Tomichan Matheikal's blog

Sitting in the cosiness of my little home, I have explored the mystery of the cosmos, encountered Schrodinger’s cat, chatted with Baruch Spinoza, witnessed Antony and Cleopatra melting Rome in the Tiber, travelled among the arid mountains of Afghanistan where hooded faces sought god in the barrels of guns, and listened to the music of the stars.   And accomplished a lot more, all thanks to books. I love books more than people simply because it is easier to understand the former whether they be fiction or non-fiction.   When it comes to fiction I like the kind which explore life in depth.   I like fiction spiced up with philosophy, history and possibly a little mystery too.   Good fiction takes us through the dark labyrinths in the human psyche.   Even psychology has not understood the human motives better than Dostoevsky or Joseph Conrad or Javier Marias.   The most sacred religious scriptures cannot refresh my soul as does Nikos Kazantzakis or Franz Kafka. Jose Saramag

Bhoothathankettu derives its name from a mythological legend which claims that bhoothams (monsters) constructed a barrage across the Periyar River in order to help goddess Parvati to redeem her spouse Shiva from other women in whom he found his pleasures while they were on their spiritual quests.  Massive boulders lie across the river looking like a natural barrage.  There is a man-made dam too though the real tourist attraction lies in the forest which leads to the bhootham-built barrage. We visited the place yesterday as part of my driving practices. Here are some pictures from the place. The Dam Walk towards the boat rides A view from the boat One of the massive trees in the forest Some fun too Viewpoint Walk towards the legendary barrage A cave on the way One part of the barrage A view from the boat The Team

Fiction His eyes stunned me.   Otherwise I wouldn’t have noticed him at all.   How could I ever expect to meet a school classmate of mine in a jungle of Uttarakhand wearing the garb of a sage? I was on a trekking expedition to Hemkund and the Valley of Flowers along with a few students of mine.   We were all nearly exhausted after the previous day’s trek from Govind Ghat to Ghangriya followed by the present morning’s trek to Hemkund.   We were at an altitude of 3600 metres, nearly in touch with the angels or at least the clouds.   Some of my students had cheated by ascending Hemkund on the backs of hired ponies.   A teacher has to be very understanding, almost like a god who is eager to forgive his creatures, his very own creatures.   That’s why our ancient tradition puts the guru on a par with the gods.   But meeting Shivan on the way to the Valley of Flowers unsettled me notwithstanding all the understanding I had acquired during the thirty odd years of my career as