A page from a diary on a reunion

Tale of the 17+1 idiots & Murphy

24^th July 2010 said the date on the calendar. Edward Aloysius Murphy kept whispering in my ear “If things can go wrong, they will”. I didn’t imagine it, he actually did. Why should I be hearing him just now? It was weird. How and why his words become gospel (Laws as people refer to them) is again beyond me. No sooner this question flashed across my mind, the sky clouded and it began to pour. Such was the shower that it not only rained cats and dogs but also cows, buffaloes and asses. Talking about asses I could imagine that even the clothed ones out in the streets of Mumbai would be soaked instantly. The Mumbai rain does come down in copious quantity but never is scary; it’s only after the deluge of 26^th July 2005 that it has attained this aura. Now people are scared to come out when the rains start.

We had a reunion of the batch of 1984 planned at Chembur, Mumbai today and this rain did not augur well towards people attending.  Sure enough as I looked at my screen there was Shivdas Nair online; He who stayed in a sea facing penthouse - the apartment and not the magazine (don’t raise your eyebrows at me while reading this, these are his words in toto). “Kau, look at the rains outside” typed he, “it would be absolutely idiotic to venture out.” He didn’t even stay that far away from the location but that’s Murphy’s Law at work for you. C est la vie. One name scratched out.

When we are driving intent nay sayers don’t have a place in the plan if it is to be executed at all. My thoughts went to the previous night. Shanky and Murugan had arrived early and we had met up. Four of us (Bhaskar, Murugan, Shanky and I) sat together then discussing on what to do the next day. In the name of planning lots of C2H5OH in various forms was imbibed. Then someone voiced what if no one comes in tomorrow? Another voice slurred out loudly…Hum hai na…hum char jun…Venue pe jayenge, bahut dhaandal karenge aur apney aap me hi reunion manayenge. But then in that haze we hadn’t taken into account the absolute enthusiasm of the other people who had confirmed.

Smilingly my thoughts returned to the present. One name had been scratched out. Then came two calls, the first was Vinita from Pune who asked “Is it raining in Mumbai? I am starting now.” The second one was Varsha from Kalyan who just called to ask “Are we on for today am confirming on account of the rain? “ You bet we are on, was my reply and instantly enthusiasm surged back through me. Now I knew that things have started to fall back in place once more.

People had traveled from places as far as Doha (Sujata), Bahrain (Sobha), Singapore (Anjali), Salem (Murugan) and Chennai (Shanky) Tamilnadu and had come in. Pankaj was traveling from Beena in Madhya Pradesh and some were last minute confirmations but each one called up with a resounding YES. The dropouts ironically happened to be the people who stayed in Mumbai. It was a shame. They may have their reasons genuine, fragile, facile or whatever but reasons nevertheless.

At 3.00 in the afternoon Bhaskar and I had reached the venue while Shanky and Murugan who were with us through the morning had gone home to freshen up. The venue was a mid-sized conference room on the second floor at Chembur gymkhana, cleared away for us to have our do. As we waited outside at the smoker’s corner blowing rings we saw the first umbrella come in. It was Tarun & he had hardly changed so we had absolutely no problems in identifying him. For a while it was just the three of us catching up and then along came Neepa and the chatter started.  After then like clockwork at almost five minute intervals people started coming in. Anjali, then Sujata,  Shanky and Murugan . The real prosaic moment was when a few had gathered and Srikant walks in. Not one of us recognized him and we thought it is some gymkhana member who has wandered into the wrong room. Anjali’s reaction was the most comical to observe. She actually looked once at him and turned back to converse with us but the guy was still standing in the room smiling. Till Tarun yelled Chakraaaa and his characteristic laughter confirmed his identity. Chakra became the joker in the pack and for every new person who entered the room it became a game of guess who this is? Another hilarious part was when we had to rescue Sriram from committing hara-kiri in the washbasin. He was trying to drown himself. When asked what happened ‘”He said he was identified as Shivdas by Pankaj”

