Comics in real life

Ever since I was a wee one sneaking a torchlight and a comic book under a blanket way past bedtime, I’ve grown use to the rant “Comics are for kids”. When I came over to the USA, I encountered the flip side of the coin – “Comics are an ivory tower meant only to be enjoyed by connoisseurs”. As is wont with me, I think both statements are oversimplifications issued with down right condescending snootiness.

Comics are a way of life, a part of life and they are everywhere. When Google launched its Chrome browser, guess what they did to get the point across – they commissioned the grand young “old man” of comics, Scott McCloud to make a comic book about it. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, a picture with speech balloons is worth a million in my book.

Remember those safety posters in schools? At least for me the most effective were the ones which were drawn like comic books. They spoke to me, made me think twice about stuff which I’d have dismissed as too S-Q-U-A-R-E. Human beings respond best to visual stimuli. A picture in itself, though potent, is just a moment frozen in time. A moving picture is too close an approximation of life and provides too much distraction to our other senses. A moving picture without sound is downright creepy, like a weird French mime. A comic book is the golden mean. Pictures with words, the bowl of porridge that is neither too hot nor too cold, the answer to the age old riddle of how to get the most across while saying/doing the least.

Most of us don’t even realize that we read comics frequently. Everytime you board an airplane and the “hawt” stewardess with ample bosoms in the skimpy skirt refers you to the safety brochure, guess what – you’re reading a comic book, albeit the most drab kind. The safety brochure is written with a specific end in mind, not entertain but to disseminate (ewww, I feel dirty writing that word) information. And it does its job admirably well.

So next time please try not to either sound dismissive or too snooty about comic books. They are a literary form and like any other they have varying degrees of accessibility for different people. Some don’t get it, some do and some spend entire lifetimes wondering if Batman is gay (He isn’t, not that there is anything wrong with it).

On a separate note, I hate mimes. I wish they’d just hold speech/thought balloons and get it over with.

Till next time.

Toodles,

mohaps

This is a repost from my past column in Nine Panel Grid at Comics Waiting Room.

[Short Story] Place of Many Doors

Somewhere out there is a door.

Sometimes a door is all that there is.

#

She checks her reflection in the window pane of the Raymond’s shop. She pats her shirt down flat across the tummy and heaves a sigh of relief.

“Thank God! It doesn’t show yet.”

She draws a deep breath and rounds the corner of State Street. She can see Ajay sitting in the café looking nervously at the Curzon Road entrance.

She shakes her head.

That kind of describes aptly their recently concluded relationship.

Love was never a problem. It was just that they could never match their expectations. If their life together were to be this café, Nandini always entered through the State Street entrance while Ajay expected her to come through the Curzon Road one.

Finally, it had gotten to a point where he had decided it was better to call it quits than to carry on. She had respected his decision and that had been it.

That was a month ago.

#

She awakens in a strange place. The first sensation she gets is that of emptiness. The place is a big white… nothing. She feels the void wrap around her like a misty blanket, the vast expanse of nothingness ironically triggering a bout of claustrophobia. There is nothing to see, or to hear, a truly silent null.

She is confused, too confused to be afraid. She tries to make sense of it, but her brain refuses to grasp even a tiny sliver of a context. She finds not even a tiny knob to hang her thoughts upon.

Just a big empty place full of nothing.

#

She stands at the café door, willing Ajay to consider the remote possibility that she might have entered from the other end. After a while, she gives up and starts walking towards the glass doors. The door chime sounds as she opens them and that catches his attention. He turns to look at her. Maybe she is imagining it, but she thinks she can spot a brief flicker of disappointment on his face that she had chosen to enter through this entrance and not the one he had picked for her in his mind.

“Easy now, girl! Be focused. This is really important.”

She does a few repetitions of the deep breathing technique she had learned from the Tai-chi book and walks up to the table.

By the looks of it he is already on the 3rd pack of the day. The ashtray on the table is crammed with butts, some still smoldering.  She wonders if he has any inkling of the news she is about to break to him.

She orders an Earl Gray (no milk, no sugar, as usual) and sits there. Neither of them speaks for a while. Finally Ajay breaks the silence.

“So, how have you been?”

