Tomichan Matheikal's blog

Are we Indians now living in an aberrant period of history? A period that is far worse than the puranic Kali Yuga? A period in which gods decide to run away in fear of men? That’s a very provocative question, isn’t it, especially in a time when people are being arrested for raising much more innocuous questions than that? But I raise my hands in surrender because I’m not raising this question; the Malayalam movie that Maggie and I watched is. Before I go to the provocations of the movie, I am compelled to clarify a spelling problem with the title of the movie. The title is Bhramayugam [ ഭ്രമയുഗം] in Malayalam. But the movie’s records and ads write it as Bramayugam [ ബ്രമയുഗം ] which would mean the yuga of Brama. Since Brama doesn’t mean anything in Malayalam, people like me will be tempted to understand it as the yuga of Brahma . In fact, that is how I understood it until Maggie corrected me before we set off to watch the movie by drawing my attention to the Malayalam spelling

Read Part 1 of thi s here . K abir lived in the 15 th century. But his poems and songs are still valued. Being illiterate, he didn’t write them. They were passed on orally until they were collected by certain enthusiasts into books. Vipul Rikhi’s book, Drunk on Love: The Life, Vision and Songs of Kabir , not only brings the songs and poems together in one volume but also seeks to impart the very spirit of Kabir to the reader. Kabir is not just a name, the book informs us somewhere in the beginning. Kabir is a tradition. He is a legend, a philosophy, poetry and music. I would add that Kabir was a mystic. Most of his songs have something to do with spirituality. They strive to convey the deep meaning of reality. They also question the ordinary person’s practice of religion. They criticise the religious leaders such as pandits and mullahs. Though a Muslim, Kabir was immensely taken up by Ram, the Hindu god, for reasons known only to him perhaps. Most of the songs are about the gr

Kabirvad Kabirvad is a banyan tree in Gujarat. It is named after Kabir, the mystic poet and saint of the 15 th century. There is a legend behind the tree. Two brothers are in search of a guru. They have an intuitive feeling that the guru will appear when they are ready for it. They plant a dry banyan root at a central spot in their courtyard. Whenever a sadhu passes by, they wash his feet at this particular spot. Their conviction is that the root will sprout into a sapling when their guru appears. Years pass and there’s no sign of any sapling. No less than four decades later, the sapling rises. The man who had come the previous day was a beggarly figure whom the brothers didn’t treat particularly well though they gave him some water to drink out of courtesy. But the sapling rose, after 40 years! So the brothers went in search of that beggarly figure. Kabir, the great 15 th century mystic poet, had been their guest. The legend says that the brothers became Kabir’s disciples. The b

Image from Deccan Chronicle “ Doms are the keepers of a sacred flame – supposedly burning for centuries – over which they have sole ownership. Lighting each funeral pyre with the Doms’ fire is considered not only auspicious but also crucial. Without it, it is alleged, a devout Hindu will not receive moksha, liberation from the cycle of death and rebirth .” [ Fire on the Ganges ] Doms are an untouchable caste of people living on the banks of the Ganga in Varanasi, a place dear to Lord Shiva. The Hindus believe that if they die in Varanasi, their souls will attain the ultimate deliverance from the cycle of birth and death. If they cannot die there, at least the corpse should be cremated there. Doms are the corpse-burners in Varanasi. Though these Dalits called Doms are untouchable by caste, they are the gate-keepers of heaven. Radhika Iyengar’s book, Fire on the Ganges [HarperCollins, 2023], tells us the story of the Doms, a story of oppression and exploitation. Obliquely, this is

A few dozen books arrived home the other day through a special arrangement, thanks to a good friend in Delhi. What a way to begin one’s retirement! My job as teacher has another ten days to go. I chose this retirement with due respect to an old saying in Malayalam, my mother tongue: ‘Quit singing when your voice is still good.’ On the verge of completing four decades of teaching, I didn’t want to leave the profession with any sour blood in the heart. The classroom has undergone a sea change. Teaching has been a relationship for me with my students, notwithstanding my inevitable flaws and limitations as a teacher. Relationships have become rather tenuous now, quite as professional as a one-night stand. I decided to devote all my time to reading, blogging, some travels and a bit of gardening. It is then that the friend from Delhi put up a very unexpected suggestion to which I said yes because I was going to get a few dozen books free in the process whose details cannot be divulged no

People are not as bad as they appear. They are worse, Oscar Wilde would quip. They are better, much better, deep inside provided you care to see, Clare Pooley would chide Wilde. The People on Platform 5 is Clare Pooley’s novel which is more inspiring than most inspirational literature and more motivating than most motivational books. It belongs to a new genre. Feel-good fiction is a new genre, I guess. This book belongs to that class and it deserves an eminent place there. This novel brings some strangers together on a train from Hampton Court to London Waterloo and back. These people are all regular commuters on that train as they go to work in the morning at the same time and return home in the evening, at the same time again, every day. They see each other regularly. But they don’t know each other, they don’t care to know either. That’s how people in cities are. But a medical emergency brings a few of these people close to one another. And there begins the story of this nov

It was on the bank of the river which borders his farm that James met Yulia. James was collecting nutmegs from his trees when he noticed a woman sitting on the riverbank. Something didn’t look right. This was a village and this foreigner had no reason to be here on the bank of a river by the side of a private farm. Overcoming his initial hesitation, James walked towards her. Hello, he said. She responded with another hello. A lifeless hello. Her face looked pale like that of a corpse. James knew enough English to manage a simple conversation. So he learnt that her name was Yulia and that she was from Ukraine. He had seen bombs falling on Ukraine day after day, month after month, bringing down beautiful apartments, laying waste splendid landscapes, killing people including cute little children who deserved to be fondled. Even the bachelor heart of James wept for those innocent children. Why are we humans like this? He asked himself a thousand times. Why are we so evil? All those p