As the decibel level increased the wonderful part that struck me was despite so many years having passed. None required an ice breaker to smoothly traverse the years and strike a conversation. It was that easy. This was despite the peculiarity of the school etiquette where boys did not speak to girls and vice versa. All verbal communications may have at the most been spats then. Later as some of them had interacted with their opposite gender friendships had bloomed. It was evident though that for a good number present here it was the first real conversation with the opposite gender from the class. That was the irony considering that we had spent not one or two but a good ten or twelve years in one room everyday for five hours at the very least. It was as if a dam had burst and people could not stop catching up. Words and loud laughs, giggles and chatter.

After the confirmations and cancellations had been accounted for seventeen were expected at the venue and Punde the plus one was to join us later in the evening. The last one to come in was the first to have started from her place, the one with the longest journey of the day, Vinita. The rains made her journey miserable but her will won over the adverse conditions. When the quorum was complete the Master Of Ceremonies, Mr. Lakshmi Shankar Balsubranian aka Abishek aka Shanky to us, took the mike. While the others sat he recounted on how this whole jig had begun. The suggestion was made to make 24^th July the Reunion day such that we don’t wait another 25 years to catch up again. The venue could be anywhere but meet we must. The mike passed on to each telling their own story of what had they done from the time after school. Some chirpy memories of school were shared too.

Murugan and the pen that went up Jeetu’s backside and the corny explanation he gave to the Principal Shanbag when questioned about it. Sriram’s runaway marriage as recounted by Anil who was with them all the way in all their trying times to such an effect that he said if this is what Love marriage entails, keep me away. Exciting and happy progress had been made in the lives of all people here. Srikant recounted his blissful state of affairs, His education as an engineer, his working with Hitachi Data Systems, staying in Chembur and the neat family unit he had. Tarun, the banker at ICICI who shared the story of his marriage and how he wished someone from his school had been present then and yours truly not having gone even after an invite; then Hari turning up after getting just a sms which made this very important day absolutely complete for him. Anjali shared her life post school of Management and a job at Kotak and then moving from Dubai to Singapore. Varsha told the group of having done her super specialization in IVF and having delivered the first In vitro baby of Kalyan. Sujata who had a word after everyone’s account when she got the mike talked about her life in Doha and how she was in the process of setting up a business from there. Nalini on how she is managing her company having done shows on all five continents and continuing in the field of music. Vinita, talked about her life in Pune married to an offshore engineer, on being a successful home maker and furthering the progress of both her sons as Chess champions. Sriram, after that shared the work he is doing heading the supply chain at McDonalds in India a responsibility recently undertaken. Anil narrated on how fulfilling his career had been and how amongst many other innovations in the field of construction development, waste management his company was responsible for changing over the fuel tanks in automobiles from metal to plastic. Bhaskar the HR professional talked about his education, his career & life. Sobha who came in with her daughter Jyoti mentioned about her life and not having known about Murugan being in Salem when she was posted there for 3 years. She even referred and pointed out to her sweet daughter as being a Salem product. Pankaj talked about his early career in L&T from which he had moved into piping & fabrication contracting for refineries, his experimenting with farming on a plot actively cultivating vegetables & flowers. Peter talked about how his life shaped up after his BCom and MBA into the travel industry and the responsibility he handles at Cox & Kings. Neepa who had been talking so much was absolutely short of words when the mike was in her hand. She choked and it indeed was a sentimental moment, said she on seeing so many of us all in one room after a while. She has done her Homeopathy and an MBA in hospital administration and is in the process of setting up a company with her surgeon husband in providing hospital services. Then the mike was in my hand and recalled the exercise and all the people who played their part in getting the information together culminating in this do. Hari and Meera were sorely missed as they had a lion’s share in this, Bhaskar who was with me every step of the way while we were getting this act together. Having done my engineering and working for couple of years with Godrej manufacturing refrigerators and ten years selling engineering solutions moving on to advertising. Then the mike was back with Shanky who recounted his progress after a struggle in the entertainment field. Of having tasted critical acclaim 

to becoming a soap star to directing his full length feature film and then receiving the states honors’.

