RIP Cartoonist Pran

There's something about comic books and train journeys that binds them together. Whenever I travel by train, I try to squeeze in a few minutes to reach the books and comics hawker and grab a few comic books. I do this even when I am carrying my own book to read. When I look back, I think Chacha Chaudhary and his creator Pran are to be thanked for this tiny custom. The bond between train journeys and Chacha Chaudhary comic books seems to be hidden in the perspective that they both offer about the idyllic Indian life.

It's highly possible that the first book outside the curriculum that I laid my hands on was a Chacha Chaudhary comic. I remember the plots being high on simplicity and the language as chaste as textbook Hindi. They were childishly funny and interesting; clearly aimed at younger readers.

Chachaji has no superpower except that his brain works faster than a computer. Most of the stories started off with Chachaji at his home struggling in a friendly tiff with his wife. A police officer would approach Chachaji and ask for his help in solving a tough case. With his brain and his accomplice Sabu's thew, the case would be solved in about four pages. Most of the stories were signed off with a signature "Chalo Sabu," from Chachaji. An extreme show of brainpower came with a footnote: 'Chacha Chaudhary's brain works faster than a computer'. A panel with a volcanic eruption on Jupiter appeared immediately after a panel that depicted Sabu's anger. The footnote said: "Sabu's anger leads to an volcanic eruption on Jupiter". You could tell a bad guy by his name - Baarood Singh, Gobar Singh, Dhamaka Singh, etc. The backgrounds in all the panels were simple with just rectangular blocks for buildings. Homes and offices looked the same except that homes had clothes drying out on their windows. Every action sequence appeared with a sound. Ratatatat for firing of bullets, dhadaam for blasts, kikkkk for kick, bhadaam for a punch and hooo-hoooba when Sabu lifted heavy things. What fun! I guess it was even the pictorial depiction that got me so involved. There was hardly any detailing to the backgrounds. But all areas seemed just as they should be - without any crowd and with open spaces. 

Here are a couple of plots that I remember:

• A dwarfish weightlifter named Piddi challenges people to lift bulldozers. Piddi lifts his bulldozer easily while the other person struggles to even move his bulldozer. Then Chacha Chaudhary finds out that Piddi's bulldozer is made of thermocol while the other bulldozer is made of steel. 
• A customs officer asks Chacha Chaudhary to come to airport as he suspects a possible smuggling of drugs. Chachaji and Sabu are taken near an airplane where passengers (after having gone through security check) are queued up. Chacha's dog Raaket whiffs out the drugs stashed in a huge boil on the forehead of a cancer patient and that's the end of it. 

The only series of books that I remember which was dedicated to one particular villain was the Raka one. This guy is the biggest nemesis of Chacha Chaudhary. I remember he was shrunk, captured in a bottle and thrown down an ocean. But he returned. Then he was sent off to another planet. But he returned (using a couple's satellite who decide to land on that planet and collect some material)! I think currently he's locked up in some cave. This was easily the best set of books in the series.

I remember the first page of the comic that gave a brief profile of the creator. This profile had the exact same words and never changed. It said that he was born in Kasoor which is now in Pakistan. His cartoon strips are in some museum in America. He also holds some Limca record. Back then, he didn't really seem to be a big deal actually. Whenever I looked at his picture, he didn't come across as somebody who'd be into making cartoon sketches himself. Donning a wide smile and a posh suit, he seemed like somebody who owned the company that had hired some hundreds of cartoonists. It was only after the Chach Chaudhary series began airing on TV that I read up about Pran.

To my surprise, he was the force behind it all! The creator! Despite the advancements in animation technology, he used to sketch on paper. Talk about being a purist. I read a couple of his interviews where he talked about starting off in the 1960s as a small time cartoonist with the Shrimatiji series. This series that depicts the daily struggles of an Indian housewife is still published in some magazines. When asked about what made him start Chacha Chaudhary, he talked about creating a character that would appeal to the masses and was distinctly different from the western comic superhero characters like Mandrake, Phantom, etc. As a result, characters like Pinki, Billu, and Raman took form. They too had no special powers except the occasional comic instances in their lives. He wanted Indian cartoonists to be original in their work instead of imitating the works of established cartoonists abroad. He wished for a greater recognition for Indian cartoonists with possibly a museum dedicated to their work.

