Tomichan Matheikal's blog

  Annanya Gulia Annanya Gulia is a grade 12 student of Army Public School, Noida. A former colleague of mine in Delhi, who is now Annanya’s English teacher, drew my attention to the remarkable poetic gift of the young girl. I would like to present one of the poems here. Coming from a teenager who lives in the heartless National Capital Region of India, this poem deserves a deep look. The central theme is the value of lived experience over conventional success. The young poet emphasises that marks and certificates, often seen as measures of achievement, are not what endure. Instead, intangible qualities such as kindness, resilience, curiosity, patience, courage, and the lessons from scars, form the true wealth that she will carry forward. Superficial recognition is not what she hankers after but a celebration of inner growth. What struck me particularly is the rich and vivid imagery employed in the poem. “No rolled-up mark sheets like battle flags” underscores the exaggerated im...

Part of my personal library Books sustain me the most. How do I choose my books? Characters? Themes? Plot? I love serious literature. When I say my beloved writers are Dostoevsky, Kazantzakis, Kafka, and Camus, you will understand what I mean by ‘serious’ literature. These writers have everything: complex characters, philosophical themes, and gripping plots – things I look for in fiction. Take Dostoevsky , for example. His novels probe the deepest recesses of the human soul, expressing the tensions between faith and doubt, freedom and responsibility, sin and redemption. His characters wrestle with conscience, guilt, and the search for meaning. Life is at once tragic, fragile, and capable of transcendence in the novels of this inimitable genius. The Greek Nikos Kazantzakis explores the human spirit caught between earthly passions and transcendent longings, portraying life as a ceaseless struggle between flesh and spirit, despair and hope. His works taught me that the meaning of...

Image by Copilot Designer Dear S, I don’t know if you’d even remember me after all these decades, but I find myself writing to you as if it were only yesterday that we parted ways. You were one of the few friends I had at school. You may be amused to know that a drawing of yours that you gifted me stayed with me until I left Kerala after school. Half a century later, I still remember that beautiful pencil drawing, the picture of a vallam (Kerala’s canoe) resting on a shore beneath a coconut tree that slanted over a serene river on whose other bank was an undulating hilly landscape. A few birds flew happily in the sky. Though it was all done in pencil, absolutely black and white, my memories of it carry countless colours. I wonder where you are now. A few years later, when I returned to Kerala on holiday, I did visit your village to enquire about you. But the village had changed much and your hut on the hill wasn’t seen anymore. Maybe, you moved on. Maybe, you took up your father’s...

Image by Copilot Designer I am a member of a quirky WhatsApp group named ‘The Real Saints.’ With only 15 members, the group is unusually vibrant with one post or another popping up every now and then. Everything under the sun is grist to this group’s carnivalesque mill whose members belong to diverse professions: banker, lawyer, businessman, jeweller, entrepreneur, teacher, and – believe it or not – a Catholic priest. All of us had studied together for two years in the mid-1970s in Kochi. That was probably the only thing that united us. Otherwise, we were all as different from each other as oil and vinegar. But there is a streak of eccentricity in all of us, I think. Probably, it is that eccentricity that keeps us together. One is a staunch Modi supporter and one (that’s me) is an equally staunch Modi-basher. There are hardcore Congressmen and equally hardcore Marxists. But we have never had a fight at any time anywhere – neither in real physical plains nor in the digital realms. ...

Illustration by Gemini AI A few months back, a clinical psychiatrist asked me whether anyone in my family ever suffered from insanity. “All of us are insane to some degree,” I wanted to tell her. But I didn’t because there was another family member with me. We had taken a youngster of the family for counselling. I had forgotten the above episode until something happened the other day which led me to write last post . The incident that prompted me to write that post brought down an elder of my family from the pedestal on which I had placed him simply because he is a very devout religious person who prays a lot and moves about in the society like the gentlest soul that ever lived in these not-so-gentle terrains. I also think that the severe flu which descended on me that night was partly a product of my disillusionment. The realisation that one’s religion and devotion that guided one for seven decades hadn’t touched one’s heart even a little bit was a rude shock to me. What does re...