Back to Comics

Back to Comics


‘Once upon a time’ were never my favourite beginnings for a story. It was the comics that I was glued to as a child and in that Chacha Choudhary series and Pinki and Jhapatji were my weak points. I remember I could read them over and over again and sort of learn the stories. Once a business idea struck my Uncle and since I had such a collection, he suggested that I rent out my comics. I agreed as it gave me a chance to earn 10 paisa per comic, which for a 7 year old was good money. Though our borrowers were friends and cousins, I paid a heavy price for it, I never got back some of prized possessions or because it was a child’s venture we never got paid for it. So lending and borrowing stopped after my tears really bothered my grandmother.

My best buys were always on railway stations. Traveling to and fro between my maternal grandmother’s place to home, these were stops that I loved (and I guess that my dad cringed, spending on each station). That built my collection. My uncle, studying to be an engineer always chided me for reading comics and not some English classics. But my obsession with Chacha, Sabu, Chachi and Rocket finally led to getting my collection bound and preserved. He jokes today that because of Sabu and Chacha I went on study English Literature.

I thought comic reading was for children until one day during my routine check-ups with my gynecologist I realized that he is a collector of ‘Indrajaal’ comics.

Many years have passed since I last touched a Chacha Choudhary comic but today as I was glancing through the morning paper, I came across an article that prompted me to assess my thoughts. Diamond comics is now planning to introduce Chacha Choudhary to today’s generation through television screens, video games and mobile phones. I loved the idea as I thought immediately of my daughter, who is so fond of the Brit ‘Noddy’. Like any mother I wish she will take to liking what her mother loved so much.

Street Business

Street Business

Women in Mumbai are very unlikely representatives of the rest of India. Here it’s about survival and for money there is no gender bias.

Traditionally, all Indians want sons and pray for an heir though there are no kingdoms to be won or lost. However, when it comes to holding the family together, the responsibility is thrown back on women. Picture this, a 20-something young girl enters the compartment of a ‘local’ train and she has a basket full of wares balanced on her head. She has a cloth draped diagonally from her shoulder to chest and appears loaded. Its only when she rests does it strike you - it’s a 3-month old baby that she is carrying. She sees the aghast expression on your face and before you can question, promptly says: “ What can one do? God has given children but also stomachs to feed.”

Mumbai’s economy is dependent on women. Be it the regular housemaid, vendors, boutiques owners, hairdressers, mess owners, hawkers, you find more and more women coming to the fore. They have not emerged from nowhere, they are the result of Mumbai’s long struggle of moving out of the mill shadows to mall culture. They may have taken to the street to supplement family income but now it’s an inherent part of their lives.

The central area of Mumbai was called ‘Girangaon’ in Marathi language, which means ‘mill village’. It’s this area, which first made Mumbai into a cloth-manufacturing hub and now is the gold mine for real estate. In the 1980s, when the mill crisis began to hit Mumbai, women took charge of their families’ economic crises and became entrepreneurs.

According to PUKAR research scholar and activist Ajit Abhimeshi, “ These women first came from the coastal areas of Maharashtra. They were family members of the mill workers who migrated to the cities from coastal and western areas of the state. They began with providing food to the village worker in the city, first at home, then at a mess. After the mills closed down, they were forced to take their wares to the streets to provide for their families.” The Mumbai women adopted this spirit of business enterprise and today you can see young girls and mothers going about doing their business without much fuss.

However, this was the generation of the 1970s. Today, they are educating their children and sending them to offices, so you find children of mill workers as sales executives in offices, malls or working in parlours and doing other vocational jobs. The street business enterprise faces a threat from the adoption of the 9 am to 5 pm corporate culture, one that is known for living by the system without raising any questions.

In street business, these women encounter a host of issues, learn to fight back and survive whether against the system or individuals. But with the mall culture taking over, chances are likely that this spirit will lose its sheen.

