Tomichan Matheikal's blog

From The Economist ‘Post-truth’ is a relatively new phrase which means “relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief”. About three years ago, The Economist published an article which defined post-truth politics as the “art of the lie”. India has internalised the art of the lie. The country’s Prime Minister himself peddles lies and half-truths as it suits him. Yesterday he spoke very emotionally to a teeming crowd that Kerala, West Bengal and Tripura are killing BJP workers. There are clashes between politicians belonging to different parties in these states as in any other, no doubt. But the BJP workers are not particularly at risk of being attacked more than any other party men.   The PM knows how to foist half-truths and full lies on a nation that has become uncharacteristically credulous these days. The truth is that people belonging to minority communities

335 pages and over three weeks is quite uncharacteristic of me. It means the book didn’t appeal to me. Yet it’s a good novel, my heart tells me again and again. So I picked it up once more for a second reading before writing this post which is not really a review. How can you review a book unless it made you feel something in your heart? My attempt to give it a second reading floundered to a rather abrupt end when the book made me feel sleepy every time I picked it up. Yet I can guarantee that the book is good. A sexagenarian looks back at his life with much wistfulness and resignation. The loss of his mother when he was only nine years old redefined his life altogether. Later the father too abandoned him for a while. The mother ran away with a German when she realised that there was little in common between her and her husband. There was no connection between the mother and the son except some letters she wrote him initially. The mother vanishes from the boy’s conscious

It is sheer coincidence that three Muslims are being beaten up at Seoni in Madhya Pradesh when I run into Gandhi on the bank of the Sarayu at no other place than Ayodhya, the birthplace of Gandhi’s beloved deity. I thrust my phone into my pocket and stare at Bapu. He smiles at me. The smile is warped as if it is prised out forcefully from a heart that actually wants to weep. “The Sarayu is a river of sorrows,” he says as he gestures to me to sit down beside him on a step of the ghat. The river reeks of filth more than sorrow. But I decide to say nothing. I wish to listen to the Mahatma. Or just sit beside him feeling his silence within my being. “Hey, Ram!” He says softly with a sigh. I wish to ask him if Ram is there in the same place as Bapu, wherever that is. Do they meet and talk? What about others like Krishna and Jesus and Muhammad? Do they all live in the same place or have they divided that place on religious lines? I can’t bring myself to ask anything of the

“People use politics not just to advance their interests but also to define their identity,” said Samuel P. Huntington whose book The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order drew worldwide attention at the turn of the millennium. Identity is a major issue which the Bharatiya Janata Party [BJP] has played with producing remarkable effects at the hustings during the last five years.   The identity bequeathed to India by Jawaharlal Nehru and Mahatma Gandhi when the country liberated itself from the British was essentially a Western product founded on secularism and liberalism. The quintessential Indian outlook was – and still is, to a large extent – antithetical to secularism and liberalism. India’s countless gods and the rigidly hierarchical caste system were incompatible with Nehru’s rational agnosticism and Gandhi’s mystical inclusiveness. The later leaders who led the Congress Party lacked the profundity of both Nehru and Gandhi. Most of them succumbe

An extract from my latest book , Autumn Shadows: Memoir S awan had a lot of Sharmas among the staff in various positions. In my first year at the school, I took a team of debaters to Punjab Public School at Nabha in Punjab whose principal made a flippant remark about my school being also known as Sharma Public School. Though I thought the humour was a little out of place, it drew my attention to the many Sharmas in Sawan whom I had not even come to know until I returned from Punjab Public School. The Sharmas played a major role in Sawan. They had a peculiar penchant for tugging history to themselves. They shaped the history and the destiny of Sawan to a great extent. I should have considered myself fortunate to be invited into their company. But unfortunately my personal proclivity was to keep a safe distance from people if not run away from them altogether. Thus my probable opportunity to be a more significant part of Sawan’s history and destiny was lost though my palate le

Let us go then, you and I, When the country is gasping for breath Like a patient who has been given the extreme unction; Let us go, to Kedarnath and Badrinath, The muttering retreats Of restless souls who have reached their wit’s end And comic costumes guarded by a royal retinue: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of my sincerest intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the yards Pappus come and go Talking of Sickularism. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the Mandikini, The saffron that shrouds me as I withdraw to the cave, Camera flashes lick up images for Twitter and Facebook, And all other media that stand in drains. Wait, wait, there will be time For the yellow fog and saffron shroud to envelop you, Rubbing their backs upon your pygmy chests; There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that I choose to don; Th

Image from gettyimages.in “Do you think inspirational books are really useful?” Varkita Goyal, blogger, asks at a blogger community. The first inspirational book I read was How to Win Friends and Influence People by the godfather of inspirational books, Dale Carnegie. I read it as a school boy. I found the book in my father’s library and was drawn by the very title. I wanted to win friends and influence people. The book had all the tricks and techniques, if I remember correctly. But I never won any friend, nor do I think I went on to influence anyone. As I look back I know that the problem was not with Carnegie or his strategies. The problem was with me. What I needed were not tricks and strategies but a lot of polishing. I had too many rough edges and I lacked the self-knowledge required to deal with them. Unless you possess a certain fundamental self-knowledge, inspirational books won’t do any miracle for you. Eventually I read a lot of inspirational books. All sor