There is a hint of awkwardness in his voice. Nandini is nervous too. The ancient Chinese practitioners of Tai-chi apparently didn’t cover meetings this soon after a break-up.

She has thought of this moment and rehearsed what she was going to say a thousand times. But her mind betrays her and she forgets the opening words.

“I’m late.”

As she blurts out the words, she realizes that getting straight to the point perhaps is the best opening she could hope for. The subject she is about to broach had no right or wrong approach.

“Oh, it’s okay. No biggie. I came a bit early, was in the area.”

“No, Ajay. I’m not talking about that. I’m L-A-T-E. This is the second period I’ve missed. I went to the doctor day before yesterday. I’m pregnant.”

There! Just like that she drops the bombshell in his lap.

Ajay is transfixed. His hand is stuck midway between its arc from the table to his mouth. It takes him a solid minute or two to regain composure. He puts the cigarette in his mouth, but changes his mind the next instant and stubs it out. He stares at the dying wisp of smoke that curls up from the ashtray.

They sit like that for a few minutes. There is no conversation. A few times, either of them tries to say something. The words just get stuck in their throats. After a few of these false starts, they just give up and sit staring at each other in silence.

#

She thinks she can see some sort of dark shape form in that white haze. Perhaps her mind is playing tricks on her, but she decides to find out.

She walks towards it.

As she gets nearer, she can make out the shape.

It’s a door, a plain old wooden door with shiny brass door knob.

Even though there’s no light, she thinks she can see the knob gleam. It’s almost as if it’s beckoning her to open it and step through.

She stands there for a moment. She stands there for an eternity. She debates in her mind whether or not to open it. She doesn’t know where she is, neither does she have the foggiest notion what lies behind the door. Her hand is on the knob, yet her body is frozen by indecision, taut with the tension of inactivity.

“What the hell! At least something is better than this nothing.”

She turns the knob and steps through.

#

“I’m telling you strictly FYI. Don’t read anything else into it.”

She decides that the silence has gone on for long enough.

“Uh-huh.. you? How? Wow! This is all very sudden.”

“Ajay, did you hear what I just said? Don’t read anything else into it. I’m not here to guilt trip you. We’re history. I just thought you should know.”

She can’t help firming her tone as she speaks. She feels guilty about that the very moment she says it.

She had been up the whole night trying to debate whether or not to tell Ajay. Now that she had told him, she feels that she should never have come here.

But somewhere deep inside her, she feels glad that she did. It was also his child. Even though they had parted ways, there had been a time when they had been in love. Just for that he deserved to know.

She tries to remember their time together and how the world had seemed like a perfect place.

#

The door opens to a meadow.

It is beautiful. A stream flows through it. She thinks she can hear music, like the soft clink of silvery wires tapped with a delicate crystal wand.

“I have died and gone to heaven.”

She feels a mix of panic and ecstasy at the same time.

The place soothes her troubled mind. She stands their trying to make sense of it all. There’s a part of her that wishes to remain here, yet somehow after a while the place seems emptier than the void she had just been in.

She can’t put her finger on it. Maybe it’s the sameness of it. It seems like a fixed tableau, never changing, never altering a bit.

“Well! I AM getting bored of this Norman Rockwell shit.”

As she soon as she thinks this, another door appears in front of her.

#

“I don’t know what to say, Nandini.”

“Then don’t.”

She doesn’t know what she expected out of this, but she can tell this isn’t going well. She had to speak to someone and she is secretly glad that she had told at least one other living soul about her situation. But now she wasn’t sure if Ajay was the perfect confidante in this matter.

“I… I… Are you absolutely sure that it’s mine?”

“Men!  So predictable. I’m telling him I’m going to have his child and this is all he can come up with.”

She cannot help snickering even in this situation, abeit it happens entirely in her mind. That response was just… so Ajay.

“Yes. The doctor’s office called last evening. I’m two months pregnant.”

“Oh boy!”

Ajay looks like he is ready to cry.

Damn! That’s the last thing she wants now. She nervously looks around the café to see if anyone is looking. She feels that hard not in the pit of her stomach tighten and all of a sudden she feels very sick.

#

She is sinking.

The door had opened into a quagmire. As soon as she had stepped through, she had started sinking into the quicksand. She was up to her waist now in it and it wouldn’t be long before it engulfed her completely. She tries desperately to break free, flailing her arms in futile attempt to swim in that gloop.

