Wednesday, 7 February 2018

Equal love: Why some men choose to take their mother's or wife's names

In a society where it is almost unheard of for a man to take his mother or wife’s name as his surname, TNM spoke to four men who took the unconventional step. Read on: 

It’s been over a year that Ilangovan Geeta, a 50-year-old government service employee, changed his last name. His wife, Geeta Ilangovan, says that it happened quite spontaneously.

“He just woke up one morning and announced that my name was going to be his surname from now on,” she chuckles.

But for Ilangovan, the decision meant much more.

“I have been writing and speaking about the need for gender equality, especially on social media. I had been thinking of doing it for a while… This was my Valentine’s Day gift to her,” he confesses sheepishly.

While not everyone was surprised by his decision, Ilangovan has witnessed some hesitation from others from using his full name.

“When we go to speak at a public event, they refer to Geeta on stage by her full name. And if I am going after her, they say ‘Ilangovan’ and then falter. I have to tell them that my name is indeed Ilangovan Geeta,” he says, amusement apparent in his voice.

Geeta and Ilangovan
In a society where women are still questioned if they keep their last names from before marriage, for a man to take his mother, or wife’s name, as a surname is almost unheard of.

TNM spoke to four men who took the unconventional step. While three took their wife’s or mother’s name as last name, one decided to give his daughter his wife’s surname.

Each of their stories has something to say about the society we live in.

Facing institutional hurdles
Karthikeyan Hemalatha, a journalist, took his mother’s name when he was 15.

Karthikeyan’s parents separated when he was in Class 5. At the time he did not understand why his mother was changing his and sister’s last names on all official documents, but he neither resisted nor had a say in the matter.

Now, however, the 29-year-old feels that it was the right decision to make, even though it was a lot of work and required many visits to government offices.

He adds with a chuckle that many people assume he is a woman because of his last name.

Karthikeyan
While none of his friends or family have raised an objection to this, he has had some run-ins with authority.

“My PAN card still has the name of the man my mother was married to,” he says. “I tried to tell them that I do not want my his name as the last name. But the government officials did not listen, they insisted it was mandatory.”

On another occasion, Karthikeyan was at a police station for a minor driving-related offence.

“Seeing my surname, the constable kept asking me my father’s name. It was probably his way of trying to intimidate me. But I held my ground and told him I did not want to give his name.”

Institutional hurdles are also a reason that Ilangovan and Geeta have not changed their names on official records. Both of them concur that it is a lot of work and believe that the initiative is more important in a social context. They use their changed names on social media as well as in their professional lives. Geeta, who is a writer and documentary filmmaker, uses ‘Geeta Ilangovan’ as her credit line. And Ilangovan has a book published under ‘Ilangovan Geeta’.

Shedding caste and patriarchal influences
For Venkat, a scientist from Hyderabad currently working in Pune, giving his daughter his wife Bharathi’s surname was an easy choice. It also came from their unanimous desire to disassociate from Venkat’s family, who did not want anything to do with their inter-caste marriage.

For Venkat, the reasons were two-fold. “I wanted my daughter to carry neither the baggage nor the racist overtones that my last name stood for. I also grew up witnessing the ugly patriarchy that my mom had to live with, that denied her and her children equal treatment as compared to her male siblings or their children,” he says.

Bharathi explains why she too was keen on this: “My husband’s is a Brahmin surname. My daughter was not going to be a Brahmin as I am not one, nor are we going to raise her as one. Besides, people always mistook me for Brahmin due to my fair skin while I grew up. It was a pain for me to explain that I am not one, followed by who I am and then deal with their reaction. I wanted to avoid that for my daughter.”

Venkat’s family was not in touch with them at the time and hence were indifferent to this decision. Bharathi, who is one among four sisters, feels that it would have meant more to her family if they had a boy child.

And because their daughter carries Bharathi’s last name, people often assume that it is Venkat’s as well. Some men would not take being addressed with their wife’s surname after a ‘mister’ but Venkat has learnt to ignore it in a casual context.

There have been some awkward incidents though.

“Once, we went for a medical check-up to a hospital in Hyderabad as part of obtaining an Australian visa. The man looked at the paperwork a couple of times before questioning my relationship with Bharathi and our daughter,” he narrates. “Actually, it was a rude ‘who the hell are you?’ directed at me.”

Another time, Venkat and his daughter were in transit at an airport in Heathrow when an immigration officer suspected him of trafficking!

“The official asked for her birth certificate to establish we were related. My daughter’s US passport does not bear the names of her parents and Bharathi was not accompanying us at that time. The officer said later that she was ensuring that this wasn’t some international child trafficking case,” Venkat says.

A way to ensure gender equality
Apart from personal reasons, for Ilangovan it was also practising what he preached.

“Many women are socially compelled to take their husbands’ surnames. This cannot change overnight. So, in the meantime, I believe husbands can start taking their wives’ names to ensure some sort of parity,” he reasons.