I heard about the news of Pran's demise this morning and my mind went back to those amazing days when I spent time with my collection of Diamond comics. I read some of them again and again even though I knew what was coming next and in fact, knew the lines by heart. It is thanks to his simple books that the first seeds of reading were sown in me. It was his creativity that had me engrossed in the simplest of tales. With all the short stories bound together in comic books and sweet memories, I am sure Pran has had an influence on what I have turned out to be. It must've been a struggle for him to take his characters from humble magazine strips to such a mass-scale publication when cartoons were hardly recognized by the Indian middle-5class. I am sure there are so many out there thanking him for sticking around. There's immense respect for somebody who creates something that is loved by the masses for half a century. May there be more Prans who drench our souls in the flow of their creativity. May there be immense recognition and reward for them.

It seems like the inner child in the superior power is in desperate need of some lighthearted laughter. Rest in peace, Pran. 

Goa Trip

Somewhere around in June, a friend whom I had last met around five years ago, messaged to ask if I am free in the last week of July for a three-day road trip with two other friends. I instantly decided to join in. We kept going back and forth while finalizing the plan. Eventually, the full-fledged road trip plan was cancelled since a soon-to-be-married friend's family/soon-to-be-family told him that a road trip might not be safe. Finally, we decided to meet in Goa and take things up from there. Meanwhile, we asked friends on social networks about the best pubs, places to visit, etc. knowing fully well that we won't be going to any of them.

The anticipation for the trip showed itself in the form of countdown messages like 'Only a month to go', 'Just a fortnight more', and 'Next Saturday it begins' that we sent each other on the messaging group.

I had a stopover at Mumbai airport for a couple of hours. If you're looking for an in-your-face scam, look no further than the prices at an airport food-court. The ideal place to sit at the 1A terminal food-court is the long table that has charging points. It's an enjoyable experience to watch people roam around looking at the foodstuff, checking out the prices, getting disappointed and going back hungrily to their seats in the company of their gadgets. If only WiFi connections could feed us... Look out of the window and there's a thoroughly contrasting life of slum-dwellers.

"Can I make a call from your phone? I don't have STD on my phone," somebody said while I was lost in the dark world of A Feast for Crows.  "Sure," I said and asked him the number. He turned out to be from Hyderabad as evidenced by his Hyderabadi accent. I chirped a bit with him in Hindi only so that I could amuse myself with his Hyderabadi accent.

The flight was as bland as the cookies that it offered. The only chuckle arrived in the form of an aunty's question. She asked if she could have a look at the book that I was reading.
"Which number book is this in the series?", she asked.
"It's the fourth book," I answered.
"Have you read the previous three too?", she asked.
I was stunned as my soul rolled in laughter.

I had heard that summer and monsoon are off-seasons for Goa. However, the Dabolim airport didn't bear any testimony to this. It was abuzz with passengers. I remembered what our pilot had said after landing - "There's no off season in Goa." The toilets were full and there was at least a kilometre long queue at the ladies' toilet - a rare disadvantage of being a lady.

The taxi rules seemed to have changed at the airport and I could take a taxi only through the prepaid counters. I remember the last time I was there, I had ventured outside the airport building and the drivers had offered cheaper fares.

"So when are you leaving?", the taxi driver asked me as soon as I sat. Of course, he was desperate for more business and I managed to extract a Rs.100 discount on return fare. He asked if I wanted a place to stay or a vehicle on hire or cheap alcohol or some company of girls. Such a diversified business was last displayed by the Tata group. Traffic is a funny business in Goa. The taxi driver brought excitement into the seemingly boring task of driving by engaging into smoking, talking on his phone about getting a Portuguese citizenship, and leaning out of the window to clean the windshield. There was a time when he did all three of these together and I was thinking which of my possessions would interest the first person who finds my body. Then the taxi-driver asked me where Nagpur is. When I told him that it's near Hyderabad, he asked if there's no direct flight from Hyderabad. I was on the verge of drawing the map of India in order to explain him that Nagpur and Hyderabad are two different cities.

By the time, I reached the hotel, my friends had left for a beach. They promised to return within thirty minutes and asked me to freshen up. "People with clean souls don't need to freshen up," I told myself and roamed around the hotel to see if I could dig into some fish and pacify the parched throat. Alas! Goa off-season struck. Most of the places were closed. Fish was at exorbitantly high prices. Thankfully, friends arrived soon after. Meeting somebody after years comes with this extra discomfort of hesitant hugs where you don't know if you have to hug or shake a hand and land up awkwardly somewhere in between.

