Comic Con is being held in Hyderabad this month, I am told. Excited beyond measure at the prospect, I gave no thought at first to what I expected from it. I was merely determined to be there and experience the entire mood of the moment. Going by the programme that was posted online in advance, there would be launches and book releases, there would be artists and writers talking about their craft and there would be publishers with mountains of graphic books for sale.

Slowly, however, despite my declaration that I was just going to ‘see what it was like’, expectations began to build up.

It would be a learning experience, I thought. There would be discussions between the young and the old, uninitiated and all-knowing, graphic story creators and graphic story readers. I could listen from some quiet corner, soaking up the atmosphere of creativity as I got educated on a subject dear to my heart.

Comics had been a part of my life from the day I filched the first one from my brother’s school bag (and he couldn’t complain because it wasn’t supposed to be there anyway)! Of course, all I got from those occasional ventures into unauthorised borrowing — before the comics were snatched back — was a glimpse of square-jawed characters defeating their arch enemies in the span of a few action-packed panels and ... I wanted to know more.

It was lucky for me that by the time this thirst for comic-book knowledge hit, I was getting ‘pocket money’ and before I could blow up my allowance on the momentary pleasures of ice cream or chocolates, I discovered an almost hidden second-hand book shop in New Delhi’s Shankar Market, where we could spend hours browsing without the kind owner chasing us out of his premises. A small collection began — to be thumbed through again and again until the dialogue bubbles were memorised and could be fired off in appropriate situations — so quick that everyone knew it had not originated from my head!

The comics I loved were not only about superheroes — though those were certainly at least 50 per cent of the whole. There were also what we called ‘Schoolgirls’ — small-sized graphic stories that told tales of overcoming schoolgirl angst. Not being accepted, not being able to cope, trying hard to fit in ... all the things we went through at that age and time in our lives. Eventually, I outgrew those ‘Schoolgirl’ stories, but the superheroes followed me into my adult life and from there into my son’s life until he too became an adult.

I was not clueless, therefore, at Comic Con. There were familiar collector’s items from the past — comics that I knew for sure were somewhere in my cupboards. There were graphic stories from the present and youngsters dressed as familiar characters from them. I could forget that I was a generation — or two — older than the crowds around me. After all, there were no mirrors there to remind me that I was no longer that eight or 16 or 30-something, walking around delighting in the pile of comics in my hand!

Where age became a factor, however, was in the deluge of marketing. T-shirts, mugs, pen holders, stickers, coasters, figurines and more jumped out at me from almost every stall — and there were droves of youngsters inquiring after this and that. There was music in the background, anyone and everyone were clicking themselves and their friends with those dressed as Misty from Pokemon or Mystique from X-Men.

And in the midst of the blitz of noise and brand marketing, there were discussions and quizzes ...

My head was spinning: Where were the quiet moments for my re-education and for getting into the serious business of comic books?

Is this the new convention for conventions?

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.