He also believes that while he, as a man, is identified by his achievements and not his surname, it is not the same for women who may be reduced to so and so’s wife.

Ilangovan’s parents are also followers of Periyar, who worked to eradicate caste and gender discrimination. “My father was happy with my decision,” he says.

A sign of love and commitment
After Ilangovan changed his last name on social media and wrote about it, he says that as many as 25 of his male followers followed suit.

One such man is 29-year-old Sethupathi Uthiramani, who took his mother’s name as his last.

Sethupathi’s parents are farmers who live in his native village. He grew up witnessing his mother being a matriarch. And while he resented it as a child, he realised after college that his mother wasn’t unnecessarily bossy or controlling.

“She had studied till Class 5 and was more educated than my father. She had to take charge and run the household. I had newfound respect and admiration for her,” Sethupathi says.

His parents did not care much about him taking Uthiramani’s name as his last name.

“They are very simple people who do not care much about feminism or social media,” he explains.

While Sethupathi has not changed his name officially, he intends to do so eventually.

“I will take my girlfriend’s name once we are married. And when we have children, I will change my surname on official records as well,” he says. “We have been together 10 years. There have been times where she has supported me financially as well, even though we aren’t married.

Sethupathi and his girlfriend, Umadevi
But is he doing this out of obligation, in exchange for her financial support? Sethupathi’s answer is a vehement ‘no’.

“It’s just my way of showing gratitude and commitment for her love and companionship,” he says.

980 flights in 24 hours: Mumbai airport breaks own record

Mumbai airport, the busiest single-runway airport in the world, broke its own record when it handled 980 arrivals and landings in 24 hours on January 20. "Before this, on December 6, the airport had landed 974 flights," said a Mumbai International Airport+ Pvt Ltd spokesperson. Though India's second largest airport has the record breaking numbers, Gatwick airport, UK's second largest airport, is still the most efficient single-runway airport in the world.

According to statistics from UK's Airport Coordination Ltd, Gatwick single runway declared an aircraft handling capacity of 870 flight movements per day for summer 2018. But, unlike Mumbai airport, which is functional 24 hours a day, Gatwick handles most of its flights in the 19 hours between 5am and midnight because of night time restrictions in force since 1971.


Gatwick single-runway's peak handling capacity is 55 air traffic movements (landings or take offs) an hour, while Mumbai has touched 52 movements an hour. However, unlike Mumbai, which rarely handles 52 movements an hour, Gatwick runway frequently handles 55 movements/hour daily during the peak hours between 6 am and 7.50 am; 10 am and 1.50 pm and 3pm and 7.50 pm. Mumbai, on the other hand, handles an average of around 48 movements in peak hours.

"The most important difference between Gatwick and Mumbai is the environment the two airports are set in," says a senior air traffic controller from Mumbai.


"Mumbai airport functions in a space-starved, infrastructure-constrained environment, unlike any other. More flights can't be added onto Mumbai's single runway without a holistic approach that takes into account the ground realities, India's regulatory framework, human factors etc," he added. The ground realties of the two airports are in stark contrast. London is served by four airports—Heathrow the largest followed by Gatwick, Stansted and Luton. Heathrow has two simultaneously operational runways and the rest each have one, making it atotal of five available runways for London-bound flights. Mumbai, on the other hand, is served by only one airport (Juhu airport runway cannot handle airline flights).

The runway infrastructure available for Mumbai-bound flights is a set of cross runways, a main runway and a smaller secondary runway, with only one of the two operational at a time. "If the main runway has to be shut because of an emergency, airport operations are crippled,'' he added. "Last September, when a Spice Jet aircraft overshot the main runway forcing its closure, most of the wide-bodied aircraft operating long haul international flights were forced to divert to Hyderabad and Bangalore, where a dearth of aircraft parking bays posed a problem,'' he added.

(Source: ToI)

I went to see Padmaavat at Sanjay Leela Bhansali's bungalow. This is what all Hindus should know

His film is actually an ode to the real queen in his life... Unlike our dusty modern matchbox rooms, these cavernous rooms are spotless, ancient and have shady depth, writes Palash Krishna Mehrotra in Daily O. Read on: 

Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s bungalow is one of the better-known landmarks in Versova. Every time I’m on my way to someone’s house in the suburb, the auto-rickshaw driver, who is a fellow "bhaiya", will turn to me and say: "Now you can phone your friend and tell him we’ve reached Bhansali’s bungalow. Where do we go from here?"

And so, many a time, I’ve found myself parked outside Bhansali’s corner bungalow, with some time to kill. One cannot see anything inside. One can only imagine. In Padmaavat, as I would soon discover, Bhansali takes us inside his bungalow. (Man, what a bungalow. Unlike our dusty modern matchbox rooms, these cavernous rooms are spotless, ancient and have shady depth.)