It was a moment of recounting and then we wanted the singers to sing and Shanky started with a tribute to Kishore Kumar when he sang “Koi Hum Dum Na Raha” …Nalini sang “Waqt ne Kiya” and truly the sorry mike system didn’t do justice to her voice that still retains a poignant quality…but the performance of the day was Anil’s. When he sang “Geet Gaata hu main” the years rolled back as he hummed along. Anil barring some grey at the temples and sides and trousers that were longer looked just the same as he did when in school.

Soon it was time to break off and leave the venue, some of us to reconvene elsewhere. Rains or delays one thing was absolutely crystal “The 17+1 Idiots had beaten Murphy”. Aaaall Eeeej Well.

Progress...Indian Ishhtyle

Rain pelted the window in heavy chunky drops. The sound they made on the roof of the bus and the brief clouding of the windows being the only signs that it was actually raining. This was July and peak monsoon time in Mumbai, from where I had boarded a luxury bus to my destination Pune. One part was work and then I was to meet friends. I would be seeing some of them after nearly two decades and hence was excited. Adjusting the seat to recline back my gaze shifted out. How had the time passed…like the cliché…flown by so rapidly? Looking around I realized it was applicable even to the nature of the transport availed now for travel. This was progress certainly or wasn’t it? 

Leaning back I contemplated on this very transport that has taken domestic inter-city traffic by storm; the Volvo bus. They were first launched by the private transport companies and now even the state corporations owned several in their fleet. Quite a leap over the rattletrap buses running on the Indian roads a few years earlier. Public transport was getting better but largely only for a certain class of passengers. The lal ST or the red state transport buses still operated to reach the very interiors of the state. The Volvos only operated between a few major towns and cities but their reach was gradually increasing.

A bump shook me out of my reverie. One of the misplaced badly designed speed breakers for sure. This is the peculiarity of the Indian roads or rather the whole public infrastructure. On one hand we are on our way to building good roads and highways, and today we have a host of good automakers with their models designed for fast road travel. Then on the other hand we don’t allow people to make use of what they have and what has been built with public money for their original intended use. Case in point are these confounded speed breakers. The earlier roads had natural potholes that would miraculously emerge in every monsoon. They limited speed and did not get repaired till the arrival of the next one. Travel between two points on a map in a certain time not only involved skill of driving but also intimate knowledge of where a particular pothole was located to avoid it. There are fewer potholes on newer roads but for them we have speed breakers. 

The Mumbai-Pune expressway stretched across like a snake slithering in the rain as far as the eye could see. It certainly is a remarkable sight. The passenger in my neighboring seat leaning over me looking out said with obvious pride “Isn’t it like foreign?” looking at his glee I was wonder struck at his line. For those of you who are familiar with the colloquial way of speech, we casually refer to anything outside of India as foreign. Now this is a throwback to the times of the permit Raj of the late sixties till the early nineties where imports were illegal or unaffordable. Usage of substandard goods of local manufacture was the norm. Quality was never the benchmark for marketing a commodity or service. I remember a time of using a Staedler eraser gifted by an NRI relative, during my school years. The simple fact that it rubbed off pencil marks without tearing the page was nothing short of magical. The rubber was foreign. Anything good, classy or well designed was tagged foreign. The Mumbai-Pune highway did seem just like foreign; it is an experience that hitherto was not a norm. Our bus did not leak in the rain from outside, it proceeded at a seemingly fast clip and saving that awkward speed breaker went over the minor bumps and potholes with shock absorbing impunity. It also showed a movie to keep the traveler absorbed, yes it was like foreign.

