Uncle Pai, A Biography

By Rajessh M Iyer

Three decades of storytelling, over six hundred comic books, an extremely successful children' s monthly magazine, and millions of readers In India spanning at least four generations... This is the legacy of Uncle Pai, and this is the story of the man often referred to as “ India' s master storyteller” . Children growing up in the India of the 1970s, 1980s, and the 1990s, had one common factor uniting them— their lovely association with Amar Chitra Katha. They bought copies, exchanged them, bound them in sets to proudly display to everyone... And, even flicked them from friends, if they didn't own a particular issue! Growing up reading his creations was an essential rite of passage that escaped no one. And all this fun, frenzy, and madness was thanks to the epoch-making vision of one man: Anant Pai. From a small village in Karnataka to Mumbai, Anant Pai' s journey and vision, which eventually touched countless lives across many generations, is as interesting as the books he created. Filled with little known stories from the creation of these epochal brands, Uncle Pai by Rajessh M Iyer chalks his journey and serves as a testimony of the man's indomitable spirit that helped millions across India get to know their cultural roots. Little wonder then that we too, like innumerable children, acknowledge his contribution by saying: Thank you, Uncle Pai.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9789354404641

Book preview

Prologue

The Dream That Fire Engulfed

1994

If only the colourful characters on paper—who never failed to spread smiles on millions of young faces—had the power to act, as they unfailingly did in the stories, they would have done something. If not anything, they would have at least screamed. Perhaps they did. Alas! No one heard them.

Suppandi and Shikari Shambu, with their amusing antics, had witnessed many complex situations, but the smouldering fire that night, which was devouring them grotesquely, was much akin to perhaps a jarring jolt from an enjoyable dream. Nah! That’s putting it rather mildly. The terrible fire that dreadful night in the office carried a different intent.

This same office was familiar with sparks and fire, albeit of a rather unique variety. Every day, thousands of ideas sparked and fired up in the form of stories. For over two decades, these delightful ideas had mutated, been developed, and had ended up in the hands of millions of readers in the form of stories and comic books. But that fateful night in August 1994, the office of Amar Chitra Katha comics and Tinkle magazine at DN Road, Mumbai, witnessed a different fire, one which quickly turned everything into ashes.

The fire was real . . . hideous . . . devilish . . . and extremely devastating. Not one story escaped its wrath.

Anant Pai—the man whose idea had transformed into two iconic storytelling brands with hundreds of loveable characters, thousands of enchanting stories, and millions of mesmerised readers—got to know about the fire only the following morning since he had been away on a school contact tour and got back late that night. He was jolted awake the next morning by the high-pitched ring of the telephone. The shrill voice at the other end and the gory details it spilled stunned him further.

Very few know what tormented him the most. It was rather uncanny since during the night Pai had dreamt of fire. Now, as the details sharply cut through his heart and mind, he wasn’t sure if he should interpret the dream as a mere coincidence or as some kind of a premonition.

The moment he reached the office, he saw a few shocked colleagues, some of whom were crying unabashedly. Others were yet to arrive. But when they eventually did and confronted the charred remains of the dreams they had collectively seen and helped build over the years, they were horrified.

A pall of gloom descended upon the staff members. Years of toiling through research, creative work, stories, and illustrations had all turned into ashes. Every single document burnt beyond repair. Savio Mascarenhas—who later became the group art director and who had only joined the organisation a month ago—thought it was the end of his dream of working with the iconic brands.

The fire had no idea that what it had engulfed meant so much to so many people. And those people did not merely include Anant Pai and the staff members of Amar Chitra Katha comics and Tinkle magazine alone, but also millions across the world; none with a clue as to what had happened in the office that had helped shape a part of their childhood.

Pai saw blackness all around, where colourful characters had played only until a day ago. Millions of thoughts reared in his head. The glorious past and the unsure future inextricably mingled with the bleak present. It was a bizarre concoction. The arduous effort, the illustrious glory, and the enduring legacy . . . everything seemed to have hit a strange roadblock.