The muck completely restrains her lower half and she can no longer feel her legs. The harder she tries to break free, the stronger it seems to get.

She has sunk till her chest by now.

She tries harder.

#

Ajay bursts into tears.

She hadn’t expected this. When she had decided to come here, she just wished to tell him and walk away.

“Ajay, please don’t do this. Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.  Please!”

The crying subsides, but he keeps on sniffling.

“It’s all my fault. I should’ve never left. If only I had known!”

“Please!”

He raises his head and looks at her. His nose is red like a child’s after a bout of cold and his voice sounds like he’s gasping for breath.

“What do you plan to do?”

She had asked herself this question a thousand times last night. Now hearing him articulate it, she feels that she is back at square one. The truth is she doesn’t know. Not for the first time in her life, she is unsure of everything.

She doesn’t know what the hell she wants to do.

#

She is up to her neck now in the mud. Her arms are barely above the quicksand and she is getting tired.

Resignation has set in. She doesn’t want to fight anymore.

She stops moving and waits for the inevitable.

#

“We… We could get back together. We could get married.”

“Stop it, Ajay. I didn’t come here for pity. It was a mistake.”

She starts getting up, but Ajay holds her hand.”

“No! No! Nandini, please hear me out. I want us to be together again. I was a fool to walk out.”

Now people are definitely looking at them.

She feels the tingle in the nape of her neck as she realizes that they are now the center of all attention in that small smoke filled café. She feels like time has paused around her. She looks at him, his eyes pleading with her. She feels the knot in her stomach tighten further. She has that somehow vaguely familiar feeling that she is sinking deep into something primordial that is sapping her of all feeling of being alive.

She feels her body and mind go numb.

#

It’s up to her chin now. She can’t see them, but she almost feels her numb arms dangle lifelessly by her side. She feels utterly helpless.

Her body is not responding to her mind and slowly she feels her mind giving up too. Her thoughts have crawled to a standstill. As she sinks even further, she feels the cold mud engulf her entire being.

This is the end.

“No!”

She surprises herself with the violence of her own thought. She feels as if something inside of her is crying out loud, lashing out with all her strength. In that briefest of instants, she feels her mind fire with the last spurt of energy left in her numb form.

She understands. She has made a decision.

She stops moving and closes her eyes. She slides completely into the quagmire and she opens her eyes.

A door appears before her.

#

She looks at Ajay with a level gaze and even he can feel the intensity in her eyes. He stops bawling and lets go of her hand.

When she speaks, she feels as if she were out of her body and is hearing her own voice from a distance.

She doesn’t care who overhears her words or what they think of it. She has made up her mind.

“Listen to me carefully, Ajay. What we had was once wonderful, but it’s over. It’s no use for you to come back out of guilt. It would just be the same shit, over and over again.”

“B-but, I thought…”

“As I had told you before, I came here because I felt you had a right to know. I have made a decision and the best you can do is to honor it and support me one last time.”

#

The door opens back to the meadow. Something has changed. It feels different, as if someone has breathed life into it.

She sees a cottage by the stream and there is a bench there overlooking the meadow and the woods beyond. She walks over and sits on it.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, nor does she care. For once in her life, she is at peace. Her trance is broken by a sweet sound of laughter that sounds purer than the untouched snow on the hills, the voice of an angel calling out to her.

“Mama! Mama! Look at what I found.”

She turns to see a little girl running towards her.

Nandinit smiles and walks towards her. The child is excited and is jumping up and down with  enthusiasm as only a child can.

“You must see this, Mama. Come.”

The girl grabs her hand and she lets herself be led towards wherever the child wishes to take her.

They cross the rise in the heart of the meadow and there on the dip, she sees the most beautiful sight she has ever seen.

#

“I’m going to have this child and she’ll be mine alone. You needn’t worry. I’m not going to ask you for child support. You’re welcome to your life and I wish the same favor from you. I want you to have nothing to do with me or my child.”

He is crestfallen, but somehow he seems to accept her words.

She turns and walks towards the front door of the café. She can hear him sign and when she is almost at the door, she thinks she can hear him start to weep. She resists the urge to turn and look back.