Once I’ve reached the multiplex, I call my friend and say: "Hey, I’ve reached Bhansali’s bungalow. Where do I go from here?"

He says: "Get past the guards and take the elevator to the top floor." There is much checking before one enters the mall. Normally, one doesn’t have to stand on a low plastic stool when getting oneself patted down at the entrance. A queue extends in front of me.

Old men and women topple off the stool and have to be helped back on their feet by the apologetic security guard. The toddlers, on the other hand, think this is a game and begin tap-dancing on the stool. The hapless security guards have a tough time convincing the kids to step off. "This is not a game, beta. This is dead serious. The stool forms an extra layer of added security to prevent the Karni Sena from creating mayhem inside."

Once we enter Bhansali’s inner lair - Auditorium 2 - we are handed black goggles. Since this is yet another garish Bhansali film, I’m already carrying a pair, but I’m told that they won’t work. I have to wear the special goggles because the house is built in 3D.

A disclaimer precedes the film: "This is a work of the imagination and has nothing to do with facts." As if on cue, a girl in the audience says out loud, to one of her three girlfriends: "Pata hai aisi movie banni chaiye taaki logo ko pata chale itihaas mein kya hua, kaise hua, kyun hua."

The film begins. It’s dedicated to Lady Popo, a pet dog, presumably Papa Bhansali’s late canine offspring. Now I’m beginning to wonder if this is the twist in the tale, that Bhansali’s film is an ode to the real queen in his life. Pet parents nowadays can go to absurd lengths, especially wealthy ones. What’s to prevent a Bollywood director from mounting a multi-million dollar ode to a pet disguised as a mythical figure?

I’m waiting for Hiraman, the bird who is supposed to be Rani Padmaavat’s best friend. But Hiraman has been excised from the script. Instead, we get to see a rakish Alauddin Khilji, walking past flares, holding an ostrich on a leash. The "shuturmurg" is a surprise. I was expecting a parrot. What will be served for dinner at the Bhansali bungalow? I’m not salivating. The ostrich is bony. And certainly not free-range.


Ranveer Singh chomps meat and paws women right through the film. He is the evil back-stabbing Muslim, who cannot control his desires and impulses. If anything, Muslims should have had a problem with this film which is a giant washing machine, tumble drying clichés then hanging them out to dry. It looks like the ploy backfired. Bhansali makes a 3D tribute to Hindutva, but ultra-right fringe groups take it the wrong way, turning against him.

But here’s the thing: I like Ranveer Singh. I’ve liked him ever since he lip-synced to "Ladies, O ladies, main hoon aadat se majboor" in Ladies Vs Ricky Bahl. I liked him in Befikre too, though I must admit I liked Vaani Kapoor better.

Ranveer hams his way through Khilji’s role, but that’s what he’s been asked to do by the architect of the bungalow. The over-lean Shahid Kapoor, who is good as always and has no point left to prove acting-wise, is more statesmanlike. But Ranveer has always had this swag - part Brad Pitt, part Travolta, which works well on the big screen.

I’m also very happy because in a film that upholds the moral purity and unwaveringness of upper caste Hindus, we witness a stunning case of Hindu karmic reincarnation: Prince, the singer, is alive.

Prince, who had died tragically of a painkiller overdose in his hometown of Minneapolis, Minnesota, comes back to life in Padmaavat as Malik Kafur, Khilji’s effeminate general. It looks like Prince’s death was a gigantic hoax. Rock stars are known to do this kind of thing.

If there ever was any doubt, Prince Malik (not be confused with ex-MTV Roadie and Splitsvilla reality star Prince Narula) gets an entire yearning song sequence to himself. He even sings like the Prince of yore. "Folks", as Trump would say, "Prince is alive and he’s making India great again. We will leave no stone unturned to bring him back to our great land."

As I would later discover, Trump had indeed tweeted to Sushmaji, asking for Prince’s release. My sources tell me that Prince was kidnapped at the behest of Kim Jong-un, who then sold Prince to Bhansali for a hefty price.

The film ends. There is no dinner with Bhansali, as I had hoped. The ostrich, I was told, stuck its head in the sand and refused to pull it out. The blood-thirsty Muslim butcher was rebuffed. The guests went hungry.

On the way out, I tried to sneak out the plastic stool and the 3D goggles with me. I thought they were parting presents. I protested to the guards: "Bhai, Bhansali ke bangle aye hai, khali haath thodi hi ghar jayenge. Can’t return empty-handed." But to no avail.

The show was over and it was time to go home.

No more grid girls in Formula 1: Sport needs women to compete and not just act as accessories

The problem with the concept of ‘grid/ring/walk-on girls’ is not with independent women choosing their occupation, but with the blatant objectification, writes Zenia D'Cunha in Scroll. Read on: 

“This custom… is clearly at odds with modern day societal norms,” read the statement by Formula 1 announcing the end of the long-standing practice of grid girls during races.