However, for a man who believed in the dictum of living in the moment, Pai had two main thoughts running simultaneously in his mind. One, console his extremely shaken colleagues, none of whom knew how to respond to this unforeseen accident. Two, look ahead.

Pai knew perfectly well where the company stood. The last few years had been trying ones. And that was an understatement. They were already braving a slackening children’s publishing market with no new ACK titles in the last few years. The sales, needless to say, were far from comforting.

Moreover, Pai knew about the distribution team’s growing disinterest in children’s publishing. There was no fun in selling ACK anymore for them. There were whispers that the team wasn’t even pushing Tinkle the way it had only a few years ago. The cake was in the booming senior readers’ segment. Magazines on movies, politics, home and living, were outdoing each other. All things considered, it wasn’t the best of times for children’s publishing. And then the fire.

Despite all of it, there were expectations from the market and the diehard readers. Failing to deliver would not go down well with them, even though Pai knew that the loyal readers would comprehend the gravity of the situation. For such unprecedented events were exceedingly rare.

Pai made a few swift decisions in consultation with the management, standing right there on the sidewalk. The team was to immediately shift to the parent company IBH’s office at Mahalakshmi. They would work out a plan once they settled down.

The drive from Fort to Mahalakshmi barely took half an hour and Pai did not say much during the drive, which was characteristic of him. The colleagues who accompanied him were aware of that, especially when he was lost in thoughts. They had known him to respond with silent nods and measured monosyllables, particularly when it came to administrative matters. The child in him would be up and running in excitement only when he was discussing a story or an illustration, or narrating stories to children.

For Pai, what the fire had gobbled up was the dream of a lifetime.

***

Settling down in a new office wasn’t easy. Since it was so sudden, they needed to tie up innumerable loose ends. But Pai was restless. A plethora of work was pending. And above all else, he needed to ensure that the morale remained high.

Pai was a father figure to most employees. After all, in the last two and a half decades, he had hand-picked each one of them. Moreover, he involved himself in every activity of the whole operation, from conceptualising, writing, illustrating, designing, selling, and marketing to eventually interacting with the end-users (read readers).

The distribution team wanted to inform the booksellers about the possible delay in the forthcoming issue. But Pai strictly forbade them. He told a disbelieving team that the issue would come out on time.

Pai called an urgent meeting and immediately laid down the plan. They needed to work double time and with extra fervour. There was nary a whimper of protest. The heartbroken and severely shaken staff had the same solution in their minds. But even they knew it was easier said than done. Tinkle’s upcoming issue was barely two weeks from hitting the stands.

War footing became the mantra.

***

The newspapers cried out the news loud and clear the next day. Any other day, Pai would have been elated by ACK gaining so much attention. But that day, each headline seemed to put a dagger into his heart. It was gut-wrenching.

No matter how much he immersed himself in work, the irreparable loss of what he and his team had toiled over for three decades was difficult to become oblivious to. Pai thanked his stars that at least the original Amar Chitra Katha positives were kept in another office. Even though they had lost countless original issues, they could at least reprint them.

Tinkle, of course, wasn’t so lucky. They had lost every single file they had maintained: artworks, stories, ideas. Was there a way to retrieve them, Pai wondered. A flurry of ideas came from everyone. Among the numerous suggestions was one made by the then assistant editor of Tinkle, Reena Puri (who currently helms the editorial at Amar Chitra Katha). She suggested a notice in the forthcoming issue of Tinkle and in the reprints of Amar Chitra Katha comic books requesting the readers to send in the previous issues from their collection to help restore their favourite comic book’s library.

Pai smiled when he heard this; a smile of confidence that someone like Puri, who had joined the organisation only a few years ago, demonstrated such immense faith in the reach of the brand. But the smile also carried a practical acknowledgement of the fact that the readers out there might not be as enthusiastic as Puri. After all, she was an employee and a mother to children who read Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle. Others might not share her zeal. What’s more, the brand wasn’t what it was a decade ago. But even Pai knew it was their best bet. He nodded his acceptance.

