming. Only that he never came in the morning before he woke up, like she promised that he would. At nights she told him bedtime stories. His favorite was “Joseph and his many coloured coat”. He wished that one day he would also free his mother so that they can live happily ever after. After all, his name sake did so in the story,

On one fine day, he woke up to the sounds of marching. Had his father finally come! Unable to contain his excitement he rushed outside. It was not his father. It could not be. His father would surely be taller. It was a group of kids! Young boys and girls like him. And they were marching. Curiously Giuseppe asked one of the boy marching pompously,” Where are you all marching?”

The boy looked at him in a bewildered manner and replied, “Of course we are but on course to the Holy Lands. Jesus told us to come. He will part the ocean for us to go bring our fathers back!”

“Why, really? Our fathers back home?”

“Yes. What are you waiting for? Come on already.”

Giuseppe rushed to tell his mother. His mother being a devout Christian blessed her only son on his journey to save her husband from the Holy Land. And Giuseppe marched east deeper into the east where his father went. A week later they had reached the city of Genoa.

That was where I first met him. On my way to the city of Barcelona from Rome I had stopped at Genoa. As I looked down I saw a procession of children marching through the city. A wise old man once said, “Curiosity is not a sin”. I caught hold of a short and stout kid, and asked him what was all this about. I distinctly remember his jumping enthusiastically shouting something about his father whom he was going to rescue. Kids these days. They never stay at home, do they? My mother tells the same about me.

I continued my journey towards the west. Due to the highly mindless act of asking a few men along the way for directions I ended up in Turin a couple of weeks later and it took a couple of months before I reached Marseilles.

As I walked into the sea port, the roads stank of filth and poverty. The streets filled with beggars and lepers all dressed alike. The minute they see a traveler they leapt with their hands out stretched for alms, able young men and malnourished boys crying out for a franc or so to fill their ever empty stomachs. As I turned into the alley of an inn, after escaping from the horde, I saw another one of their kind. But he was not like the others. He sobbed into his arms hysterically. My heart went out to him. I called out to him. He didn’t look up. I tossed a couple of coins near his foot to get his attention and walked away. I turned to see him for one last time, and I swear I saw those same mismatched eyes.’

Did the boy deserve it? Did his mother deserve the fate that was upon him? Did his siblings? Who was to benefit from all this? From that day to this, from Timbuktu to Tokyo, where there exist wings of passion there will exist lame foxes who steal and blind cats that see.

A Blur-red Xperience

A voice.
YOU HAVE TAKEN THE LEAD.
And a hell a lot of noise.

Yes! A deeper sense of victory. Something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Behind a mounted machine gun I rampage through the dirt in which along with the worms men crawl to get to me. My reinforcement had re-spawned on the other side of the barn. I had to hold the fort till they came. Their dying words still rang through my ears. I had to do this. We could not afford to lose this lead.

Let me tell you all what happened. It was raining heavily. Our forces had been deployed in the greenhouses. We didn’t have any Intel on the Marines except that rookie Private SHIVA aka SangiMangi was in their team. But we were told by our commander zeek that they show no mercy towards us and that we should do the same. We were a team of three. Vikash was always at my back. We went on every mission together. This one was supposed to be the last one. Or so the angel said as we made our way to the western turret. Commander zeek led us there. We moved quietly through the grass. Oh the smell of grass. Green green grass with fresh mud splattered up to the tip, coupled with the smell of new rain. Heavenly. I took cover behind tank by the barn. Then came the signal.

“CHARGE”, yelled zeek.

zeek led the charge while I flanked from the left. The marines were camping. They didn’t expect us so soon. We had the advantage and we made the best of it. I launched a grenade and it took out two of the rotten scum. But there was a third. I had the misfortune of meeting him on a container ship some time back. It was not pretty. I know what he could do. The horrors he unleashed with his Red Dot aim attached AK-47. He was known by many names, but the one I know is “chaz”. As I fearlessly advanced firing my AK-47 at him he retorted to his oldest tricks. He fell down and armed with a semi automatic he took aim for a head shot. I knew it was over for me.

And then I heard the shot. But no pain came. Was I in heaven? I heard a voice above the ring in my head. It was zeek. Was he dead too. I saw him have a head injury. What was he shouting?

“Do not charge in open space!!”

He looked furious enough for me to know that I was alive. But he was satisfied too. We had the place we wanted. Now we camp.