Lewis Hamilton sprays champagne at a grid girl as he celebrates his victory on the podium after the Chinese GP in 2015. | Carlos Barria / Reuters
The move to remove grid girls from the 2018 season, as most things do, met with extremely polarising views on social media. While many credited Liberty Media for taking the progressive step, some, including several grid girls themselves, have slammed it as “political correctness to please a minority”, “fake feminism” and even as “taking independence and employment opportunities away from women.”

While it would have been naïve to imagine that such a move would be universally accepted, the intensity and bitterness in criticism of the move and the feminist movement is baffling, and a little annoying given it is 2018.

But let’s keep that emotion aside for moment and say it straight: The problem with the concept of “grid/podium/ring/walk-on girls” is not with independent women choosing their occupation, but with the blatant objectification and even sexualisation, of women in the job.

Using women as “decorative” items in sport, a field where gender imbalance is a daily concern on several levels, is problematic and sets a wrong precedent for those participating and watching.
On most days, the grid girls are only required to hold driver names, position boards or umbrellas on track, dressed with clothes that have either sponsor names or native to the country. But their duties also include lining up the way to the podium, and often being part of the presentation ceremony and have champagne sprayed on you by the winners. In certain cycling races, it goes on further, such as kissing the winners cheeks or posing with them for suggestive photos.

‘Good-looking’, a job description
Among those criticising the move to abolish grid girls is Ex-Formula 1 boss Bernie Ecclestone, to very little surprise.

“The country at the moment is getting a bit prudish. I can’t see how a good-looking girl standing with a driver and a number in front of a Formula One car can be offensive to anybody. They are all nicely dressed I would think people like Rolex and Heineken wouldn’t have girls there who weren’t presentable,” he was quoted as saying by The Sun.

Unwittingly, Ecclestone has answered the question himself in his statement, with the emphasis being on good-looking and then the comparison to luxury brands.

Are the drivers racing in those fancy, expensive cars or the engineers fixing them expected to look good or presentable? But here the job description itself included being “good-looking”, reducing the worth of the person to merely a physical attribute.

A practise across sports
This practise is, sadly, seen is different ways across different sports. Many international-level competitions have women dressed in a certain way doing odd-jobs that have little bearing on the actual outcome of the result.

In combat sport events, there are ring girls who hold the placard announcing which round is going on, in some cycling races, they are there at the trophy presentation, and in darts, to accompany a player to their spot.

In fact, at most sporting events, it is not uncommon to see women as hosts, on-field announcers, tray bearers at prize distribution, etc, who are more often than not adhering the conventional standards of beauty and fashion, dressed and paraded

Recently, the Professional Darts Corporation (PDC), after talks with broadcasters, ended the long-standing practice of walk-on girls. This was met by backlash from certain quarters, and prompted a widely-received online petition to reinstate the walk-on girls, getting support from players themselves.

The recent draw ceremony of the ATP Next Gen Finals involved the players choosing females models to reveal their group. What was the purpose? To spice up the show, and use women as bowls to draw out names. That is textbook objectification.

Why are women being used as accessories in male sport? And why do are they almost always scantily clad and doing something mundane? More importantly, why is it still so widely accepted as tradition?

Some would say that grid girls are essentially cheerleaders, which are the norm in most sports and even have organised events and teams. Needless to say, majority of the cheerleaders are women. However, it should be noted but being a cheerleader requires the person to do something –a dance routine, a coordinated move. But the main job of a grid girl is to carry name cards and such to the field – essentially a decorative accessory, something nice to look at.

Much-needed move
With growing gender awareness and representation in the world we live today, using women to entertain the crowd and onlookers is plain ridiculous. Whether this comes in the aftermath of the #MeToo movement or is a product of a more sensitive world, fact is that this is a much-needed move.

This thought was best summed up by Women’s Sports Test – a London-based charity which works towards “raising the visibility and increasing the impact of women’s sport” – Women in the sporting environment should be judged by their sports appeal and not sex appeal.

A thought echoed by former Indian F1 driver Karun Chandok as well, who saw this is an opportunity to invest into getting more female drivers into the sport.

Coming to the argument of freedom of choice, yes, these women are at a liberty to be whoever they want and yes, it is a form of employment. Many of them are models and will have many other avenues to continue in this line of work. But it won’t be on TV and the grounds, where thousands of fans of all ages are watching how the athletes behave.

Sport, and its organisations, have to be more than a commercial venture. A part of people’s culture, they are accountable to the society.

And as much as this is about the image of women, this is also about sport, that is played, followed, managed by both genders.

Sport is enthralling and entertaining, even without the theatrics and fancily dressed woman. The thrill of a dangerous overtake on the first corner won’t be diminished by the absence of a girl carrying a driver name, nor will an action-packed fight be any lesser if a lady didn’t parade the number of the round on a placard.

Sport doesn’t need grid or podium or walk-on girls to be more watchable. But sports definitely need more focus and balance for the watching female audience, the segment promoters often forget.