***

The sensitive topic obstinately refused to leave Pai. There were umpteen discussions wherever he went. But in all the concerns everyone showed, Pai noticed a common thread in his conversations with the two women closest to him—his elder sister Prema, with whom he had shared his initial dreams, and his wife Lalita, with whose help he had turned those dreams into reality.

Even though Pai knew that there had to be a way out of this bleak scenario, it was reassuring when such confidence came from outside. Both women had counter questions.

His elder sister wondered: ‘Haven’t you, earlier in your life, seen severe setbacks?’

Pai’s wife, Lalita’s, query was more pertinent: ‘Did you not bounce back from other adversities? Innumerable times?’

He wondered if these words displayed the two women’s confidence in his ability or were they simply humouring him, knowing full well that what stood in front of him was insurmountable? Despite his extreme self-belief, Pai held on to some grave apprehensions. He had, after all, overheard umpteen hushed talks in the office and outside wondering if this major mishap signalled the beginning of the end.

Test Of Character

Among the principles that Pai taught to the young ones at his institute and spoke about with the children in schools or even at family gatherings, there was one that he laid particular emphasis on. He maintained that self-esteem was vital in character building and that it helped succeed in life. One of the principles, according to Pai, was that a person with self-esteem pushes on despite all the obstacles she or he faces. Perhaps Pai realised in those testing times the depth of his teaching.

The Man

&

His Mind

‘Satyam brūyāt priyam brūyāt

mā brūyāt satyam apriyam’

(Speak the truth; speak what is pleasant; do not speak an unpleasant truth)

- Manusmriti (Pai often quoted it)

1

Village Days

1929

The description would sound like one of any other quaint little village in the country. However, Karkala, in the state of Karnataka, isn’t surrounded by mere dead stones that tell tales of yore. There are innumerable structures here that still breathe with a life of their own. It happens to be the place of great Jaina tradition, with the Gomateshwara temple (famous for its Bahubali statue) just a few kilometres away. Karkala itself has a historical Jaina temple, the Chaturmukha Basadi, apart from other medieval temples.

It seems like poetic justice that the gifted storyteller’s story—who retold tales about the glorious heritage of this land—began at a place with such historical and cultural significance. It was on 17 September 1929, that Irvathur Venkataraya Pai and Susheela Pai were blessed with a son. They named him Anant.

However, the young boy’s life was destined to start on a turbulent note. The year was 1931 and Anant Pai was barely two years of age. His eyes could hardly register the events that were about to unfold. Woefully for the little boy, his father died that year. But that wasn’t the tragedy that would have an impact on the little one’s psyche. It was what followed that would have a bearing on his mind. Soon after, his mother passed away too.

Pai and his sisters, Prema and Savita, started living with their maternal grandparents. At that age, the developing mind could scarcely grasp the tragedy. And his grandparents sheltered them from any news about their mother. But even the compassionate grandparents couldn’t control the murmurs that floated in the air. Before long, it reached young Pai’s ears.

There was a certain morbid irony in the successive deaths of his parents, leaving an indelible impression on Pai’s mind. These were scars that Pai would never reveal to the outside world. But these scars were deep and they would remain for the rest of his life. They would perhaps also be responsible for the way he shaped up as a human being and a relentless achiever.

Love For Storytelling: The Stepping Stones

Despite the setback, Pai enjoyed a relatively contented childhood, with his grandparents taking care of him and his sisters. Yet, there was a certain void that seemed difficult to fill. He realised early on that knowledge had the power to fill that gap. Each bit of information presented him with a bigger and better perspective of just about everything in life.

With a deep thirst to know, Pai became a voracious reader at an unusually young age. He would devour any book he could lay his hands on, though like other children his age, it was the stories that fascinated him immensely.

Above even the books was the traditional storytelling called Harikatha. Traditionally performed in temples, Pai found himself attracted to this fascinating narrative form, made more enchanting since it would be accompanied by devotional songs.

