Tomichan Matheikal's blog

I have been asked again and again why I hate Mr Narendra Modi. The most basic answer is I don’t hate him. I don’t hate anybody because I know that hatred will corrode my goodness. I’m opposed to Mr Modi’s worldview. That’s not hatred; I’m sure people will understand or try to understand that essential difference. India has now become a country where even that difference is not quite understood. Anyone who questions Modi is portrayed as antinational if not a traitor by an incredibly large number of people among whom I’m quite surprised to find highly educated and very intelligent people too. Modi has created that situation. That’s part of his personality disorder ; he is a narcissist and he knows how to veil that narcissism efficiently beneath the veneer of religious nationalism (a very dangerous though potent concoction). His worldview is highly tainted by the same disorder. In a healthier political system Modi would have been a struggler on the sideline. India’s polit

People want a different entertainment once in a while. The King knew it. That’s why he constructed the arch across the Raj Path. He also made sure that a marble slab was affixed at the foot of the arch with his name emblazoned on it so that posterity would remember him as the builder of the arch. It was a monumental arch, the biggest and tallest of its kind so far. When its construction was over, the King announced its grand inauguration on all TV channels controlled by him. There were very few channels that were not under his control and such channels were breathing their last anyway. The offices of those channels were raided frequently for one reason or another. On the day of opening the grand arch to the public officially, the King rode on the Raj Path standing on an elevated platform in an open jeep waving at his admirers who stood on both sides of the Path. The ride and the inaugural address were telecasted live to the entire admiring nation. The arch was decorate

When I look back at my life, there’s plenty to be ashamed of. So many mistakes were made because of my immaturity, my obstinate refusal to grow up. It’s only in the autumn of your life you realise that so many blunders of youth could have been avoided. In Tagore’s words, clouds now come floating into your life, no longer to carry rain or usher a storm, but to add colour to your sunset sky. The metaphorical rains and storms belong to a different phase.   The hues of the sunset sky remain now. Those hues may look resplendent but each has a sad story to tell. That’s how life is, I believe: more tears than laughter. Or is it more folly than wisdom? Wisdom comes through the tears, perhaps. The wisdom does not make you perfect, however. The truth is that none of us grows absolutely. We grow in certain dimensions and remain clumsily retarded in certain others. I have at least grown wise enough to know where I’m likely to make a fool of myself. That’s why I stay away from societ

Tradition The vey mention of the word ‘tradition’ brings to my mind the above song from one of my all-time favourite movies, Fiddler on the Roof . The song says that the Jews have a tradition for everything from how to eat to how to work. Tradition governs everything that they do. Without traditions their life would be as shaky as a fiddler on the roof, the character says. The fiddler who plays his fiddle standing on a slopped roof is in a precarious situation. The Jews were in a similar precarious situation. Perhaps we are all in such a situation all the time. Human life is never possible without some precariousness. Look at India’s situation now, for example. Aren’t we standing on a slopped rooftop and playing a fiddle? Traditions give them the balance required in life’s precarious situations, says the character. Traditions teach each Jew who he is and what god expects of him. The Jews continue to follow their ancient traditions with canine and clannish loyalty. Muslims

Young Jesus goes to join a monastery. A monk who is the ‘guest master’ meets him at the gate and asks him to go back thinking he was just a crazy young boy. “God commanded me to come,” says Jesus who is visibly worried. The monk cackled. He had seen a good deal in his lifetime and had no confidence in God . “God is the Lord,” says the monk. “So he does whatever comes into his head. If he wasn’t able to inflict injustice, what kind of an Omnipotent would he be?” The above scene is from The Last Temptation of Christ , a novel by Nikos Kazantzakis. [The lines in italics are quoted from the novel.] The predominant theme of the novel is the conflict between the good and the evil, between the flesh and the spirit. Right at the beginning of the novel we find Jesus wondering whether God and the devil are different entities at all. “ Who can tell them apart? They exchange faces,” Jesus reflects. Both god and devil are within us. Both good and evil are within us. What

Devotees at Chottanikkaram Makam Image from Mathrubhumi Today’s newspapers in Kerala carried images of devotees at the Chottanikkara Temple. The best image was the one in Malayala Manorama in which a young girl was shown praying to the deity with tears streaming down her cheeks. I couldn’t get that image online because of Manorama’s copyright possessiveness.   The intensity of the fervour in the eyes of that devotee struck a chord with me. I am not a devotee of any deity and I can’t stand crowds even in places of worship. But the image made me question the meaning of prayer. I guess prayer means a whole range of different things to different people. Most devotees must be praying in order to influence the deity, to make the deity change his/her mind, to alter the existing unpleasant reality. Most devotees expect miracles, I’m quite sure, though the degree of the miracle may vary widely from getting a good spouse to curing someone’s incurable ailment. Can we really in

Image from Wikipedia Diogenes was on his usual quest, Holding a lantern up in his hand, Searching for goodness In the species called human beings. The most right place should be Where else but places of worship? Where man meets his gods There should of course be goodness. The priests wore habits of different colours, They spoke truths of different colours, Only the hatred in their eyes had the same colour. In god’s house, muttered Diogenes to himself, There’s no place to spit but the priest’s face. The offices of political parties with elegant slogans and proud flags must be the place where goodness resides. Kill, kill, is all that he heard in each office, Kill the ones holding the other flags. Kill the ones mouthing other slogans. Those who are not with us are against us. Kill them for the sake of the nation. Why not whip the politician, the leader, when the citizen is led astray? Diogenes’s lantern flickered. In the cott