Tomichan Matheikal's blog

Fiction Mr Padgaonkar was having his usual Scotch whisky on rocks when his mobile phone rang its calling tune of Rang de Basanti .   A call that cannot be ignored.   Not by the editor of the leading national newspaper.   A call from the PMO.   “Cut it out,” ordered the speaker. “I will,” said Mr Padgaonkar with the obedience of a defiant school student in front of his most favourite teacher. The Prime Minister’s Office had taken note of a news item on the newspaper’s website announcing the rewriting of the country’s history by changing the heads of ICHR and NCERT.  The office didn’t want it to be news; it was a clandestine affair which was meant for today’s students and their teachers. “All the advertisements...” “... will be cancelled.  I know.  Cut out that shit,” asserted the editor.  “I know the business.”  He has been running the business for more years than the Prime Minister had run politics even in his own s...

Book Review This is primarily a novel about the Nazi Germany during the Second World War years.  It tells the story of a young girl named Liesel who loses her mother and brother when is she is only 9 years old.  Her brother dies and her mother is taken away by Hitler’s people as she is a communist.  Liesel is handed over to Hans and Rosa Huberman.  She is the titular book thief and the first book is stolen during her brother’s funeral.  Symbolically, the book is A Gravedigger’s Handbook .  Her foster father will teach her how to read and she will steal a few more books eventually. Hitler’s Nazis burnt books which were seen as opposed to their interests.  The Nazis created their own history, myths and illusions.  Hitler was a powerful orator who hated one particular community of people whom he sent to their death brutally.  Death was ubiquitous in Hitler’s Germany.  No wonder, Death is the narrator of Markus Zusak’s novel....

Fiction “I’m sorry, mum,” said little Nancy.  She apologised for everything from spilling the milk to forgetting to kiss her goodbye before leaving for school.  Just the opposite of her father.  Sheetal smiled wryly as she remembered the day he said goodbye to her husband.  “You are so arrogant.  What do you think you are to possess such a Himalayan ego?  You commit all kinds of blunders while dealing with people.  You don’t know how to behave in a society.  You make a fool of yourself in every party after taking the first drink....”  It was endless list of omissions and commissions.  “And you never apologise even if you know you committed the most heinous offence.  Learn to apol ogise, that’s the least you can do!” “Mum,” asked Nancy while the car was moving away from her father’s house, “what does ‘apo...’, ‘apol...’, ‘apolg...’ mean?” Mum looked into her eyes for a moment and kissed her cheek.  She repe...

The spiders and the roaches beat a retreat As November moves on to gnarled mists. They are not like the human beings And cannot put on layers to suit the season. Man is the crown of God’s creation ‘cause he can add on layers and beat the season. His smile can shine through the mist With a dagger tucked away behind the mask. Masks and layers make life’s winter warm And conceal the colour deep down While we fumble through the mist Searching for the very same colour.

The other day I was in Nehru Place, Delhi, one of the largest computer markets in the world.   I wanted to get a printer cartridge refilled.  People jostled against one another in the crowded squares lined on every side with shops selling computers, accessories and other related goods.  The genuine goods competed with the counterfeit in attracting buyers.  Bargains were driven in like heartless hammer blows until the counterfeit items made mostly in China –  before India got a Prime Minister who would popularise a new slogan “Make in India” – found their actual prices.  Suddenly a mellifluous chanting of Hare Rama, Hare Krishna rose above the hum of bargains and deals.  The chanting was accompanied by some musical instruments too.  While my HP cartridge was being injected with counterfeit ink, my eyes roved in the direction of the Hare Rama, Hare Krishna .  A band of foreigners attired in Indian style was chanting the mantra...