We went to Chapora fort to revive the memories of good ol' Dil Chahta Hai. Parking a car outside the fort is a bitch thanks to the steep slope and I had to struggle while making the car stop. It was so damn difficult that I almost decided to jump out of the vehicle while it was still rolling down. Thankfully, a friend took the reins and parked it as desired. The friends who had gotten down kept giggling throughout my battle with parking.

Chapora fort, did I say? More like Chapora wall. There's nothing that resembles a fort except a keep in one corner and a mighty gate. Well, whatever it is, the view from the top is amazing. We spent a few moments looking at the sea and pondered over thoughts like if one starts swimming from here, how long will it take to reach Africa. We got out of a small door of the fort and walked down a bit further into a flat area that looks into the sea. A friend decided not to come down because he'd had a 'life-threatening slip on the pebbles because of his slippery slippers'. This became our teasing weapon throughout the tour and we kept asking him if he's comfortable in the car and is sure that he won't slip.

The off-season ghost haunted us during dinner too as most of the roadside little eateries offering nice yet cheap meals and accompaniments were closed. I asked the sea-food craving monster inside me to go to sleep and not to wake up until this trip is over.

The next day we decided to go beach hopping in South Goa. Our hotel had a complimentary breakfast. It included the cheapest and worst tasting jam and butter. Anyway, we had to have something to replace hunger with food.

We started off with Pallolem beach. It was quite breezy and the sea seemed upset. We saw a few fishermen taking their boat out of the water. It was a struggle to keep it calm in those restless waters. They had a long rope going into the sea. A fishing net was obviously at work at its end. We asked a fisherman how quickly the net would be drawn out. "An hour," he told. We walked around with the aim of reaching a group of rocks at one end of the beach. The walking trail took us through a small village and we were lost for a few minutes. Walking through densely grown plants showed us that the mosquitoes weren't having an off-season. The rocky place turned out to be surrounded by extremely dirty water. The villagers had been clearly using it for purposes other than fishing.

Dudhsagar falls were on our plan but we were not quite sure about how to reach there. We met an uncle while looking for the way back from the rocky part of the beach and asked him about the way to Dudhsagar. First he said, "You have phones, right? Look up the maps in your phone and go." Wow! Then he said that he provides jeep for the tour but not in this season. More uncertainty. By the time we made it back to the beach, the fishermen had taken their net out and it was full of fish and crabs. It didn't seem to be a big loot though.

We left the Pallolem beach to reach Agonda beach. It was quite remote and there was absolutely nobody except for the four of us and the lifeguards. This one was more beautiful and serene than the Pallolem beach.

It was late afternoon by the time we reached the town of Margao. We parked the car near a sweets shop that also offered samosas and kachoris. The search for a decent eating place turned out to be rather disappointing as almost everything, except the bakeries, was closed. We decided to stick to the sweets shop. Being so starved meant that the first few sips of tea seemed like the first drops of rain on a sap in a desert. The shop had run out of samosas. But the kachoris were quite decent too and turned out be our only lunch.

Next, we headed our wheels towards Aguada fort. We saw the Kingfisher mansion on the way. A couple of us toyed with the idea of having a look at the vintage cars inside but then rain and our tired bodies made us decide against it. It was almost sunset when we made it to Candolim beach. This one had a few people. The breeze was extremely pleasant; one that'd make you look deep into the sea and think about useless things like the purpose of life. We decided to eat a little something at the 'Sunny Side Up' restaurant at the beach. Here we learnt that fishing is prohibited at many beaches during monsoon and they have to transport seafood from the beaches where it is allowed. This shoots up its price during the off-season.

After our dinner, we roamed around in the seemingly hip areas that host pubs like Titos, Mambos, Mambas and similar sounding words. The streets were full of guys. The looks on their faces suggested that they were expecting to be swooped up by girls in bikinis arriving straight from heaven. We kept driving until we reached a place that was so deserted and had the airs of being haunted. The walls around had words like tantra/mantra and we hurried back to the hotel. Dudhsagar was on the cards for the next day and based on inputs from rather untrustworthy sources, we decided to leave for Kulem station early morning.

