Tomichan Matheikal's blog

Dostoevsky’s unforgettable character Ivan Karamazov says that there are just three things that people seek: “someone to worship, someone to keep his conscience, and some means of uniting all the people in one unanimous and harmonious ant-heap.”   The Right wing government of Mr Modi is an apparent success because the Prime Minister has apparently internalised Ivan’s theory and is on the way to materialising it. Religion became a dominant force in the country after the BJP came to power in the centre.   Mr Modi has become a visible god for his followers so much so that the followers are called bhakts or devotees.   By reinventing the Hindu mythology to suit contemporary requirements, Mr Modi has given a new meaning to religious worship which a sizeable section of the country’s population has lapped up. This new god and his mandate have together become the new conscience-keeper of the nation.   Consequently a lot of people suddenly became enemies of the nation.   All thos

The moon shines down on my front yard The moon was not very pleased this evening.   I was keeping a watch out for the phenomenal blue blood super moon, a once-in-a-lifetime experience.   The clouds suffused the eastern sky conspiring against my new heartthrob. Clouds are also my friends, however.   “Deprive me of my once-in-a-lifetime experience, but give me a shower,” I chanted to the clouds with all the devotion I could muster. Prayers usually have the opposite effect.   You pray for sunshine and you get a blizzard of rain.   The clouds listened to my chanting and began to clear slowly like a lazy, arrogant deity who farted at my prayer.   A hazy red disc peeped through the miasma of shifting clouds.   Gradually the redness sharpened but not clear enough for my camera to capture.   Once-in-a-lifetime experiences cannot be facile, I reminded myself.   The clouds vanished eventually.   The earth cast its shadow on the moon whose red colour changed into the usual silver

PM Modi paying homage to the Mahatma - perfunctory Prime Minister Modi paid a perfunctory homage to Mahatma Gandhi, the Father of the Nation, on his 70 th death anniversary today.   His tweet was conspicuous for what it did not say rather than what it did.   His visit to Raj Ghat was something he would have liked to avoid if he could.   The Mahatma and PM Modi are the opposite poles of a continuum that holds a nation together in spite of differences.   Gandhi’s vision was wholly inclusive while Modi’s is wholly exclusive.   It is true that Modi has come quite a way from the days of his hate speeches in the initial years of the millennium.   Not only the hatred but also the sarcasm has mellowed. Apparently.   PM Modi's tweet today It is not mellowing really.   India is witnessing communal hatred like never before.   The Mahatma’s death anniversary used to be remembered in schools with a minute’s silence until Modi became the PM.   Slowly, surreptitiously, like

Maggie went to visit her relatives yesterday and will return tomorrow.   Since absence makes hearts grow fonder, I was left afflicted by pangs of solitude.   Though I had started rereading The Karamazov Brothers , the feeling of loneliness became oppressive at a moment and I found myself picking up her Bible from where she keeps it after her daily evening prayers.   I opened a page randomly and there it was: 6  When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.   7  Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. [Genesis 3: 6-7] Paradise Lost: Painting by Russian artist Pavel Popov The Bible is rather terse when it comes to things that really matter.   Why or how did the fruit open their eyes?   And w

Somewhere in Gurugram she roamed with a beer can in hand and kicks in heart. Children cried from a school bus unable to grasp the zeal of neo-patriots who pelted rocks at their window panes. Somewhere in Gurugram I bled saffron Padmavati earned hundred crore rupees The box office is a different world with its own holy cows that feed on plastic and Rajput pride and nationalist noises Somewhere in Gurugram Eklavya lost his thumb The beer can was found near the girl’s skirt Beer, blood and saffron mingled Padmavati lost her ‘i’ The girl lost her skirt and much more The patriots made her a whore Somewhere in Gurugram she died

Some messages that come on WhatsApp make me cry.  Because I’ll be reading them for the umpteenth time.  Why should my mornings begin with these? WhatsApp is the only messaging app I have on my phone.  Until a few days back there was FB Messenger too.  I uninstalled Messenger the moment one particular friend snapped the friendship.  Santosh used to write meaningful things and I loved reading them.  It was only for him I installed Messenger.  His writings were poetic, philosophical, funny, personal, bizarre, and just anything depending on his mood.  I loved each one of them for the resplendent personality behind them.  Then some well-wishers came between us.  Well-wishers have been my nemesis for most part of my life.  They ruined my happiness whenever they got an opportunity to do so.  Well-wishers rule the roost of messaging apps.  I get at least a hundred messages from them every day.  Clichéd rules of thumb, jokes that have gathered patina over time, muffled trumpet-blo

Book Review Title: The Book of Strange New Things Author: Michel Faber Publisher: Canongate (2015) Pages: 585 Search for meaning is one of the things that distinguishes intelligent life from others.  How much does religion help in the process?  Michel Faber’s novel, The Book of Strange New Things , takes Christianity with its Bible (which is called ‘The Book of Strange New Things’ by the inhabitants) to Oasis, a planet in a distant galaxy.  “I’m an alcoholic,” says the protagonist.  “Me too,” says Grainger, a prominent character.  “It never leaves you,” responds the protagonist.  Grainger smiles.  “Like God, huh?  More loyal than God.” The protagonist is Peter Leigh, a Christian pastor who has been appointed by a shady American corporate named USIC [whose expansion is never given; does it sound like You-Sick?] to take Jesus and his gospels to the native population of Oasis.  Before becoming a pastor, Peter was an alcoholic and a drug addict who stole others’ m