But my eye also took in the unfinished nature of this highway that despite a decade into operation did not come across as safe. An expressway like this had inadequate illumination which would be very dangerous for night travelers, the edges around curves weren’t banked and in portions the edge barriers were broken. I had heard of farm animals straying on to this road resulting in horrible accidents. Do the authorities not see it? I am sure they did going by the signage that dotted this stretch. We in India love our signs. Our signage is not designed to be actually read but serve the purpose of being mere disclaimers. Max speed limit 80km/hr said one…and if you broke this the same authorities equipped with speed guns would bring you to book. Does 80km/hr or 50mph qualify for an expressway speed? We shall build you a road but we do not trust you to use it for its engineered intent. The signs squawked such messages at regular intervals.

We were passing Lonavla, a popular hill station that lay midway between Mumbai & Pune. We had reached this in a fairly acceptable time of 90 minutes and estimated that at this rate in another hour would touch Pune. Then the bus slowed and swerved and making some acrobatic turns wheeled into the parking lot of a rather bright shiny structure. It was a diner owned by the bus company. Apparently this stop was mandatory and was called fuel halt. No bus required to be refueled over this distance but we love our euphemisms. The passenger wallets could be further lightened in the name of convenience. 


People hurriedly made their way to the washrooms and these are areas that have definitely changed for the better. Bright tiles and fairly clean would be the state of most public toilets in these areas but don’t bet on the taps to have running water always. Power outages are frequent and hence the water tanks may or may not get filled.  Hence despite the seemingly clean interiors and better privacy you can still be hit with a stink. It is peculiar to all public toilets in India. We have developed an auto response for holding our breath and letting go at the same time to achieve relief. Yoga is after all an Indian art form and all of us have an inbuilt chip that programs us for superior breath control while we enter our public lavatories.

A cup of tea set me back by Rs.15 and picking up that cup ambled along looking at all that was on display here. It was a visual merchandiser’s paradise. Everything from newspapers, magazines to sweets fudges and even blankets were available here. Yes it was a comfort to see that even on the highway one was not without the familiar brands and consumables that make life bearable for us in the city. After a cool 20 minutes of stoppage the journey resumed.

I dozed off for a while and woke up to see us approach the city from the outside. The first sign of progress is rapid construction and announcing this is the billboard. One after the other they started hitting my line of sight. Reputed builders of the city of Pune announcing projects in places like Wakad, Bavdhan, Aundh, Sus Road, NIBM Kondhwa which to people who know Pune were once villages on the outskirts. These have now become the extended suburbs of the city that is exploding and for want of space is absorbing all that is available around. Two really large developments called Magarpatta and Lavasa were being sold as intelligent cities. But what grabbed my attention were the names on these projects. Windermere, Meadows, Lakeside Chalet, Maple leaf, Whispering woods etc stared at me from the hoardings. Whatever happened to Indian sounding names? Names like  Matru Chahya, Vatsalya, Sneh Vihar ,  Sindh society, Sanewadi are beginning to look like names from a bygone era. Shedding our desi flavor seems to be the flavour of the season. For the world traveled home buyer the new names establish an immediate connect with his global footprint. So what if the Lakeside Chalet is nothing but 3 swanky buildings hosting a multitude of 2 and 3 bed apartments overlooking a culvert with flowing grey waters of the city sewers. The corporation is soon going to redirect the flow of sewage to another spot and then the waters here will be clean is the promise on which the development is marketed. Buy it now as it is going cheap and given the property price appreciation, Lakeside Chalet is completely booked with hopefuls who wait for their clean water view.