The dread of the horrible breakfast was soon overtaken by the joy of the lovely road that leads up to Kulem. It was surrounded by a dense cover of trees on both sides and had frequent ups and downs that made the ride thoroughly delightful. Even when we reached Kulem, we didn't quite know our way to Dudhsagar. A few locals offered to take us pillion on bikes for around Rs.700 for a two-way ride. At the Kulem station, more uncertainty followed as there was only one train to Castle Rock and it didn't even stop at Dudhsagar which was inconveniently located mid-way between Kulem and Castle Rock. The only solution was to take the train to Castle Rock and take another train back that halted at Dudhsagar. But from there, there was no other train and we were to walk back 12.5 kms.! The stationmaster heard our disappointment at the prospect of walking and gave us a line to keep our hopes high - "Kuchh paane ke liye kuchh khona bhi padta hai."

We pleaded the train driver to make a stop at Dudhsagar. Some dude quoted a figure of 200 people who wanted to get down at Dudhsagar but the train driver refused plainly. During our journey to Castle Rock, we got a good look at the falls. It was funny how people at the falls hi-ho'd at us train passengers as if they were teasing us. Castle Rock station seemed to be on the verge of being taken over by plants. Almost every exposed area was under a carpet of algae. We had tea on the station and got the much needed tar-o-taazgi. We asked the stationmaster if there'd at least be a goods train to carry us from Dudhsagar. He said that there won't be any more trains in the day after the passenger train that dropped us off at Dudhsagar. The unreserved compartments of the train from Castle Rock to Dudhsagar were completely packed and utterly filthy so like law-breaking posh citizens, we entered the reserved compartment  The ticket checker dutifully asked us to go to the unreserved compartment. We merely switched from one reserved compartment to another.

We reached Dudhsagar falls and what a sight it was to have a look at it up close! I have never seen any waterfall as big as this one. It was big not just in height but also in width. We oooh-aaah'd at the fall for sometime. Now the toughest task began - walking back to Kulem for 12.5 kms. There is no separate walking track and one has to walk along the train tracks which is full of rocks.

Walking through tunnels is a different experience altogether as they're pitch dark in the middle portion. Also, their narrowness doesn't make a happy experience. If you're on the side of the track and a train approaches, all you'll be able to do is cling to the nearby wall (which might be soaked or worse still - have snakes or rats on it). While we were about to enter one such tunnel, we heard a train's horn. We thought that it was far way away. But towards the last few meters of the tunnel, it became clear that the train was quite close and was coming at us at a scary speed! We dashed out of the tunnel just in the nick of time and had a hearty laugh about it. Talk about being Aamir Khan in Ghulam!

We saw a small automatic carriage carrying a bunch of people on the track. We asked them to let us get on it but they turned us down. "You're too many," one of them said. Four of us? Too many? In India?

Sonalim is a station between Dudhsagar and Kulem which offered us the much-needed shelter during a slightly harsh rainfall that appeared just as the automatic carriage ignored us. The stationmaster told us that the falls had hardly any visitors until they were recently featured in the movie Chennai Express. He also told us that the automatic carriage is only for saahibs. This one had come from Hubli. May his shoe lose its sole for not taking us on-board! The writing was clear on the wall of this small station. Kulem was a good 8 kms. away. The stationmaster then asked us to go away because our talking was disturbing him in his communication with the aliens.

After walking a few more kilometres (around 4 which seemed like 400), an old man was walking with us. He asked us to stop the approaching goods train. The goods train passed us and we requested the person in the last carriage to make it stop. But it kept running away from us. We had gotten used to this kind of disappointment by now. But then it magically slowed down. We unleashed our inner Usain Bolt and started running towards it. Then it picked speed again. Bloody hell! We thought the train driver was playing a trick on us. And then suddenly it stopped. We made a dash towards it again and caught it. Phew! After walking 8 kms, the joy derived by catching something that would carry you for 4 kms is difficult to put in words. The crowd on the train had a cruel laugh at us. They had walked back to Dudhsagar station and had asked the station master to flag down this goods train. We reached Kulem, made it back to our hotel, dined and slept.

The next day was the day of departure from Goa. We talked about going for a similar trip again. We all knew that it won't happen any time soon. May be it won't happen ever. But if a chance arrives, I'll definitely be in.

Besides the whole experience of visiting amazing places, this short trip was memorable because of the endless talks that touched important topics like why are there no girls in bikinis in this season, why's this an off-season in Goa, how can we improve access to remote touristy places, evolution of life, end of world, etc. All the talks were kept alive and kicking by random lines from Andaz Apna Apna, Vicky Donor, Khosla ka Ghosla and Dil Chahta Hai.

Wish there are more such fun times with friends. With a nice company, there can be no off-seasons.