In the village temple that the family regularly visited, Harikatha was a routine and it was this part of the temple visits that enticed the young boy. Pai became so enamoured by these stories that he would want to keep listening to them. However, he soon noticed that the same story, when heard on different days, had different impacts: captivating one day, lacklustre on another.

Even his little mind noticed the difference that it wasn’t the story alone that mattered, but also the way it was narrated. This understanding made him realise the importance of narration. It also sowed the seeds of the stringent editorial and creative tests he would enforce on each of his stories in his later years.

By the time Pai was five, he was completely hooked on to stories. He had no clue how instrumental stories would be in his life, but in his heart, he realised they would be an integral part of whatever he did.

Despite this realisation, the turning point was yet to be. It came when Pai first witnessed Yakshagana. Yakshagana is a traditional theatre form in the state of Karnataka. It draws extensively from Indian epics—the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, and the Puranas. The confluence of stark make-up, dances, songs, narratives, colourful costumes, and exaggerated expressions invariably transform the stories into tales that are extremely interesting to watch.

Pai was enamoured the first time he witnessed it. For the young boy, the performers on the stage transported him to an exotic world; a world that he felt he could not merely watch from a distance, but be a part of. And this was far better than the best of narrations during Harikatha.

Around that time, another incident aroused Pai’s curiosity towards storytelling. One day, little Pai overheard their maid ask his grandmother for one anna (currency prevalent then) to watch cinema. Those days, in faraway towns and villages, cinema meant the touring talkies that visited every once in a while.

Little Pai was enchanted as he heard the maid describe the cinema in graphic details: songs, dances, and fights. Pai was curious to watch it, but was forbidden by his grandmother who told him, ‘Children from decent families don’t watch cinema.’

Though prohibited at that time, Pai was captivated by the fact that storytelling per se was available in more contemporary forms and mediums. Unknown to everyone around Pai—and perhaps even his own self—a budding storyteller was getting moulded.

The Troubling Paradox

There was a certain churning taking place inside Pai. Belonging to a traditional Brahmin household, Pai was surrounded by religious orthodoxy. He received his initiation into various Hindu religious texts early in life and took to them with great aplomb.

He was intrigued by the rituals he saw both at home and at the temple. And the inquisitive child that he was, he kept thousands of questions ready for his grandparents, relatives, and even the temple priests. The elders in the family—his relatives and his sisters—were pleased with the curious child. Only, they had no idea what was going on in his mind.

The answers to his queries were lacklustre in nature, if at all they came his way. Even at a young age, Pai understood how people blindly followed rituals without even knowing the logic behind them. This was perhaps his first disenchantment with rigid rituals.

His mind was constantly churning out ideas and challenging everything . . . and soon that included religious practices as well. He wanted to comprehend the significance of every ritual.

Maybe because of the tragedy early in his life, Pai started posing profound questions, unlike boys his age, and that included questioning the idea of the Creator and the purpose of the Creator’s actions. Probing deeper to decipher the meaning behind the various karma kanda in the Hindu texts made him question more. And with unsatisfactory answers, the boy found himself getting distanced from the rituals.

Around that time—he was about nine years of age—Pai stumbled upon a copy of the Bhagavad Gita. The first thought that struck him when he held the tattered copy of the Bhagavad Gita was whether it too dealt with religious rituals. He clubbed the Gita along with other religious texts and was about to discard it. However, he did not. And for that he would be thankful for the rest of his life. That decision brought in a momentous change . . . a tectonic shift in his evolving mind. Despite his age, he could comprehend strands of what Krishna was explaining to Arjuna. The first time he read it, he was stupefied. Some parts of the book spoke so deeply to him that it felt as if he were in a conversation with Krishna. He was moved to tears. This was a novel experience for him. Even his own response surprised him.

In the days and months to come, Pai read the Bhagavad Gita many times over. With each reading, he found something new . . . invariably, an answer to a question that had troubled him. Before long, he had read other interpretations of the Gita. What struck him was that each writer interpreted Krishna’s words distinctly. What baffled him was the paradox he carried in