Bridging The Deficit

India and Pakistan are bad neighbours is mild way of putting the tension between the countries since their birth. And the relationship has never looked to be heading for the good.

Well, people concerned do use the right words to describe it- "trust deficit", but what they do to bridge this deficit doesn't speak much for their vocabulary. Throwing dossiers and accusing each other for attacks in respective countries doesn't exactly bridge a trust-deficit.

Day in and day out, you see news channels on both sides of the border spitting venom on the other side, accusing each other of things that could be.

Infact, today I saw this news channel, running a program about strengthening ties through cricket. The visuals showed either Pak bowlers getting a thorough bashing from Indian bastmen or Pakistan batsmen loosing their wickets.

Art and sports can only take us this far.Lazing around one fine evening and talking about the similarities in both countries will never help bring a change .The people at the helm have to understand that all they have to do is believe. Someone has to bend. It is painful to see a region that could be an economic and cultural powerhouse, torn apart due to vested interests.

Even if some people do agree to the above, they expect thier counterpart to bend first.

Both parties are at fault and nobody's helping the cause, neither the government nor the people.

Lets not walk into the hole the bad dudes want us to fall into. Let us listen to each other for a change. Lets believe in each other for once.

GODS

Aman was a 12th std. student in Delhi. He led a normal life, except for the fact that he could lift a truck with his right pinky.

Yes, Aman was a superhero. He saved women, banks, kittens, the president and did his chemistry projects.

That day had been particularly taxing on him. He usually sprains his wrist when he lifts a dozen cars at a time. Aman dragged himself to his room and dozed off instantly.

That night, he had a dream. Not one of the horrible ones, in which you are a mute spectator, but the rare ones, which you feel are under your control. Aman flew past cities, past the Himalayas, and into a, dark, deep tunnel, leading into a cave.

There he saw, an old, frail, breaded man stooped, and chained so heavily that he could hardly see a patch of skin, except for his head. The man looked up and Aman saw a face so featureless, yet screaming out for something, help, maybe, Aman thought. His eyes were sea blue, swollen and very dry.

With a weak, but probing voice, the man spoke, "So, finally, you've come."

Aman was confused, "You know me? How come...But I don't.Who are you?."

"You see Aman, this world, this universe is all about balance. Everything you see is always at balancing its negative self. "

"Mountains are there to balance the craters and trenches, air to counter water, hatred for love, good for bad. So when you earned those amazing powers, you terribly shook the balance of the creators great work."

All this was over-whelming for Aman, "Wait. I save the day and I'm blamed for it? What balance is this now, eh?"

"You used your power to help mankind and not otherwise, those are your values and your good nature. But you are a superhuman and there needed to be a counter-force for you too. And that force, is me."

"Yes, I'm weak, frail, these chains are the burdens of hopes and aspirations of all man and animal kind. I take their misfortunes, their pain and suffering."

Aman,"But I thought I do that."

"You wipe off their tears, I keep them. All the pain and suffering don't vanish, they come to me."

Aman, "So, why call me here?"

"Because the time has come. We must switch places. It is your turn to be the hope-keeper now." And the man raises his hand towards Aman.

Aman reluctantly puts his hand forward,"But who are you? And how do you know me?"

"I..., We, are the creator's two most trusted men. Commonly known as GODS."

As both touch each others' hands. A SNAP.

Adam wakes up with a start. He gingerly walks up to his balcony and flies out into the Manhattan skyline for his early morning vigil.

A Comic Situation

I flip through the pages of my old Champaks and Chacha Chaudharys. The pages are still crisp and the yellow tinge adds a hint of value to them, as time does to wine. I can't help but wonder, where those days of halcyon went?

Comics meant everything to me as a kid. And not the Marvels and DCs mind you. What fascinated me were the Billloo, Pinki, Raman, Sabu, the affable Chacha C and not to forget the Nagrajs and Dogas. Our very own Diamond and Raj comics were dearest to me.

But with each passing year, the quality of content deteriorated and so did my (and probably others') interest. Diamond is as good as non-exist ant and Raj comics have lost the art of story-telling.

It puzzles me, when I get hold of one of these 'modern' Chacha Chaudharys- should I cry at the lame and stale one-liners or should I laugh at the alarming frequency at which the colour of Chachaji's turban changes every 5 pages. Sometimes, I hardly ever get through 5 pages!

Comics in India is AILING. We need more Prans. We need sharper minds and willing people going into this floundering industry. Comics are a significant part of our history, and they ought be preserved.