In front of her the brass door knob gleams as if beckoning her to open it and step through. She opens the door and steps outside.

#

There on the meadow, mother and child behold the wonderful sight of an infinite number of doors, each looking different and glowing in the morning light. Each door beckons them to open and step through.

Nandini pulls her daughter close to her and they both start laughing with joy.

THE END

Author’s Note
This story was the winner of Sulekha.com/DNA-Me short story contest and was published in the Nov 2006 Issue of DNA-Me. I had to edit the story down to 1000 words for publication. The version posted here is the longer / uncut version with some changes made. It was the first time I had to write something non-genre and for a publication geared towards a female audience. I’m really thankful to Sathya Saran, editor DNA-Me for choosing this story and working with me on the condensed version.

The first two lines are part of a writing prompt I used to write a story called “The Door”. I loved the line so much I wrote this story around that line.

[Short Story] A DEATH BY ANY OTHER DAME

I see her swing her arms. Can’t fault her aim, she connects dead center on my nose. I feel it crunch and shatter like some cheap three day old cannoli. For a scrawny little dame, she packs a mean punch. I’d known a few like her back in the day, back east when I used to run with the DeLucci crew, all velvet and Chanel on the outside and steel on the inside, a dame after my own heart.

I feel woozy, not necessarily from her punch, takes helluva lot more than one punch from a dame to knock me out. I think it is the stake through my heart that is kinda messing with me right now. That and the four others she got through my palms and legs.

I’m pinned to this mesa wall like some two bit messiah on his wooden cross. Lady knows her vampires, looks like she spent a lot of time planning this.

Guess I deserve this, for being stupid.

But then I was always a sucker for dames, if ya know what I mean.

#

(Two Hours Earlier)

I’m on a roll. I hit the lucky seven three times in just under an hour, must be my lucky day.

I see her across the floor, in a va va voom red dress, every inch the femme fatale.

I’ve had my dinner not so long ago, a tasty little dish in a slinky black dress. She tasted like smoked redheads usually do, two parts perfume, one part cheap menthol cigarettes with a seasoning of moonshine. I’d stuck my fangs deep in her throat and had drank my fill, sucking the life out of her and enjoying every bit of it. Her body I dumped back in a dark alley. Didn’t bother to find out the name, they are all the same in this town. Ya don’t try to remember the names of hookers and alleys. Just do your stuff and head on out into the night. Funny thing is they all look the same, been in one means ya been in all of ‘em.

Now that I was hungry no more, I got other itches to scratch. I straighten my tie and hit the strip.

The dealers out here know me. I mean not that I’m a bloodsucker, but the bona-fide high roller part. I get chips worth ten grand, no nickels and dimes for me. I do the roulette first, double my take in an hour and move on. I’m at the crap table when I first see her.

I sense her watchin’ me from where she sits. I sneak a peek and find her still staring at me. Eye contact is inevitable. Her kissers are as red as her dress and I let my eyes wander on down her cleavage right down to the low neck line.

Suddenly another need knocks at the door. I feel it grow like a drop of ink on starched white linen sheets, pretty soon she is all I can think of.

I walk over to her.

We chitchat for a while about meaningless things. I check my watch, still a good two hours before sunrise.

A couple of drinks and I find her willing. We take my car.

She drives.

I let her.

#

We go way out into the desert, under the starry sky, where there is nothin’ but the stars, Joshua trees and the two of us.

She stops the car and leans over to kiss me.

Her smell drives me mad. I can’t resist.

We go outside.

She leans back on the hood with all the subtlety of minx in heat.

I move in hungrily.

Strange! I usually feed once in a night! But right now I hunger for her.

I lean over as if to kiss her throat.

The fangs are out.

#

I’m falling. I never felt her stab me. She slid the stake in like a stiletto, one quick jab and she got it right in the ticker. I feel numb in my chest like someone just held me in a tub of ice water for an hour.

I find it difficult to breathe. I fall back gasping. If I wasn’t dead already, that would’ve done me in for sure.

She picks me up and sets me against the hood. She says something about her child. I think I fed on the little one.

Yeah! As if I remember! Water under the bridge, babe! Men gotta feed. No regrets there! I say as much. She spits in my face.