While they wait thus after moving into their new apartments, for work they have to travel to the other end of the city. Not to worry,  their developer has told them,  several new flyovers have been constructed and a few more planned. Travel is going to be very easy. In India the flyover is a unique structure and is like no other bridge in the world. This is a decidedly Indian recipe and I recall a friend of mine referring to it as the hump. Hump, now what is that? Have you noticed how Indian flyovers are uniquely planned for a single signal or a junction?  The cities have no dearth of great minds that can reorient the city and its roads along streamlined flows but then who shall work around the bureaucracy. To compound it is a unholy nexus of the encroachers, local politicians, the cops and city officials who allow this mess to fester. No laws can work around as the encroachers have a legal recourse cannon called the ‘Stay Order’. When this is fired all development started can come to a screeching halt. The matter moves to court and nothing moves after that for several years. The flyover has literally been an answer to the prayers of these developers as they now don’t care about the mess below. They fly over it. It is a wonderful solution that suits everybody. No one has eliminated the traffic snarl on the roads, we flyover them to the next junction. We speed over in parts and then go bumper to bumper in others. The Indian flyover is uniquely designed to take you faster to the next traffic jam. The journey time could have reduced but now we have more affluence and hence more cars dot the roads. Well dressed executives sitting in the air-conditioned comfort of their automobiles with either their laptops, blackberries, or the outspread pink financial newspaper, stuck in a jam is a common enough sight. On the way back from work they have FM radio jockeys for company belting out filmy numbers interspersed with loud commercials.

Progressing we are and the pace too is rapid; but our style of progress is distinctly Indian and needs to be understood in its own perspective. This was my thought as I got down at the bus stop that was once called Parihar chowk and now is “McDonalds – Aundh.” 

Hairy Task

His fingers were never still as I watched him. They seemed to be tapping out a beat that only he was privy to. Quite suddenly they broke off their tap and moved to his nape and traced a leisurely path , from the lobe of the left ear; one of the rare un follicled part on his face,  to the front and dove into the thick fuzz. He just seemed to be in love with it, this fuzz. As he ruffled it something darted in and out and I held my breath. Yikes... he did have creatures living in there...overtly he seemed clean and spruced up but was my first observation incorrect? There… he had plucked it out in a pinch. Having peered at it from behind round steel rimmed spectacles I sensed a smile underneath the bush as he gently laid it down. The tiny black ant ran away and the breath I was holding in apprehension of a nastier, ickier creature was let out in relief. The fingers ruffled the facial fuzz some more and crumbs fell out. Jeez…Toasted brown bread for breakfast was my assessment, that answered the foraging ants presence. 

Now before you ask me where was I and didn’t I have anything better to do than watch strangers do their finger tricks? Let me first appraise you on the state of my mind and what brought it to this state. I was nervous and in such a state my eyes do wander. I was at A-1 hair cutting saloon waiting my turn, This hairy jungle on two legs had just stepped in a few minutes after me. For me this was a bi-monthly trimming ritual. 

A tradition started by my old man, He was big on them...traditions. This one though had its roots in a fight, not a nasty venomous one but a healthy friendly yet serious one, with my best pal Rohan. Not only were we heaving and grunting but shouting and screaming as well. Yes, we may have been a tad bit too loud and If my memory serves me right the window panes did rattle with the decibel level generated. We were blissfully engaged in the endeavor of attempting to yank out the others tresses from their roots. With a jerk we were pulled apart, one adult held us apiece. I looked up to see the red face of dad. Each of us triumphantly had managed a few locks of the other in our fists, and waved it in the others face. It was this gesture that began the tradition come to think of it. Both of our fathers arrived at the same solution instantly. We were dragged to the A-1 Hair Cutting Saloon. Rohan was handed over to Vijay anna & yours truly to Velu anna the grumpiest of the scissor hands there.

Velu and Vijay anna were brothers who stayed a few dwellings away from us. Theirs was the first barber shop in our quaint little hamlet of this mega polis. This literally made them pillars of our community with the lordly title of town barbers. It was this neighborly loyalty that had our fathers conspire to get both their first born offspring’s to A-1. In the chair something white billowed in front of my face and suddenly felt I was in a strait jacket, so tightly had Velu anna wrapped a sheet around me. Rohan’s expression told me he fared no better. The manner in which Velu anna handled my neck and head , had this been the USA I may have sued him for dangerous assault and even won. With geography  not on my side i had all the joints in my neck stress tested to their absolute limit. It was yanked this way and that with the gleaming steel scissors clicking dangerously close. This scared the turd out of my rear end. Within no time at all I started to feel the cold air on my head. Sneaking a look saw that Rohan was in the same boat. We were a hairs breadth from being totally scalped, excuse the hairy pun... But on a gentler note would still maintain that our state of affairs was akin to that of a chicken...one that had been savagely plucked.

