Dear Uncle Pai,
I am one among the myriad (no more) children indebted to you for giving me the most enriching gift I have yet received-- the love of the printed word. But I am ashamed to confess that I had almost forgotten your existence. What greater tribute can I perhaps give you as an artiste, for you verily were one, than to realize today that your creations were so powerful that they subsumed you, their very creator, and relegated you to the shadows.
You were also a primary reason for a bond that I developed with my father when he inculcated in myself his love for the printed word. To a seven year old kid a comic book is a puzzling thing; he doesn't know whether to read zig-zag horizontally or vertically, or whether a character is speaking or thinking. And yet once these obstacles are overcome, for a mind at that age like a sponge, what a world has just been opened to him; a world where animals talk and conspire, Suppandi's buffoonery is a way of life, Tantri's plans to usurp Raja Hooja's throne are doomed to eternity, and there lies forever by the side of Shikari Shambu the happenstance of serendipity.
I owe to your Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha the satisfied feeling I got as a kid at night when I lay in my bed before sleeping, reflecting on what plans might work for Tantri, or what else could go wrong. And the illustrations ! No dictionary was ever required for the expressions on the characters faces were so very...expressive. In fact, am surprised we children who read those books have grown up unbewildered that people in real life dont really say tee hee hee or tsk tsk or sigh or sob-sob, or boo-hoo. And the stories of Indian epics and mythology! How regal the kings and gods and how terrifying the demons !
I even wrote to you sending questions for the Tinkle Tells You Why column, hatching plans of buying a "bulls-eye gun from Leo toys" with the fifty rupees you would send me for my five questions and irritated my father no end by expecting a reply from you each day when he came home from work. You did reply after a month sending me Tinkle stickers as consolation for the fact that you couldn't feature my questions. Encouraged, I sent further questions to you and got more stickers. I look back with affection at such innocent joys and sorrows that I had !
I grew up and started reading books but am forever alert, to delve into that wonderful world that you created for me as a child whenever I can. I feel sorry for children of today who dont know the pleasure of quietly reading by themselves or discovering a new word to be flaunted later before elders, or who dont feel happy enough looking at brand new books in a book fair or shop. I think before spending for a new pillow but readily buy a device to help me read in bed at night.
And I remembered it all today, when I finally thought of you. Your life has been remarkable Uncle Pai, for an entire generation remembers you with affection.
And I feel bitter at the irony that is life as the memories ram into my heart and I realize that it has been decided for you, like it had been for another, that you have had enough of the world on the twenty fourth day of February.
I am one among the myriad (no more) children indebted to you for giving me the most enriching gift I have yet received-- the love of the printed word. But I am ashamed to confess that I had almost forgotten your existence. What greater tribute can I perhaps give you as an artiste, for you verily were one, than to realize today that your creations were so powerful that they subsumed you, their very creator, and relegated you to the shadows.
You were also a primary reason for a bond that I developed with my father when he inculcated in myself his love for the printed word. To a seven year old kid a comic book is a puzzling thing; he doesn't know whether to read zig-zag horizontally or vertically, or whether a character is speaking or thinking. And yet once these obstacles are overcome, for a mind at that age like a sponge, what a world has just been opened to him; a world where animals talk and conspire, Suppandi's buffoonery is a way of life, Tantri's plans to usurp Raja Hooja's throne are doomed to eternity, and there lies forever by the side of Shikari Shambu the happenstance of serendipity.
I owe to your Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha the satisfied feeling I got as a kid at night when I lay in my bed before sleeping, reflecting on what plans might work for Tantri, or what else could go wrong. And the illustrations ! No dictionary was ever required for the expressions on the characters faces were so very...expressive. In fact, am surprised we children who read those books have grown up unbewildered that people in real life dont really say tee hee hee or tsk tsk or sigh or sob-sob, or boo-hoo. And the stories of Indian epics and mythology! How regal the kings and gods and how terrifying the demons !
I even wrote to you sending questions for the Tinkle Tells You Why column, hatching plans of buying a "bulls-eye gun from Leo toys" with the fifty rupees you would send me for my five questions and irritated my father no end by expecting a reply from you each day when he came home from work. You did reply after a month sending me Tinkle stickers as consolation for the fact that you couldn't feature my questions. Encouraged, I sent further questions to you and got more stickers. I look back with affection at such innocent joys and sorrows that I had !
I grew up and started reading books but am forever alert, to delve into that wonderful world that you created for me as a child whenever I can. I feel sorry for children of today who dont know the pleasure of quietly reading by themselves or discovering a new word to be flaunted later before elders, or who dont feel happy enough looking at brand new books in a book fair or shop. I think before spending for a new pillow but readily buy a device to help me read in bed at night.
And I remembered it all today, when I finally thought of you. Your life has been remarkable Uncle Pai, for an entire generation remembers you with affection.
And I feel bitter at the irony that is life as the memories ram into my heart and I realize that it has been decided for you, like it had been for another, that you have had enough of the world on the twenty fourth day of February.
