I had seen Superman much before I ever read a comic, seen a sketch or come anywhere near a movie of the super hero. I knew of him, of him as Clark Kent, and of Louis Lane and of Krypton and Kryptonites and a host of other stuff about Superman.
Dedeng dedeng, dedeng, dedeng dedeng dedeng, dedeng deyydeng, dedeng dedeng… that by the way is the tune of Pink Panther in trombone. I could sing that tune and describe Pink Panther’s antics and see him in my mind’s eye, long before I ever came across the character in any work art. In fact, I knew that Peter Sellers’ was the only Inspector Clouseau ever possible.
I actually saw the first of the Pink Panther movies in the late 1990s, 20 years after I first imagined Inspetor Clouseau and the Pink Panther. Guess what? I knew the movie frame to frame. In fact, it was as if I had already seen the movie.
I actually saw Superman (Christopher Reeves) for the first time in 2003 or 2004 – more than 25 years after I first imagined him in my mind. And guess what? Yes, I knew the movie frame by frame … and there were some scenes which were missing but I found them later in Superman 2.
And how did I know these movies? It’s simple really. Abbas described them to me. Abbas, my best friend since Class 4, St Joseph’s High School, Juhu Church, Mumbai. In fact, Abbas was my eyes and ears to the world outside India. He had a VCR and access to movies and every time he saw one, he would describe it to me the next day in school at lunch and after school, waiting for the bus home. Abbas, who would bring me stamps from Bahrain and Kuwait and other Gulf countries … stamps which started my stamp collection, one which I still guard with a hawk eye. Abbas, who taught me the meaning of friendship and family and sharing.
Such was the power of his narration, that I remember the books, movies, and pictures he narrated to me, even today more than 30 years later. I grew up with a fantastic imagination and a certain ability to write narratives in different styles. By the time I became a journalist of any consequence, I had lost touch with Abbas out of own folly. And the person who had been with me all of my life, all through my ups and most of my downs, had never read any of the things I could write thanks in a good measure to his narratives.
I have been searching for him for the better part of the last 14 years. Hopefully, my exile will end soon and I will find him one day. Abbas, I miss you.