Rohan and I didn’t have any options as the paters looked on sternly. Under their glare the V anna siblings went about their task methodically and with a thorough diligence. Nastily i thought that their skills were wasted on the civilians, surely they should be serving our men in Uniform on some remote border of this large country. why did they have to choose just this very locality?


Have you ever noticed that knowledge has a funny tendency to flash with startling clarity at weird moments? While trussed up in Velu annas chair I could trace the evolution of the word "barbarian". How rich was I for this brilliant piece of self realization that it brought the beginnings of a smile . But before it could spread and settle down was brutally wiped away by Velu Anna who held up a mirror to my face and slowly took it all round. One completely strange bozo sporting a pin cushion that masqueraded as a hair cut stared back from it. I almost jeered at him for a minute that it took to figure out who it was. I screamed. The mirror reflected back my tonsils twitching jerkily as I went about it. What a fabulous color of pink were they. One slap from my dad ended both my vocal performance and  tonsular appreciation. Now do you see, why this place gives me the jitters.A visit to a salon of which A-1 is just a symbolic reference, is associated with punishment and an abysmal performance output.


All I can say is that this is my last but one favorite, must visit destination on this planet. Which is the winner you ask, the top dog position...well...that has to be the dentist. It was a tough call between these two. This place edges out the dentist primarily because it keeps better magazines.

Neksshhhht… came the shout and the beard looked at me with beseeching eyes and I realized that it was not restlessness that caused his fingers to wander but rank abject fear. I was not the only one, there had to be a story somewhere with him too...his fuzz had suddenly attained a Freudian significance going by my own experience. But lets leave his story for some other day...today its my turn. Steeling myself I got up and occupied  the indicated chair hoping to get it over with and fast, my bi-monthly hairy task.  

Looking Glasses

It was the mood that came upon him and he woke up. The bedside clock radiated 4.15 am. Totally restless & feeling the walls closing in on him, he had grabbed the car key and simply taken off. The need to feel the wind on his face was overpowering. He had topped the tank at the gas station and hit the main road. After a while he found himself cruising along Marine Drive. Even at this time the horseshoe shaped sea face sparkled with the headlights of zipping vehicles, streetlights and billboards. He tasted salt on his lips from the cool sea wind. He liked it this dry flavor. Traffic was sparse. He was on autopilot as his movements kept the powerful hatchback in a smooth cruise. The eyes alternately scanned the road ahead through the windscreen and the rear view mirror. Looking glasses both, he said to himself; vision gateways.

He switched on the radio and Hemant Kumar gently hummed…

Hmm….hmmm hmmm..Pukar lo, Tumhara intezaar hai…tum pukar lo

Khwaab chun rahi hai raat..beqaraar hai

The words hit a spot and he automatically looked in the mirror. Was it his imagination or did he see a pair of nut brown eyes in it? The song faded into the background as the wind swept away the years and he traveled back. Yet another car, that time around, a large SUV with other people in it. A friendly banter had been on. Sitting in the front it was easier talking to people behind looking through the mirror rather than craning the neck. She was spewing words nineteen to a dozen having a whale of a time pulling each ones leg in style. It was in the mirror that he saw for the first time that her eyes were a curious shade of almond, flecked nut brown. He had not been able to drag his gaze off after that as he observed her quietly. While making a point the flecks sparkled. She seemed to have felt his gaze and their eyes met; almond became roast. Just for a moment a question mark sprung up in them and as his lips twitched they twinkled again. He was lost completely. She had smilingly raised one eyebrow as he shrugged raised both of his and smiled back. The others chattered on oblivious. Then a game was on. Not a word directly spoken except for general talk with the others while the mirror became their own special conduit to a different deeper communique.