Tuesday, 6 February 2018

Batman's traumatic origins

A horror in Bruce Wayne's childhood created the Dark Knight. Did a real-life childhood horror create Bruce Wayne? asks, Richard A Warshak in the Atlantic. Read on: 

When a really bad thing happens to children unexpectedly, the event can change them forever. As a child psychologist, I see firsthand what that means. Traumatized children often try to avoid thinking about a terrifying ordeal, but the horrible experience nevertheless replays itself in their minds and, as a consequence, in their lives. Sometimes this happens in immediate, obvious, and direct ways: bad dreams at night, phobias during the day. Other times, the traces of trauma can be delayed, subtle, indirect, and symbolic.

An example: One of my patients, Jeff, repeatedly acted out the same scenario with his action figures. A great battle ensued between the evil warriors and the superheroes. The battle reached the top of a castle where eventually the evil warriors were thrown over the parapet and died.

We might dismiss such play as typical for young boys. Except that for this boy the action, especially the tenacious repetitive nature of it, seemed to have special significance. In July 2001 he dined with his family at Windows on the World, the revolving restaurant atop the World Trade Center. He now struggled to integrate this memory with the horrible reality of the collapse of the very structure where he enjoyed himself on vacation. A place of joy transmogrified into a death trap. The same battle scenario went on for months. Jeff’s dark demeanor during this play was in stark contrast to his pre-traumatic joyful mood during play. His play embodied the three distinct qualities of a symbolic post-traumatic reenactment: It was long-lasting, repetitive, and grim.

Early psychologists who studied trauma were concerned about its negative effects, and not surprisingly that is what they learned about. But more recent studies have searched for positive outcomes of trauma and have learned what novelists and historians have known for generations: Many people draw strength from adversity. They take inspiration from their suffering. They transcend their traumas and become better people.

Reenactments of childhood traumas can benefit the rest of us when they reverberate in creative pursuits that go beyond children’s play, such as in art. Horrors from youth creep into an adult’s artwork in the form of recurring themes, literal re-creations of the original terrifying events, and pervasive dark tones. The result sometimes provides entertainment that appeals to a broad audience. But post-traumatic reenactments speak more personally to audience members who also have experienced trauma.

Years ago I became aware that a particular superhero, who has entertained millions of people, had special appeal to the traumatized children who visited my office. I had a hunch that a trauma had inspired the creation of this superhero. See if you think my hunch was correct.

The Dark Night
His pals nicknamed him “Doodler” because he was constantly drawing pictures. His pals had nicknames, too—they were fellow members of a neighborhood club know as “The Zorros,” an appellation that a young Robert Kahn had chosen, inspired by the cinematic crusader for justice played by Douglas Fairbanks, Sr. The Zorros’ clubhouse was built with wood stolen from the neighborhood lumber yard—a place whose many nooks and crannies made it the location of choice for their games of hide-and-seek.

One night, when he was 15 years old, Kahn—who went by “Robbie” at the time—had a terrifying encounter. Walking home through rough neighborhoods of the Bronx after a music lesson, carrying a violin case, he was followed by “a group of seedy-looking roughnecks from the tough Hunts Point district,” as he wrote in his autobiography 57 years later:

They wore the sweatshirts of the Vultures, and they were known to be a treacherous gang. They were whistling at me and making snide remarks that only “goils” played with violins. I stepped up my pace and so did they. Finally, I started running and they did likewise, until I reached my neighborhood. Unfortunately, my buddies were not hanging around the block at the time.

Kahn’s memoir goes on to give a very lengthy, melodramatic blow-by-blow account of his dash to the familiar lumberyard, the Vultures’s pursuit (“with terrifying menace in their eyes”), and his attempts at self-defense, complete with “Zorro” leaps, grappling hook, and mid-air kicks while swinging on a rope. He fought bravely, he writes, but for naught:

My worst fears came true. Two Vultures pinned both my arms behind my back and held me firm while another beat a staccato rhythm on my belly, knocking the wind out of me. Another bully stepped in and used my face for a punching bag—while he cracked a couple of my front teeth.

I was in a fog, when I felt my right arm crack at the elbow after a gang member deliberately twisted it behind me in order to break it. The pain was excruciating and I screamed in agony.

Before I blacked out and fell to the ground like a limp rag doll, I heard him laugh sardonically, “Just to make sure dat da Fiddler ain’t gonna play his fiddle no more!” Little did he know that it wasn’t playing the violin again that concerned me, but the fact that he had broken my drawing arm.

Then he stepped on the hand of my broken arm! I don’t remember how long I remained in a blanket of darkness before I regained consciousness, but when I came to, I was a beaten, bloody wreck. Somehow I managed to pull myself up and it was then that I noticed my violin on the ground, smashed to pieces. This was the coup de grace!

