For Phantom and his 21 generations that bound itself to destroy injustice, sitting by fire in a sea Island; that created an oasis where Devil (the wolf, that hated guns pointed on it), deer, and lion coexisted peacefully; where the Wambesi tribesman believed that he is immortal and come what night may, he will look after them (like a wise totem), and their drummed tree-travelling messages vouched for that..
The Phantom of my yesteryears, the man who cannot die, never died. What a privilege that we grew up reading him and lotpot and cha-cha chaudhry, and Richie rich, and Bahadur and ambulimama and Amar Chitra katha and Target and Suman Saurabh and Asterix and Tintin and Richie rich and Archies (did not what cream soda or fruit pops were, but Nirulas gave us triple scoop hot choc fudge and that was good), and other countless magical world's.
The Ghost who walks, walks amidst us still..
No comments:
Post a Comment