Hemant da stepped into this train of thoughts and crooned on.

Honth pe liye hue...Dil ki baat hum. Jaagtey rahenge aur kitni raat hum

Mukhtasar si baat hai..Tumse pyaar hai...Tumhara Intezaar hai..

Hmmmm hmmm hmm Pukar lo

Many a sleepless night had passed but somehow the words that formed on the lips never spilled over. Each had waited for the other in anticipation and the window of time that had opened a whisker very gradually shut. Even today he didn’t have a fix on the why of that silence. But the moment and connect was pure and the memory had stayed on.

Hemant Kumar now seemed to be voicing his very thoughts. He just smiled to himself wryly. Earlier he had always flowed with the voice and the lilt of the gentle melody but today the words of Gulzar were the ones making an impact. The brown eyes twinkled back from the mirror.

This was not him. He had never ever believed in the hoary cliché of the greatest love is the one unfulfilled. But he was not clear at this instant. It was only when the brow over one eye shot up in the mirror that he burst out laughing and they laughed with him. He felt the restlessness inside subsiding. Was it the drive,the cool windy night,the melodious song or was it the eyes in the mirror? It was a little bit of all of them…

Hemant da’s final words enveloped him; the tune that seemed haunting triggering of a stray memory moments ago now sounded soothing.

Dil bahal to jaayega is khayal se...Haal mil gaya tumhara apne haal se

Raat ye qaraar ki beqarar hai...Tumhara intezaar hai

Dawn had broken and the streetlights were turning off. The city was waking up shedding its slumber reluctantly. The view through the windshield grabbed his attention now. Sitting up straight shaking his reverie he saw that he had started back. The eyes had smiled one last time through the mirror and his face had swum back into focus. Restlessness like the moment was gone.

As he reached home a taxi just stopped in front of his gate and he could see that the wife was alighting with her overnighter. She was back. Seeing her something caught up in his throat. She turned and saw him and the deep black eyes lit up. All this he saw through the windshield. He glanced at the mirror and his own eyes stared back. Looking glasses both.

Unmasking a Superhero

Let men wear masks as civilization deems. Strip them not; what is inside is not what you may want to see- Anonymous

I was surfing news channels. One face stared at me from most of them. It was a very harassed looking Lalit Modi. Till two days back he had held the post of Commissioner& Chairman of the Indian Premier League (IPL) that he had conceptualized & created. He had been suspended. He is charged with rampant corruption, impropriety in the bidding process of team ownership and a high handed manner of operation amongst other things. A year ago he was a hero, actually a superhero. Then, he had even taken on the Government of India that refused to grant security to IPL. With a bold flourish he had moved it to South Africa. Today this image has taken a severe beating. The superhero is reviled as a scheming criminal; a long walk away from the visionary he was a few weeks back and held a position that was unchallenged for three years. In retaliation he had pointed fingers to a few members of the Board of Cricket Control in India. The Board closed its ranks around the others who had not been so blatant and left him holding the can. The clippings showed Modi then and Modi now. I wondered which one was the real face of Modi and which one the mask?

The Issue

By the time you read this, many more trees would have met their end feeding the demand for news print. The question that arose is not of who was right or wrong and in what degree is the culpability. What is it about superheroes that we have this urge to bring them down after pushing them to that station?

Lessons from our favorite comic books

We all love comic books. In India however great comic books have not been around in plenty. We have had but one publisher who did serious good work in his Amar Chitra Katha. Our superheroes are gods. We shall look at them separately from a different perspective. Right now let’s give closer attention to two publishers who have focused on the concept of a superhero; DC Comics & Marvel comics. They have given us leagues of superheroes like the Incredible Hulk, Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Robin, Wolverine, Iron Man, Fantastic Four, Captain America, The Dare devil amongst others

Who is a superhero and what makes him one? What does he represent?