She pushes me off the hood and back against the wall of earth behind it. She drives the stake in deeper and pins me to the wall. She opens her purse and takes out a mallet and four more stakes. As I said before lady did her homework.

As she is hammering in the spikes in my palms and my feet, I say something about how her child tasted.

She snaps.

She punches me.

#

(Right now)

The lady in red is gone. Been pinned to the wall for a long time now, can’t tell how long. She took my watch, along with my car and wallet. Guess Ms. Righteous Vengeance is not above petty theft either. Ah! As I said before a dame after my own heart! Oh babe! Only if I’d known you back in the day, what times we might’ve had together!

The sun’s gonna come up any time now. I’m growing number by the minute. I’ve managed to free my right arm, but that’s it. I’m too weak to do anything else but wait. With some effort I manage to get the pack of luckies outta my jacket pocket. I put one in my mouth and fidget some more lookin’ for my lighter, guess in her hurry she did not notice the gold plated zippo in my jacket pocket. Well! Hallelujah and thank heavens for small favors.

I light the cigarette and draw a deep one. There are worse ways to go than this. The flame is still on. I hold it up and look at it.

Goddamn! Will the sun come up already!

the morning breeze is still cool, but I can feel it gettin’ warmer. The flame flickers and desperately tries to stay alive.

What’s the point! It’s as good as dead already. I decide to put it out of its misery and snap the lighter shut with a practiced flick of the wrist.

#

The sun comes up.

THE END

Author’s note
First published in 2006 in The Harrow. This was an attempt by me to write a hard boiled story with a horror-ish setting.

Testing Twitter Tools

Since I update my twitter feed more frequently than the blog, I decided to integrate the two using Twitter Tools, a nifty little WordPress plugin, that updates my blog when I tweet and vice versa.

Though I enjoy blogging, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to sit down and write a full blog post. Twitter/Micro-blogging seems to be easier to do. On the other hand the “tweets” (140 chars max) are more of an unfiltered stream of consciousness, a trigger-happy way of just typing away the top most thought on one’s mind. There will be blog posts still on mohaps.com, but given the frequency at which I tweet… you get the idea.

Motivation :)

My favorite internet troll made another appearance today. The asinine comments are already in the spam/trash box, but suffice it to say they were again riddled with obscenities and geographical irregularities (perhaps stemming from the lack of knowledge of Indian geography). At times like this it is very important to know where one’s motivation comes from. Mine comes from this

Motivation for writing
[ Image courtsey VeryDemotivational.com]

..and of course trolls! :D

Mumbai Confidential Ashcans for FCBD 2010

Mumbai ConfidentialOrdered some ashcans off of ComiXPress of the Chapter 1 preview for Free Comic Book Day (FCBD) on May 1, 2010. I shall most probably be giving these away at my awesome local comic book store That’s Entertainment in Worcester, MA on FCBD 2010.

The ashcans really came out great. Going to order some more of these to give out at Albany Comic Con in April 2010, if I decide to attend it.

I posted some photos of the ashcan preview over at the Mumbai Confidential blog.

About Mumbai Confidential

Mumbai Confidential is a crime noir comic book series created by writer Saurav Mohapatra (DEVI, SADHU, MUMBAI MACGUFFIN, INDIA AUTHENTIC, JIMMY ZHINGCHAK) and artist Vivek Shinde (PROJECT: KALKI, SNAKEWOMAN) set in (of course!) the Indian city of Mumbai.

Einstein’s Twin (Short story)

I’m looking at the swirl of the cream in the coffee. I’m in a deep trance like some shaman trying to study the omens in the entrails of a slain animal. Perhaps if I looked hard enough I could see the future. But at this point in time, it’s the past that is eluding me.

I look outside through the glass doors of the café. I see the face of the smiling yuppie nursing a single malt scotch on a billboard and I feel some solace. Maybe I’m not that far away from the world outside. The curvaceous blonde peddling lingerie on the billboard by the side reassures me even more. Then I look at the teeming mass of humanity and I’m lost again.

A stranger!

That is what I am now, a stranger in a land, which was once home, in a city, which I used to know inside out, in a time which by all means should already be the past. It is as if I went outside the bubble and time stopped inside. For me ages have passed, but inside time has stood still.

