Like many other comic book characters, Archie now has a new look: slick and gelled, very modern, belying the fact that he is in his seventy-fifth year.

I don’t know yet if I am going to like his new look and the new storylines, accustomed as I am to the old Archie, but I’m sure I’ll soon get a chance to find out for myself. No, I’m not rushing out right away to get my copies of the latest offerings from the publishers of Archie comics because I know before long it will be stacked reverently somewhere on my adult children’s bookshelves — and if I’m very careful and promise not to munch greasy snacks while I handle it (thereby running the risk of staining it forever), I know I’ll be allowed to read it as a special treat.

It seems only a moment ago when roles were reversed — and the children were being awarded time out with comics when they had completed their school work and displayed exemplary conduct all day.

Of course, we didn’t have stain-free copies to give them since we had got our comics from pavement sellers and bargain basements and, over the years, had thumbed through them so often that they were worn to the point of almost falling apart. We liked to think of their sorry condition as signs of our affection: the pages had been run over time and again and were disintegrating at the seams and were thus marks of fondness, not battle scars or damage because of long neglect (which, in our eyes, would have been unforgivable).

An abiding interest in comics for both of us, parents and children, started in childhood. But, while most people leave that interest behind as they acquire new ones in adulthood, somehow, we did not. Thus, we forgot none of the powers and vulnerabilities or the fancies and foibles of our favourite characters and we carried these memories forward, helped in great measure by the many movies and television serials that have portrayed their stories — spectacularly — for the silver screen.

Sometimes, of course, it is difficult for us to identify with the angst and the inner demons that plague familiar characters in their new avatars, but those provide ample scope for conversation, debate and even argument with our children: all of which would have been missing if we had allowed the flame of our interest to die…

Continuing adventures

Friends and family of our generation who have grown older (like us), and have grown up (unlike us, they say), scoff at our continued involvement with comic book characters. They probably abandoned their comic-reading days when they received their school leaving certificates and they therefore find it hard to believe that we are genuinely fascinated by the perennial teenager Archie, intrepid reporter Tintin, and all the superheroes — and want to participate in their continuing adventures, whether on the small screen or the big.

In fact, we rue the disappearance of some of those other well-loved comic book characters we had shared so many happy afternoons with: Stumbo the Giant, Little Lotta, Hot Stuff, Little Audrey, Little Dot…They are missing from the present line-up of characters making waves everywhere, but they are still subjects for discussion as we provide thumb-nail sketches of each one and try to justify why they should be brought to life again — or why not. At a time when our children have marched into their futures, leaving us floundering behind, not really able to connect with their careers or their lifestyles, all those comic book characters we care about are a blessing. We get to share common ground over this common interest — and if slated movie releases are anything to go by, we know it can only grow.

Cheryl Rao is a freelance writer based in India.