Tomichan Matheikal's blog

God is one of the topics of discussion these days because the Corona disease makes people aware of their inevitable vulnerability. God is a safety valve for most people. However, a lot of religious centres which claimed to work miracles in the name of God(s) have shut down and I expressed my amusement over that in certain places like Facebook. One of my friends, who is otherwise very sensible and humorous, objected to my amusement arguing that if there is no God there would be utter chaos in the human world. Some people would even become cannibals, he said. Though I have written much about my views on god and related affairs, I’m going to discuss some points once again for the sake of my friend. 1 . I live a life of morality. I follow a very personal code of ethics which has a lot in common with socially and religiously accepted codes of ethics. But I don’t need a god to uphold it. I am good not because I am afraid of punishments from god. I am good not because I want th

A very short story The waves roared. It looked as if they were angry with someone. Or maybe with a lot of things or people or both. The beach was deserted. Silent. Still. Just the opposite of the raging ocean. The rage of the ocean contained a hunger that the beach did not seem to understand. Was the beach the cause of that hunger, all that anger? The tall coconut trees stood indifferently off the beach. The roads beyond those lanky trees were frighteningly abandoned. The sun lashed the tarmac mercilessly. Move on the road, a few kilometres, and you will come across the woods. The lovely, dark and green woods. A virus laughs in those woods.  I prefer the rage of the waves. 

The entrance to the Refineries School I was under the impression that goodness had vanished from the human world altogether. We have majestic leaders now who openly advocate hatred and violence, and the number of their followers is mounting by the moment. Even religions are more about donations and palatial buildings than love and compassion. Worse than the lusting after power and wealth is the mendacity of the people in high positions. They propagate a lot of falsehood among the gullible people of the country. Falsehood has replaced truths in a country whose motto is Satyameva Jayate. The situation has made me so cynical that I turn and look around for a coffin the moment I smell roses.   That’s why what happened on Saturday last made a lasting impression on me. I was at Cochin Refineries School near Ernakulam for over a week on a duty assigned by CBSE. Saturday was my eighth and last day of duty there. Many people on the campus like the security guard at the gate had alr

Jim Jarmusch In his book, The Seven Basic Plots , Christopher Booker says that most works of literature are repetitions of one of seven basic plots. Those seven plots are: 1. Overcoming the Monster, 2. Rags to Riches, 3. The Quest, 4. Voyage and Return, 5. Rebirth, 6. Comedy and 7. Tragedy. Thus David Copperfield is an imitation of The Ugly Duckling and Steven Spielberg’s Jaws has more in common with the ancient Beowulf than you might imagine. Nothing is really original. Can’t be. Long ago, Plato said that art is an imitation of life. The philosopher was not quite happy about that either. The imitation takes you away from the ideal reality, he thought. You become like a cave dweller who mistakes a moving shadow for the reality. Plato’s disciple, Aristotle, was kinder towards writers and story tellers. Imitation is an essential aspect of human nature, he accepted. We can’t help being story tellers. We are all story tellers. And we take our stories from out there. We copy

When the schools and colleges in the state were closed to prevent the spread of the Covid virus and Corona disease, Abdullah’s question was: “Isn’t Kovind our President?” “It’s Covid, not Kovind, Covid-19,” said Adil, Abdullah’s son. Adil was an undergrad, the first in the family of butchers to cross the threshold of a college. For that reason alone, he was the hero of the family. Everyone from father Abdullah at home to the remotest aunt somewhere in a Malappuram wilderness believed that Adil was a genius because he was going to be a commerce graduate in another couple of years. Adil would be the first graduate in his family. He was going to be the progenitor of a new family history. It was important these days, a new history. This creator of the new family history had suddenly turned melancholy. Mother Aisha noticed Adil’s face losing its colour the moment the announcement came about the holidays. Abdullah had not noticed that, however. When he did notice the melanch

Image from The Daily Star I wept bitterly like a child when my cat died . He was killed on the road by a vehicle. It took me quite a while to accept the loss. “I never knew that I was such an emotional person,” I told a friend later. Even now, a month after the cat’s death, his memories bring tears to my eyes. I used to think that I had no emotions, that I was just a robot who went about doing a lot of things mechanically. True that I used to reflect a lot about many things. The reflections were of an intellectual nature; emotions seldom came into play. Really? When I introspect now, I realise that Mr Modi and his kind of politics make me emotional. I have written quite a lot about Modi and his politics and, as someone told me the other day, much of that writing is driven by “passion”. Yes, Modi makes me emotional. The kind of emotions that Modi arouses in my heart are diametrically opposite of what my cat’s death aroused. The cat arouses feelings of tenderness in my h

Fiction Whenever the Parliament was in session, Rakesh Sharma MP became a different man. Ordinarily he was just a politician from a small town in Himachal Pradesh. He was so ordinary a politician that without Modiji’s magical touch he would have remained a mere boulder on a rustic hillside in Himachal Pradesh. Modiji weaves a magical web with words and a billion insects get trapped. Rakesh Sharma knew that he was a leader of trapped insects. Not that it mattered anyway. It gave him a chance to be in Delhi for a week or so every time the Parliament held a session. And Delhi was the city of delights. Sensual delights. Rakesh Sharma’s suite would be ready at Hotel Chanakya in Chanakyapuri prior to his arrival in Delhi. A beautiful young woman of foreign origin would be awaiting him with a sensuous smile and seductive attire. Rupeshu Lakshmi, Sayaneshu Veshya . The fact that Lakshmi had foreign blood in her veins boosted Rakesh Sharma’s consciousness of his power. He felt like a