I left this place behind for things it could not give me, faster cars, sleeker cell phones and a better currency conversion rate. I never looked back in all those years. I tried my best to forget my life here and I had expected the same courtesy from this place.

Yet here I am. Sitting in a coffee shop that I think I have been to before. Everything has changed. Everything is still the same.

A part of me screams inside to run away. Go back to where things still make sense, where at least I’m still sane. I think I hear another voice. A child is whispering names, of places, of people. It is too much for my brain. It reacts the only way it can. I hear that terrible screeching sound of a vinyl record pressed to hard against the turntable and I develop temporary amnesia again.

The child sighs, but doesn’t give up.

The whispers begin again…the child is asking me to open my eyes.

I open my eyes and look at the woman sitting across me. I’m searching for her name. I think I know her. The child tells me he does. The man is back shouting in my ears to get up and walk away. He’s afraid, very afraid. I think we’ve been here before.

I look at her. The child comes forward and so do some of the memories.

I think I used to love this woman.

The child says I still do.

The man points out I have a family outside of this bubble.

I try to shut them both.

Suddenly there is silence in my mind. They are gone, at least for the moment.

I try to make small talk. I opt for the safest opening.

“So how have you been?” I hear myself say.

“Good, thanks for asking. How about you?” she responds.

“Oh! Can’t complain! Business is good. We are expanding our operations here. A few more years and this place’s going to be gold.”

“Uh-huh.”

I think she is not here for the discourse on business opportunities in third world countries.

“I saw your picture in that magazine the other day.” She says,” You looked good!”

And then there is that silence between us again. She is sipping her coffee and I am trying to stop the swirls of the creamer in the coffee with my mind.

I can’t take it anymore. I beg for the child to come back and he whispers in my ears. I repeat like a zombie.

“I missed you.”

She looks up at me. There it is in her eyes, a glimmer of hope and then she starts laughing. It is a forced laughter. The one I am all too familiar with. It is the kind of laughter that pretends that the other person just said something he or she did not mean at all. Denial is one of our best natural defenses.

I repeat my words.

“C’mon, S____, after all these years? After all that has happened?” Her voice is getting sterner.

I am silent. I think I have a vague idea what she is talking about. I can sense that she is upset.

I look at the swirls in the coffee cup again. Suddenly the world around me shrinks and time rewinds.
It is the same coffee shop but years ago. I see myself with the same woman. She is crying and I am not even trying to console her. I see myself get up and walk away. I am at the door, fighting the urge to look back. I can almost hear myself thinking. The words are blurred but I think I am beginning to remember.
I snap back to the present.

She is still upset, but she isn’t as angry as I would have liked her to be. The child is now full of hope. He makes my hand go up to hers and I see myself patting her hands. She doesn’t try to remove the hand.
She looks up at me, her eyes a sea of conflict.

“I’m married now. I have three kids.”

Her voice is pleading, but not with me.

I still haven’t removed my hand.

We sit there, a tableau fixed in time.

An eternity passes.

The child is overjoyed and I hear nothing else.

“Come away with me.” I hear him speak.

The trance ends.

She snaps her hand back and mutters something about this having been a big mistake. She picks up her purse and storms out of the café. I let her go. The child is sad and silent and I think the man is back as I hear his “I told you so” snicker.

I sit there for some time.

I get up and pay for the coffee. I feel the memories flooding back and this time I do not resist. I walk outside and look at the place I once called home. I feel the barbs in my heart with each flash.

I see us on the park bench. Chatting away, full of dreams of being together till time ends.

I see us walking, hand in hand.

I don’t try to fight back. The man is in utter pain and I think so is the child.

It all builds up to a cacophony of pain and suddenly I almost remember her name. I hear the sound of scratching records again and I fade to black.

#

I’m at the airport now, the edge of the bubble. I am handing my boarding pass to the smiling lady and am walking down the tunnel that shall lead my way to freedom.

Soon I’ll be home, back in the place I know.

I don’t know why I came back. I don’t remember why I was sad.

I hear humming in my mind. It is a man, happy to be in control again.

Suddenly I hear a faint sound and I look back.

Somewhere out there a child is sobbing.

And I think so am I.

THE END

This is a short story that was first published in Chick Flix eZine in 2006.