This whole episode, to this day, remains in my subconscious like a nightmare. I had played Zorro and lost! Had it really been a dream or a movie, I would have emerged victorious. But this real-life drama had almost cost the life of a reckless fifteen-year-old.


Here we have a boy who was attacked by a gang of Vultures in the night. He defended himself by playing Zorro, using a grappling hook to fend off his attackers. He was unsuccessful and was hospitalized, severely injured, with the possibility that he would be unable to pursue his chosen career. In spite of permanent injuries—scars, chipped teeth, and limited mobility in one arm—he went on to become a cartoonist.


Seven years after being brutalized, he created a comic-book superhero that would become a pop-culture legend—and whose appeal may be deeply, subtly connected to what happened that night in the lumber yard.

The Dark Knight
In 1938, the first superhero arrived on the scene—Superman—and the comic book industry leapt from infancy into what is now known as its golden age. The “Man of Steel” not only changed the course of comic books, he set the course for Robert Kahn’s entire professional career. Here is how that happened.

Superman was a huge commercial success. So one Friday, a DC Comic’s editor asked Kahn, who now used the name Kane and drew slapstick comics, to come up with his own superhero to complement the Man of Steel.

Kane wrote, “Over the weekend I laid out a kind of naked superhero on the page, with a figure that looked like Superman or Flash Gordon. I placed a sheet of tracing paper over him so that I could create new costumes that might strike my fancy. Then, POW! It came to me in a flash—like the old cliché of an electric light bulb lighting up over a cartoon character’s head when he has a brainstorm. I remembered Leonardo da Vinci’s drawing of a bat-like flying machine.”

And that’s when Bob Kane created Batman.


The opening lines of the first Batman comic strip set the tone for a contemporary myth that has endured for 75 years: “The ‘Bat-Man,’ a mysterious and adventurous figure fighting for righteousness and apprehending the wrong doer, in his lone battle against the evil forces of society ... his identity remains unknown.” Six issues later we learn what makes the Batman tick: a terrible trauma. In his youth Bruce Wayne witnessed the brutal murder of his father and mother by a street hoodlum. He vows to avenge their deaths by declaring war on all criminals and dons the bat cape and cowl to frighten his enemy. “And thus is born this weird figure of the dark … This avenger of evil. The Batman.”


Kane recognized three separate influences on the creation of Batman. The first was da Vinci’s model of a flying machine called the Ornithopter, created about 500 hundred years ago. The second was the movie The Mark of Zorro. “Zorro’s use of a mask to conceal his identity,” Kane writes, “gave me the idea of giving Batman a secret identity.” The third influence on Batman was a movie Kane saw the year before his attack by the Vultures: The Bat Whispers, an adaptation of a novel by Mary Roberts Rinehart. In the movie a detective tries to track down a mysterious killer, the Bat, and at the end of the film the detective is revealed to be the killer himself. His black robe and bat-shaped head made him look “very ominous” to Kane.

Da Vinci's ornithopter sketch (Wiki)
A still from The Mark of Zorro (United Artists)
A still from The Bat Whispers (United Artists)
Kane also acknowledged the influence of other movies on what he called “the dark, mysterioso atmosphere” he tried to evoke in Batman. “Movies like Dracula,” Kane writes, “... left an indelible impression on me. The first year of Batman was heavily influenced by horror films, and emulated a Dracula look.”

Kane never acknowledged any link between his attack by the Vultures and his creation of Batman. His conscious purpose in relating the lumberyard nightmare in his autobiography was to show how close he came to losing his career as a cartoonist.

Batman’s Battles: Post-Traumatic Play
From the beginning, horror was an important element of Batman. Kane envisioned the character as “a lone, mysterious, grim vigilante who operated outside the law.” He succeeded in actualizing this vision. According to The World Encyclopedia of Comics:

The Batman was portrayed as a relentless manhunter dedicated to the eradication of crime. He would play on criminals’ fear of the night and exploit his bat-like appearance. He could be vicious—he shot more than one man—and his amazing abilities overwhelmed the common hoodlum. In short, The Batman was an avenging vigilante. He was never depicted as the bon vivant, talk-of-the-party crimefighter; rather, the early Batman strips presented him as a slightly unsavory character. This dark, mysterious mood was greatly cultivated and well-portrayed in the 1940s and early 1950s.

After discussing how the mood of the comic strip lightened up in the second year of publication, Kane wrote, “I prefer the first year of Batman when he operated solo and was a more sombre [sic] character.” He also refers to this Batman as looking “vampirish” and “ominous-looking,” the same adjective he used to describe that dark night in the lumberyard.

But how might Batman be linked to that night? First we need to establish that the attack by the Vultures created a psychic trauma. In common with other trauma victims, Kane is fascinated with the dark side of life. More significant, Kane wrote that the assault in the lumberyard remains etched in his memory like a nightmare. His vivid blow-by-blow account of the assault, some 57 years later, is exactly the sort of detailed memory that plagues people who have suffered a traumatic experience.

