It’s not often that you see an entire book hinging on one smartly executed piece of design, but Ayesha Tariq’s graphic novella Sarah: The Suppressed Anger of the Obedient Pakistani Daughter is just that. And no, this is not a criticism. On the front cover, we see a corked glass flask, chock-full of words that the titular character Sarah (an almost-18-year-old Pakistani girl) wants to say but cannot. During the course of the book, as Sarah’s life is depicted through a ticker tape of little cruelties, we see the bottle struggling to contain its terrible word-genie.

Tariq takes the metaphor about ‘the weight of unspoken words’ quite literally and harnesses its power in her illustrations. It’s a smart tactic for a book this short (80 pages).

Sarah lives with her stentorian, ex-military dad (Abu), her orthodox, ‘chronic worrier’ mom (Ami) and her callous, smug elder brother (Bhayya). Abu shoots down her dreams of driving her own car with a curt “You’re not old enough”. Ami forbids her from wearing jeans and going out after evening (even as her Bhayya has the freedom to come and go as he pleases). And Sarah, naturally, has to help with household chores, including cooking and cleaning dishes for the big family dinners hosted by her parents.

The most hilarious sequence for me was the two-page spread that explained “Ami and Abu’s Rule of Odds: Rules of travelling with a boy in a car, also applicable to being with a boy in a room”. The illustration depicted that the number of girls in the gathering must be greater than (but not equal to) the number of boys. “If I travel with a co-group, there must always be an odd number of boys and girls so it doesn’t look like I’m ‘with’ anybody. Ever tried the argument, ‘But you don’t trust me?’ It fails. Because they respond with ‘It’s not you we don’t trust, it’s the world.’”

Tariq has an intuitive understanding of colour scheme and great design sense. However, I’d really like to see her tackle a more substantial and nuanced story for her next project.

Another recent graphic novella of a similar length (85 pages) sees a gifted comics artist writing an original story for the first time: this is Ghosts of Kingdom Past by Harsho Mohan Chattoraj. Among other titles, Chattoraj has drawn The Hyderabad Graphic Novel (written by Jai Undurti) as well as the laugh-a-minute Bollywood parody Widhwa Maa Andhi Behen (written by Adhiraj Singh). There is perhaps no other crosshatch-er more diligent in India; nobody who captures facial mini-expressions better than Chattoraj: his distinctive, intense, rigorous style lends itself well to both caricature and more serious, straight-up portraits.

Ghosts of Kingdom Past is a homage to/takedown of the gloriously bad, Orientalising British and Hollywood films of the ’80s and ’90s: you know the kind, they have names like Operation Cobra (actual 1997 film starring kickboxer Don Wilson), typically with the stock Indian character called Kohinoor or Shalimar (Deepti Bhatnagar’s character in Operation Cobra). In Ghosts of… we have Most Learned and Virile British paranormal expert Sir Alec Morgan, who has conducted successful investigations in Japan and Egypt, and now has his eyes set on Kolkata.

At a public function, Morgan says that Kolkata is unlikely to have ghosts, ghouls or restless spirits. A middle-aged man gets up from his seat and contradicts him, flashing an enigmatic smile before leaving.

Soon, Morgan finds himself drawn to an old grave, which reveals clues to the life and grisly death of Siraj-ud-Daulah (1733-57), the last independent Nawab of Bengal, who was overthrown after the Battle of Plassey and, ultimately, executed on the orders of the East India Company. Chattoraj is at his best when he’s drawing scenes of quick, brutal action: horseback chases, surprise attacks, people getting impaled on swords.

He is also in top form when drawing Kolkata: the matrix of seedy lanes, cul-de-sacs, handcarts, street vendors and puchka -sellers is beautifully sketched. As is the character of Alambhai, who helps Morgan decode a piece of Urdu calligraphy.

At the end of the book, there’s a section called ‘How to Create a Comic’, where Chattoraj explains his working methods: script, layout, reference photographs, artwork lettering. For readers unfamiliar with the mechanics of this medium, this is a very helpful primer indeed. To be sure, Chattoraj’s writing has some way to go before it catches up with his artwork. And as with Sarah, a more substantial and nuanced storyline would be great the next time around. But this is a minor carp.

Ghosts of Kingdom Past is, on balance, a short and sweet read; perfect, I’d imagine, for a longish ride on the Metro.

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