As a kid, I was racked by guilt each time I read a comic book. They were banned in the house. Reading comics was not permitted, bringing them home was unpardonable, buying them was unthinkable. My mother’s sensibilities having been formed by voracious reading of Sarita, a magazine that stood for new age thinking (bah!) in the late eighties.

Though she was totally against my reading Raj Comics, my mother quite encouraged Champak, Nandan, Balhans and the like. Mostly because they had goody-goody stories about children my age (dealing with cute little problems like an upcoming exam or a class bully) and were published by reputed publications but also because they weren’t high on action, like the books I preferred more.

Some time towards the end of 1999, I sat at my study table at home in Charbatia, trying to study. This was difficult because 8-month-old Golu was precariously perched at the edge of the table. He was trying desperately to call a certain bear from with my table clock, which he was convinced was a telephonic device of some sort (”hello baaloo! helo helo. baaloooo!”).

I love Superman. I love him almost as much as I love myself. And I love him considerably more than I love Batman. But you know why Batman stories take the cake? Because they are so much more than just fistfights.

Superman is generally pictured as the leader of all DC heroes. This is attributed to several things including his smalltown upbringing and his level-headed nature. I couldn’t agree more. It is because of this that I am the Superman fanatic I am. But let’s go over the idea of the ‘leader’ again.