Kane advised that, “Bruce Wayne should be played as a psychologically disturbed eccentric.” Then he admitted, “I drew Bruce Wayne in my own image.”
I believe Kane was traumatized, and used his art to symbolically reenact his trauma. He acknowledged that Bruce Wayne and Batman were his alter egos. When consulted on the script of the movie “Batman,” Kane advised that, “Bruce Wayne should be played as a psychologically disturbed eccentric who is not quite focused except when he dons his bat-regalia to fight crime.” Then he admitted, “I drew Bruce Wayne in my own image.”

Batman provided Kane with the opportunity, in fantasy, to take revenge repeatedly—and for the entire span of his career—on the hoodlums of the world. Instead of the defeated, helpless, terrorized victim Kane felt that night in the lumberyard, Batman is the master who strikes terror in others. “Zorro” was not sufficient to defeat the Vultures, but Batman would have no problem.

Batman not only reenacts Kane’s trauma by repeatedly fighting bad guys; he does so in a manner inspired by Kane’s night in the lumberyard. Just as Kane used a grappling hook to ward off his attackers, one of Batman’s earliest and most frequently used weapons is a grappling hook.

As I mentioned before, trauma scholars describe post-traumatic play as having three qualities: It is long-lasting, repetitive, and grim. Here we have 75 years of exploits in more than 4000 comic books, which certainly qualifies as long-lasting and repetitive. As for grim, consider this admission by Kane: “Had my early humorous strips been as successful as ‘Batman,’ I would have stayed with that style because, frankly, I received more pleasure from drawing them than I ever did from drawing ‘Batman.’” Even when Kane intended to create what he called a “gag strip” a year before the birth of Batman, he could not fully avoid what appear to be the echoes of trauma. Published in Circus Comics, the strip was called Sidestreets of New York and featured a mild-mannered boy who is accosted by the Gas House Gang and pushed into the river with his clothes on.

In reminiscing about the attack by the Vultures, Kane displayed another common symptom of trauma victims—finding reasons why he should have known in advance about the danger or suspected that something bad would occur. Psychologists refer to this as omen formation. Here’s how Kane took responsibility for his encounter with the Vultures: “I must confess that taking up the violin was a drastic mistake that almost altered my life. ... I should have known better than to be seen carrying a violin through the rough neighborhoods of the Bronx.” So, according to Kane, the beating he suffered was not because he had the ill fortune to be accosted by a gang of hoodlums. It was something he could have predicted. It was in his control all the time. He simply made a mistake. He chose the wrong instrument. This explanation, I believe, is Kane’s defense against the terror of being helpless.

Post-Traumatic Resonance: The Dark Knight Returns
Of course, we can only speculate about whether Kane’s life-threatening encounter with the Vultures on a dark night in a Bronx lumberyard inspired his creation of Batman. But regardless, the Batman myth, as originally conceived and as elaborated in contemporary interpretations, leaves no doubt that Bruce Wayne’s trauma is the raison d’être and driving force behind his life’s drama—or the reason why he endures.

As of this month, Batman has entertained fans for the past 75 years. He is now the only comic book superhero who has remained continuously in print since the Golden Age of comics, outlasting even his most famous colleague, Superman, who disappeared in 1992 but was then resurrected.

There are many reasons for Batman’s popularity. Here I want to focus only on the role of trauma in his enduring appeal. I am particularly interested in the talented children who were so drawn to Batman that they grew up to become the writers and illustrators who inherited the character and now perpetuate the legend. Which aspects of Batman lore do they perpetuate? Often, it’s the dark effects of his traumatic origins.

After a period of encounters with spacemen and silly characters, culminating in the camp comic Batman many still remember from the ‘60s TV show, the early 1970s saw the lifting of rigid restrictions on comic-book content. Liberated from those restraints, the Batman legend was free to evolve in whichever direction best expressed what psychoanalyst Jacob Arlow called “the communal myth.” What has evolved—and what we can take as the essential myth of Batman—is true to Kane’s original conception: Batman as a dark, foreboding, brooding, obsessed victim.

Bruce Wayne describes the trauma as the night “all sense left my life.” This is the changed attitude about life that is a hallmark of traumatized children.
Batman’s return to his Dark Knight roots was led by writer and editor Dennis O’Neil. He envisioned Batman as a Darknight Detective “whose parents were killed by a thief in the night in front of his eyes, and who grew up with a kind of schizoid paranoia that made him believe it was his role in life to track down—at times even maim—the villains of the world.” Batman editor Robert Greenberger noted: “Superman has always been a light, positive hero, Batman has been grim and possessed.”