Tanishq ad

A picture is worth a 1000 words

She looked at the photo yet again and was not sure how to express it in a 1000 words, the photo spoke and spoke; her thoughts were running faster than my hands could compliment.

‘My reflexes are slowing down’ she thought to herself as she continued to stare at the picture.

A darkish appearing hilly landscape in the background with a young man of that impressionable age when you have dreams, ambitions and a fire in your eyes to make the world your battlefield. His profile with a slight smile and hands stretched out just a bit as if he wanted to hold the moment in his palm. The dark clouds as if on their way home, seemed to have stopped to talk to him. He looked as if saying ‘take me home. ’

‘The smile so innocent but still so firm, wonder what he is thinking’, as she sipped her chai.

The young man was known to her, they had been to their post-grad class together but she never understood him. He came from a humble small town background and by the time he settled into the urban formula, he was indeed a changed man.

In the 18 months what changed, she never figured but the village boy did transform into a young man.

He restrained his humour, mingling and became vary of showing his emotions.

He started to smile less, she thought.

Is this the result of uprooting from roots or generally process of growing up? Is this why we lose our innocence or does the city rob us of it? Is it deliberate or a natural process?

He had the knack of thinking, discussing and contemplating. He spoke but listened more. In the teacher he found an inspiration, someone who knew him without knowing him. He could connect with him but he was not sure of the people around him. There were slippery grounds, he tread on it, was saved from falling and never ventured on that path again.

He chose an entirely new route and that’s when he suddenly matured. He started writing, teaching and involved himself in many activities but he closed out the people. He stayed with those he believed in him and that is what made the difference.

The picture was probably taken with one of his close friends, with whom he could be himself and never shy away. In spirit and frame, the photo said

“ You gave me life but today I choose you.”

She

The Trojan war -Helen of Troy. Mahabharata-Draupadi, Ramayan - Sita . IPL-Sunanda Pushkar.

History repeats itself. There may be various reasons for these epics to be written but a common thread is the action was triggered because of a woman. She may have long been forgotten in the process as the epic moves ahead but at the core is a She.

Wonder if IPL will be the epic of our times?

500 words and counting

Recently there was an article about a 103 year old chinese granny going to school, I was so glad to read that piece of news. The smile stuck to my face and I felt like when 3 year olds are given a purple colour sparkling wrapper and the expression reads, really 'you are giving it to me just like that, no fight?'

Going back to college to pursue a post-graduate course had been in mind I think ever since I completed my graduation but one event led to another and I just could not make it to the premises of the majestic DU.

I often wondered if Providence had a role to play and even went to the extent of making astrological enquiries, as to whether I would even complete my education.

Then Mumbai happened along with a really happening job, that literally took me places. From travelling to the best world cities on my own, I was beginning to take a new look at life. When I met people from all over, some how my CV pinched and I knew there was a miss.

So finally when life took its full course and maternity was also done with, I was sure I had to go ahead and study. Initially the outlook was narrow, it was a 'degree' approach but when I entered the classroom MCJ (Masters of Communication and Journalism), the big jigsaw puzzle fell right into place. A couple of 8:30 am lectures and 'wonderful' teacher, I knew I was in for a lot of trouble.

Trouble not because I did not want to continue but because it was full routine re-scheduling, loads of multi-tasking, trusting and training sub-staff to be with my child and then to be attentive and seated in one place for hours at a stretch. Add to that the task of trying to make sense of what was being taught in class.

The culture and education was poles apart from what I was used to - coming from one of the elite colleges in Delhi and in that if you have been taught by a group of feminist teachers, you will know what I mean.

Different state, language, food, subject and the whole class atleast 10 years younger to me, I knew I had a task at hand. Now the question will I, won't I? Coming from a background where I was never pressured into doing anything, I knew I had the comfort of back tracking. However, this time it was my spouse, who took things in his hands and closed all doors of possible retreat. Left with no choice I began the journey of my favourite two years in Mumbai.

Continues in next post...