Tomichan Matheikal's blog

Some of my prized possessions in my youth were a dictionary, a thesaurus and a pronouncing dictionary.  The grammar book belonged to boyhood days.  The pronouncing dictionary of Daniel Jones which still finds a place –though a relegated one – in my book shelf is a 1979 edition.  I bought it in 1980 or so when the phone number in my hometown was a three-digit figure.  It was used as frequently in those days as my dictionary and the thesaurus (the latter of which I bought when I was 16).  I was quite fastidious about lexical and grammatical precision and even style. My obsession with words sometimes landed me in ridiculous situations because I teetered on the edge of malapropism often enough to attract derision from certain people who found me clownish enough to be amusing.  It took me a while to understand that it’s not words that make one’s writing attractive; it’s convictions and their depth. Time of 3-digit phone number  Today the dictionary, the thesaurus and the pro

Rowing on The highest form of inspiration has the signature of love somewhere in it.  Even a great intellectual giant like Albert Einstein had love in his neurons.  His love, however, was not confined to a few individual human beings; it encompassed the whole cosmos.  When he said that "there are only two ways to live your life” one of which is “as though nothing is a miracle” and “the other is as though everything is a miracle,” his love for the cosmos is what came across.  The cosmos was a miracle for him.  He loved it.  His love led to his theories born out of his ardent desire to understand what he loved so much.  Novelist Joseph Conrad could not have mapped the dark depths of the human heart had he not been inspired by love of human beings.  “Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness,” he knew.  But he also knew that men alone could seek themselves in the work they do.  What makes a man great is not the work he does, Conrad would have said, but discovering him

Read the report here “Oh God, it’s getting tougher and tougher!” I mumbled to myself as I finished reading about the latest reform being imposed on the nation by the government . “Really?  I thought you didn’t believe in god.”  I looked around and saw no one.  Yet I was sure I heard the voice.  There was a chuckle then. “ Oh God is just an exclamation I use like alas or Oh I see and nothing more,” I said to test the voice. “I see,” said the voice.  “Anyway, what’s getting tougher and tougher?  You sound quite frustrated.” “Who are you?” I was dismayed obviously. “You called god and here am I.” “God?” “Well, some people call me that.  People like to call me by a lot of names.” “You mean you’re real!” “As real as you.” “If you are really real, how do you put up with all the nonsense perpetrated in your name by people?” “Do I have a choice?” “What kind of a god is it without a choice?” “You are a writer.  Do you have a choice ab

Book Review “I see you.  But you don’t see me.”  The villain of Clare Mackintosh’s novel, I See You , says that.  This villain is one who sells the profiles of women – fairly attractive ones though he knows that attractiveness is a subjective attribute – to prospective buyers.  It is a remunerative online business which gives a profile picture of the woman along with certain details like how she looks, her approximate age and where one can find her usually.  Many of the women eventually become victims of assault, rape and even murder.  It would appear that there are too many men without anything much to do except stalk women. The story is narrated partly by Zoe Walker [first person narrative] who is shocked to see her photo in a newspaper advertisement which merely mentions a website and a phone number.  Soon Zoe discovers that she is one of the many women whose profiles are available online to potential clients.  The other half of the story is narrated by Kelly Swift, a polic

Three Muslim girls wearing the hijab and dancing in a public place kicked up too much unsavoury controversy in Kerala.  The irony is that until a few days ago these same men from the Muslim community in the state were vociferously supporting a girl who converted from Hinduism to Islam in order to marry a Muslim youth whose personal credentials are allegedly tainted with IS connections.  When Akhila became Hadiya, the Muslim community called it personal freedom.  When three Muslim girls danced as part of an AIDS day awareness programme, it became a sign of the Armageddon .  Such double standards make religion absurd.  If you advocate personal freedom when someone leaves her religion and joins yours, why can’t you permit the same personal freedom to girls of your own religion who dance for a social cause? Why would three girls dancing bring the Armageddon on the earth?  The plain answer is that the menfolk want their women to hide themselves behind the veil, behind the burqa,

Sometimes the society gifts me an identity crisis.  My association with the society is usually limited to my workplace and that being a school there is little problem.  [I must admit that I get an enviably fantastic set of students year after year.]  However, when I meet people occasionally in certain gatherings like wedding or funeral, friends and relatives often introduce me to others as a fiercely anti-BJP blogger.  That has always embarrassed me. When I look at my blog posts, I find that politics is a rare subject in my writing.  I write short stories, book reviews and reflections on life much more than politics.  Yet I get labelled as “fiercely anti-BJP” probably because I articulate my political views without the sweetening additive of diplomacy.  Lack of diplomacy has always been my nemesis, my lifelong companion.  That’s one of the reasons why I chose to stay away from the society.  I’m incapable of sweetening harsh facts.  Light doesn’t terrorise me and I’m incapab

One of my old colleagues in Delhi shared the above in his Facebook space today.  I was amused.  I controlled my amusement with a hearty laugh.  I did not comment.  In fact, I stopped commenting on the posts made by many of my Delhi friends because they are not even fit to be counted as jokes.  Blatant lies, that’s what they are.  But my friends in Delhi and other parts of North India believe they are truths.  In fact, these are ‘truths’ fabricated by BJP after it came to power in Delhi three and a half years ago.  I’m taking this as an example.  Just one out of the innumerable lies foisted on the nation as historical truths by the ruling party.  Knowledgeable people will ignore these.  At best, they will have hearty laughs like me.  I too kept on ignoring them.  But I was aghast when some of my students in Kerala (where I teach now) started taking some of these posts seriously.  This blog post is for their sake.  Beware, my young friends.  There is a lot of falsehood being fois