Batman’s world matches his mood. “Not the sunny place most superheroes are accustomed to,” observed Vaz. “Batman’s world is a place where capricious fate can deal out sudden death to innocents.” It is, according to Vaz, a world that emulates a particular genre in literature and film:

The word noir ... has come to stand for a dark, fatal vision ... . Even when the hero of a noir piece emerges triumphant, some price, usually the early loss of a loved one, has been paid. The Batman mythos has been steeped in such noir traditions from the very beginning. ... This noir menace is the glue that holds the whole of the Batman oeuvre together. ... Despite the risks and the air of menace (perhaps because of them), fans for fifty years have been plunging into the darkness with the Batman.

Vaz’s parenthetical guess is right on the mark: It is precisely the air of menace that draws readers to Batman.

In his essay, “Why I Chose Batman,” Stephen King elaborated the theme of Batman as a scary figure. After discussing how Superman’s superpowers, including the ability to fly, made it difficult to identify with him, the author wrote:

Maybe the real reason that Batman appealed to me more than the other guy.

There was something sinister about him.

That’s right. You heard me.

Sinister.

... Batman was a creature of the night. ...

In those Batman-busts-in panels, you almost always saw a horrid species of fear on the faces of the hoods he was about to flush down the toilet ... Yeah, I thought ... that’s right, they should look scared, I’d sure be scared if something like that busted in on me. I’d be scared even if I wasn’t doing something wrong.


Another reader who thought the illustrations looked scary was an eight-year-old boy named Frank, who was destined to play a major role in shaping the Batman myth. Frank Miller’s 1986 graphic novella, The Dark Knight Returns, is generally credited with creating a resurgence of interest in Batman; newspapers and magazines heralded its release as the coming of age for comic books.

Here is Miller’s vision of Batman: “Do you know who I am, punk? I’m the worst nightmare you ever had. Kind that made you wake up screaming for your mother.” This is the sort of terror that occupies the world of Stephen King, who praised Frank Miller’s vision as “the finest piece of comic art ever to be published in a popular edition.”

Contemporary interpretations of Batman repeatedly emphasize Bruce Wayne’s trauma. Vaz believes, “This hero called the Dark Knight would probably have a very different place in comics history if not for that brutal origin, the memories of which are always lurking in the shadows of his mind and in the background of the mythos. ... It’s what haunts him, drives him, makes him the hero he is.”

In Batman: Year One, another Frank Miller story, Bruce Wayne describes the trauma as the night “all sense left my life.” This is the changed attitude about life that is a hallmark of traumatized children. That attitude is evident whenever Batman’s thoughts turn to the tragic event that occurred in what has become known as “Crime Alley.”

Batman has other symptoms of psychic trauma. A 1989 story, “Blind Justice,” written by Sam Hamm, depicts Batman as being plagued by anguish, nightmares, and wracking guilt. Hamm, who also wrote the screenplay to the 1989 Batman film, recalled Batman as being “very dark and ominous and quirky. That really makes the strongest impression on you when you’re a kid. ... Batman is a mysterious guy; he’s essentially a vigilante, and he’s a fairly disturbed character. His whole gimmick is, he wants to be menacing, he wants to be frightening, he wants to be shadowy.”


Bruce Wayne’s trauma is the driving force behind his life’s drama—and the reason why he endures.
Roger Ebert had trouble with this “gimmick” as portrayed in the 1989 movie Batman: “There was something off-putting about the anger beneath the movie’s violence,” he wrote. “This is a hostile, mean-spirited movie about ugly, evil people, and it doesn’t generate the liberating euphoria of the ‘Superman’ or ‘Indiana Jones’ pictures. It’s rated PG-13, but it’s not for kids.” Recall that post-traumatic play is grim. Ebert recognized this quality and for him it was the obvious drawback of the movie—a movie that Bob Kane said kept him “spellbound.” In a critique that strikes at the heart of the film’s resonance with Kane’s traumatic vision, Ebert complained: “The movie's problem is that no one seemed to have any fun watching it. It’s a depressing experience. Is the opposite of comic book ‘tragic book’?”

Let me offer one final example of post-traumatic resonance. The essence of psychic trauma is the experience of a sudden, unexpected turn of events—the rug being pulled out from under, plunging the victim into a nightmare that remains etched in memory.

A 1989 elaboration of the origin of Batman captures this aspect of trauma with a simple metaphor. At some unspecified time before the murder of his parents, young Bruce fell into a hole, an old cave, filled with bats. The experienced was terrifying. Reminiscing about this earlier trauma Batman thinks, “You're walking along and you fall through a hole. You never stop falling.” This, of course, is exactly what it means to be traumatized.

Thus the stage is set for Bruce Wayne’s identification with the bat as his means of mastering trauma. Approximately 20 years later, when the re-traumatized orphan Wayne ponders the choice of his secret identity, he sees the bat and the curtain rises on his transformation to a “weird figure of the night.”

This story closes as it opened, with Batman perched, above the city, atop a stone sculpture protruding from the ridge of a skyscraper—a sculpture of a vulture.

The final caption reads, “He breathes deeply, filling himself with the night—and steps forward and falls—as he fell when he was a child—as he will fall for the rest of his life.”