I took position near the gun. Vikash watched the stairways and zeek looked on. It was silent. Not the peaceful kind. The kind of silence that precedes death. They were coming. Now we wait.

Then I saw. Another nemesis. Corporal Prasanna entering the barn. I aimed, and fired. I have no memory of what happened next. I distinctly remember a fear. A fear an old Alpha lion has before it loses to the Alpha lion of another pack. And I remember futile efforts of Vikash trying to blast with rocket launchers out off the turret they now had in their possession. How did we lose it? Or did we charge out of camp to the eastern turret to gain back the lost lead? Then the angel told me,” You have 5 minutes”

Was this the end? Are we to go out losing fighting for a cause? In the end, the 3 hours were a Blur.

PS: We later found out that sleeping beauty FINALLLLLY (ash) aka Ashrrith was there in the other team. Or else. Or else… well that is for another day’s entry into the Blurred Xperience.

Murdock Memories- Ribbons of Fate

After a gap well taken to think over and over again to get his first written entry into his blog, Murdock finally pens the one thing which everybody in the known world cares about. No he’d not talking about the always talked about topics such as love and care nor is he talking about the always wanted commodity or necessity that is money. He’s talking about want every human being lives for, strives for, yearns for, and earns for. Guess again. No not family either. It’s called the Success of Recognition.

“Into the day’s darkest hour we fought,
for during the brightest we strived naught,
over and over we turn into men we hate,
to only cross the infinite Ribbons of Fate.”
-Sir Winston Churchill (attributed)

…..or is it? Who deemed it attributed to the greatest war hero for the Empire? Did he quote these? Nay, it was a kid who entered through the Gates of Maturity of the Eternal Mind. It was Murdock. But why did he knowingly attribute them to his favorite politician? The answer is, The Ribbons of Fate. A man, a great man, who has cross thousands of hurdles, a man whose words people will follow and agree. He was not some teenager who is just in college. He was not someone whose voice is mute though he’s screaming at the top of it to be heard. He was someone who had crossed hurdles upon hurdles, crushed his troubles, routed his opposing daemons but most important of all, he had crossed The Ribbon of Fate.

History has always existed in my opinion, a reminded. A brutal reminder to every human being who walks the face of earth that it was winners who wrote history, demeaning and discrediting the ones who didn’t make it past the finish line. Nobody is going to give you a second look if they knew that you are a nobody. One’s potential has no respect unless they turn into actions, kinetically applaud able one at that too. To even be considered worthy of a second look one must be a winner. Who ever said that winning doesn't matter must have been a loser in some aspect that they want to be successful in. Crossing it once and the euphoria of a first timer is well to watch, but the ego surmounted upon them is the curse of victory, a curse far greater than another's evil green eye.

But then of course there are the lame foxes and the blind cats but that is for another day.

Murdock Memories- The Beginning of Time

Long long ago, in a distant land not so far far away, there lived a boy. He was so bored that he decided to write a blog. Now he was lazy too. All youngsters are lazy these days. I remember a time when there used to be teenagers fighting to prove their worth in order to survive (anybody remember the movie 300?). Well anyway, for he was young he was stupid too. I mean he did want to write his own blog didn't he? Now the funniest part is why of all the lazy days he’s chosen this fine day. Well it’s all thanks to the inspiration of fellow college mate, a man who’s wisdom prevails all known funda, for he is a Magi, a member of aristocracy in his own right, for he is a Royal of Rebus, a financier of juice in the canteen, for I’m broke, a really awesome guy, for he’s congenitally awesome, and last but not the least fellow Kuttisevurian, Vignesh Natarajan.

Well back to the matter at hand. A blog is like a journal, a diary, an autobiography in many ways. Most people write about why they started writing the blog. CHECK. Some people write about how people write or start their blogs as they don’t come up with an idea themselves. I mean in today’s world how else to light your candle without the flame from another’s wick. CHECK. But I’ve never been like “most people” or even like “some people”. I’ve always been like “Howling Mad people”. As a great rap artist once put to pen, “Without fusion now what would live.” Or did i just make that up. Well actually i did make that up just now. When new religions and ideologies are born by fusion of other religions and ideologies, why not blogs? Well thus this young charming charismatic chap Murdock has decided to follow a new path. A path never dreamed of. So,

“I ask you all fellow beings,
to See what I am seeing,
masquerades of Murdock,
not the laments of Lockhart,
and to not read my blog alone,
but to one day script your own…”

-Shravan “Murdock” Santosh