Comics Rock: Thoughts on The Conference Exhibition
I remember that whenever we’d go to the dentist’s clinic for check-ups, I would brush my teeth four times before leaving so that he wouldn’t get a chance to complain to my amused father. It was always very embarrassing to be called a kid with “poor dental hygiene” (my hygiene is fine—at least no teeth have fallen off) by all the eavesdroppers in the clinic who had nothing better to do. But, while I waited for my turn, I would always browse through the magazines there—mostly Feminas with photoshopped actresses and luscious hair advertisements. But one day, I found a poor, neglected copy of Tinkle (says a lot about how we treat children’s literature) in the pile. It was the first time I had encountered a children’s magazine, and I loved it. It had lesser advertisements, and most of them were about sketch-pens.
I had read Chacha Chaudhary before and always believed that his wife Bini should’ve gotten more screen time because (a) she was stronger than Sabu from Jupiter, (b) she always guessed the mystery before her detective husband could, and (c) because she was really sassy. But Tinkle was another ballgame altogether—it had multiple comic strips and games and puzzles with a lot of Indian popular culture references. I was disturbed by Archie because I couldn’t understand why they kept falling in and out of love with each other, and why no one fell for Jughead who was honestly the coolest, but I never had any qualms about the people in Tinkle. Archie was a Hollywood movie I couldn’t understand without subtitles, Tinkle was my friend.
So when I observed the exhibition outside ‘Majnu’ Bharat Ram Hall (sheesh Bharat, chill dude), I tried to locate a progression of colour in the artwork. I tried to muster the absent aesthetic sense I have so as to write something good and critical (God I hate that word sometimes) about it. I thought about copying some fancy ideas about art from the net and writing an abstract review with convoluted words. But, as I was articulating these plans, a friend burst into laughter. And I laughed too, because the comics there were my childhood and I was deconstructing (thanks Derrida, you structuralist of structuring structures) them. They were great and fun and were protagonists in my best memories of agonizing visits to doctors. The illustrations and fonts were amazing, and that’s all the critical evaluation I can offer.
Slowly, I stopped dreading the visits to the dentist because I would tune out when he would start complaining to my father with his metal sticks in my mouth. I was always irritated by how he would completely ignore my existence while checking my mouth, and finalized that adults were like that. Fools. I could ignore Papa’s smirks because I would salivate over the new sketch-pen set Tinkle was beckoning me towards. And even if I would just dip them in drinking water and swirl the ink into it (I was an impressionist even then), I would be happy.
A result of peering at the beautifully designed exhibition for ‘No Child’s Play’. For many who don't like reading 'boring’ books with only words and black and white pictures, graphic novels and comics are a source of hope. A) They’re better than Chhota Bheem and Doraemon (which keep running in the same repetitive circles) B) They are very cheap and full of things—it is really hard to find empty space C) They tend to revolve around Indian childhoods and thus create a space for identification and D) The people in comics are silly (makes you feel good about yourself) in one way or another—they are human. Indian superheroes are more ordinary than Western dudes with underpants on pants can ever be (Chacha Chaudhary is a Chacha for God’s sake). Also, the West doesn't get that chaddis on tight pants is not cool. Illustrations make life more colourful (for those who are visually-abled, of course). But, graphic novels are a different genre—they are pieces of art while being pieces of stories and pieces of fun and pieces of life.
Tript Kaur, English 3A
I had read Chacha Chaudhary before and always believed that his wife Bini should’ve gotten more screen time because (a) she was stronger than Sabu from Jupiter, (b) she always guessed the mystery before her detective husband could, and (c) because she was really sassy. But Tinkle was another ballgame altogether—it had multiple comic strips and games and puzzles with a lot of Indian popular culture references. I was disturbed by Archie because I couldn’t understand why they kept falling in and out of love with each other, and why no one fell for Jughead who was honestly the coolest, but I never had any qualms about the people in Tinkle. Archie was a Hollywood movie I couldn’t understand without subtitles, Tinkle was my friend.
So when I observed the exhibition outside ‘Majnu’ Bharat Ram Hall (sheesh Bharat, chill dude), I tried to locate a progression of colour in the artwork. I tried to muster the absent aesthetic sense I have so as to write something good and critical (God I hate that word sometimes) about it. I thought about copying some fancy ideas about art from the net and writing an abstract review with convoluted words. But, as I was articulating these plans, a friend burst into laughter. And I laughed too, because the comics there were my childhood and I was deconstructing (thanks Derrida, you structuralist of structuring structures) them. They were great and fun and were protagonists in my best memories of agonizing visits to doctors. The illustrations and fonts were amazing, and that’s all the critical evaluation I can offer.
Slowly, I stopped dreading the visits to the dentist because I would tune out when he would start complaining to my father with his metal sticks in my mouth. I was always irritated by how he would completely ignore my existence while checking my mouth, and finalized that adults were like that. Fools. I could ignore Papa’s smirks because I would salivate over the new sketch-pen set Tinkle was beckoning me towards. And even if I would just dip them in drinking water and swirl the ink into it (I was an impressionist even then), I would be happy.
A result of peering at the beautifully designed exhibition for ‘No Child’s Play’. For many who don't like reading 'boring’ books with only words and black and white pictures, graphic novels and comics are a source of hope. A) They’re better than Chhota Bheem and Doraemon (which keep running in the same repetitive circles) B) They are very cheap and full of things—it is really hard to find empty space C) They tend to revolve around Indian childhoods and thus create a space for identification and D) The people in comics are silly (makes you feel good about yourself) in one way or another—they are human. Indian superheroes are more ordinary than Western dudes with underpants on pants can ever be (Chacha Chaudhary is a Chacha for God’s sake). Also, the West doesn't get that chaddis on tight pants is not cool. Illustrations make life more colourful (for those who are visually-abled, of course). But, graphic novels are a different genre—they are pieces of art while being pieces of stories and pieces of fun and pieces of life.
Tript Kaur, English 3A