Distilling the concept they simplistically defined a superhero as one who stood outside or alongside a system and yet operated for it. He did this because the system was someplace not strong enough to handle the all powerful forces of evil. The system cried out for help when it came into contact with this evil force. The forces could be calamities or individuals (super villains). You can take your pick. The system and the beneficiaries of his power make him what he is. He is representing what is good and herein the depiction of the superhero is a lesson.

A superhero is super. He cannot be ordinary rather by necessity he has to be extra-ordinary. This in effect means that sheer ordinariness is a huge crime for a superhero.

Are mortal desires & relationships not in a superheroes lot? And is this why he has to wear a mask in public?

Type of Super Heroes

The superhero is differentiated by his special power. It is this power that appeals to the reader or viewer. Let us take just a small representative sample of them and look at the type of superheroes. In these types we cover almost all of them who have been created with due respect to their creators.

Let us look at the characteristics of a superhero to understand this well.

· They have special powers/skills

· They have an alter ego/ other identities and

· They wear masks.

We shall look at the three most popular amongst them namely Superman, Spiderman & Batman. Each of them is unique as a type.

Superman: (Type I: Totally Super …very little Human)

Kal-El’s son Jor-el is not an earthling. He is a Kryptonite. He is the only superhero who doesn’t wear a mask because of this. He has inherent superpowers. The true mask of superman is when he is Clark Kent. This alter-ego is the masked personality where the objective is to disguise his superpowers. Now no one not even his evil foe Lex Luthor himself a scientist can match up to Superman unless he plays dirty. This is the real bore because he never does. Hence all Superman comics/movies seem so linear. There is white, good Superman/Clark Kent and then there is the black, evil, Lex Luthor. The lines are clearly drawn with nothing in between. No shades of grey because he is not human.

Spiderman: (Type II: Half Super…Half Human)

This is the intermediate stage that has almost all the rest of Marvel superheroes bunched up. When Peter Parker got bit by a spider exposed to radiation, he developed certain amazing powers of the spider. He can weave webs has great reflexes and absolutely doesn’t suffer from vertigo. The rest of the times he is a man with some special powers. Here Peter Parker is the man and Spiderman the alter-ego who wears a mask. This situation creates and allows some depth in this mask. It can be ripped off and it does tear in some books. Spidey movies are hence that much more exciting than superman. He is a spider and he is a man…more man. This leaves open some shades of the black to creep in and hence the dimension of this character is enhanced. But with great powers comes a great responsibility and Peter Parker the boy next door has a character that allows him to display this super heroic resolve.

Batman: (Type III: No Superpower…All Human)

Batman comes out on tops for this very reason. He is the only superhero who is all man. He has no super powers, was not bit by a spider, did not come from any other planet, he was born in Gotham city to Martha and Dr Thomas Wayne. They were billionaires who have a foundation and company and the son Bruce Wayne uses this power extensively yet judiciously. His power is the power of money and science available to do his bidding. He is the upright nemesis of crime in the dark streets of Gotham city when he dons his mask as the Bat. The beauty of Batman is that both his self and alter ego are masks. As the Batman he is a masked vigilante albeit helping the system and then comes his other mask as Bruce Wayne when he is distancing himself from the ego. Here in lies a character depth which is at times flawed, generally upright but has shades of grey. The beauty of this superhero is also in the interesting adversaries assigned to him. May they be the manic Joker or the Deadly Riddler, the seductive Poison Ivy or the mighty Freeze here is a superhero who is also not always welcomed by the police force he supports. They chase him too. So what is he fighting for…A crime free Gotham is the goal.

Stray Conclusions:

Now we come to the real question of the superhero and his mask. Throughout his battles he is never unmasked. But in reading a comic or watching a movie we are the voyeuristic participants in the game who know the secret behind the mask…This is what drives us to at once create a superhero, emulate him, elevate him yet keep our power over him by knowing his secret. We may not ever fully fathom the true nature of the beast behind the mask but once the super utility of this beast is over we want it away. Unmasked and cast aside. Is this what happened here?