Tomichan Matheikal's blog

Fiction The sea became more restless as the sun turned crimson in the western horizon turning the distant waters resplendent with a riot of colours.  Raghav continued to stare into those colours as if some genie would emerge out of them and solve his problems. “Thief! Thief!”  A middle-aged woman who was sitting a few feet away shouted.  A commotion followed.  The man who had snatched her handbag had already disappeared into the motley crowd on the beach.  People asked a few questions like “Did it contain many valuables?” or offered some counsel like “You should be careful!” and then the commotion subsided.   People returned to the sunset. “Is there any way I can be of help?”  Raghav asked the woman when the sun had vanished into the sea and the people started moving away.  A few chose to settle down on the beach as usual.    The woman looked at him for a moment and said, “Yes, in fact.  I’ll need the bus fare to go home.” Raghav pulled out his purse and offered

My friend Sunanina made a suggestion to fellow bloggers: Pick up the book you are reading and from the 12th page, choose a word and use it as a prompt to write your next post. Try to relate it in some way to the twelve months of the New Year. Don't forget to tell the name of the book to your readers . Though I had voted for the suggestion at Indiblogger, the prospect of looking ahead into the next twelve months acted as a dampener.  I am good at looking back like most failures.  Unlike failures, however, I look back and grin .  Because I know I defeated myself by colluding with those who wanted to defeat me.  Like the penitent at the confessional, I should thump my chest and cry “ Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa .”  That will be joining the enemy again.  I’d rather take Don Juan’s advice to Carlos Castaneda: “... there is no time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions.” And decisions belong to the future.  Like new year resolutions.  So, follow

Book Review “To God belongs the East and the West,” says one of the prominent characters who commits two murders in the novel.  “But East is east and West is west,” pat comes the response from Black, the one who identifies the murderer. Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk’s novel, My Name is Red , revolves round the European (West) and the Turkish (East) perspectives of art.  The artist is free to look at the object according to his individual inner truth and understanding in the Western view.  Such an artist has an individual style.  But the genuine Islamic view has to see an object as Allah would see it.  Any individual nuance  given by the artist is blasphemy.  The novel is set in 1591, a year before the 1000 th anniversary (by the Islamic calendar) of Prophet Mohammed’s flight from Mecca to Medina.  The Sultan wants to celebrate the anniversary by publishing a special book which will be illustrated by the best artists (miniaturists) of the country.  Enishte Effendi is giv