It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a comics fan!

When Marvel legend Stan Lee died on November 12, 2018, millions of fans mourned him. Television host Bill Maher seemed puzzled by the outpouring of grief. In a blog post, he wondered why the passing of creator of Spider-Man, the Hulk and so many iconic superheroes should result in such grief, suggesting Lee had merely encouraged people to read comics and watch superhero movies.

As a comic-book fan who has been reading and collecting comics for more than four decades, I didn't mind Maher's remarks. I just thought he had missed the point. To people who don't read comics, they're often seen as children's entertainment or a form of escapism. To diehard readers like me, they're more personal. They entertain us, certainly, but they also stay with us, shape our imagination and, sometimes, even influence the way we look at things.

That probably explains why Maher's comments drew such a strong reaction from comic-book fans. Actor Chris Evans is believed to have said, "The comic book world is so dangerous... they're very opinionated fans. But they're great fans." He wasn't wrong. 

For many readers, comics aren't simply stories on paper. They're tied to memories.

Mine certainly are.

I was about eight years old when an uncle in San Diego sent my dad a carton containing around 40 Marvel and DC comics. Those crisp Silver Age and Bronze Age issues had travelled thousands of miles to reach our home in Goa, and they started a love of comics that has stayed with me ever since. Dad then began collecting comics, and I happily became his young accomplice.

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My comic-book universe wasn't limited to Marvel or DC superheroes. It included the Justice League, The Fantastic Four and the Avengers, and also The Pandavas Princes, the Maurya kings and other Great Indian Emperors, and so many wonderful comics published by Amar Chitra Katha (Immortal Picture Stories)—India’s largest-selling comic-book imprint. There was room, too, for Tarzan, the Phantom and Mandrake the Magician among hundreds of others. To me, they all belonged on the same bookshelf.

One story has stayed with me more than most.

One evening, my dad picked up Gopal and the Cowherd, a popular Bengali folktale from Amar Chitra Katha and read it out to me.

Gopal, a young boy, is frightened of walking alone through a forest to school. His mother tells him to call out to his brother, who will protect him. The boy does exactly that, and a mysterious cowherd appears, wearing a peacock-feather crown and playing a flute. He escorts Gopal safely to school and back each day. Only later does the boy's mother, his teachers and classmates realise that the cowherd was Lord Krishna himself.

As a kid, I found the story deeply moving. Looking back, I realise the story was about courage, faith and kindness without ever sounding like a lesson. 

That, to me, is one of the strengths of comic-books. The best ones entertain first and teach quietly.

Over the years I kept returning to comics—not only for excitement but also for comfort. Heroes like Arjuna and Captain America reminded me that courage isn't the absence of fear but the willingness to do the right thing despite it. At different times in life, comics became a welcome escape, a source of optimism, and a reminder that difficult situations don't last forever.

Today's comics exist alongside blockbuster films, television series and digital editions, but their appeal hasn't changed. To me, they still speak through speech bubbles and pictures in a way few other forms of storytelling can.

One of my favourite comic-book film moments comes from Spider-Man 2, when Aunt May says:

"There's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble..."

That line isn't just about superheroes. It's about ordinary people trying to do their best every day.

Maybe that's why I still read comics long after I've grown up.

Or have I?