An ode to the spirit of the Supers

In the past few months I’ve seen quite a few superhero movies. I was profoundly moved by the lives our supers lead and decided to dedicate a few lines to the poor fellows.

All superdudes seem to have a poignant story that drives them to a point where they are socially un-presentable. All that the poor guy wants is a place in this complicated and judgmental world. So what if they were stupid enough to be bit by a spider or dumb enough to be dressed like a bat. Why wouldn’t people not understand a simple fact that krypton is a real planet and not a figment of imagination of a disturbed cerebra. All these and more insinuations scar their already distressed soul. It ultimately transpires into rather unconventional sartorial practices –relegating them deeper into the realms of anonymity.

And, it is not as if their job is easy. Almost always they battle an evil mad-scientist. All these mad geeks seem to have invented some form of plutonium enriched cosmos-vaporizing machine and are usually bent on blowing their brains out, along with the rest of the complicated, judgemental and pedantic world. The worst part is that these mad geeks never ever create any user manual to defuse the damned device. And it is not as if these nutjobs can be talked out of it. They are usually dogmatic, argumentative and are fuelled by coffee. Also, they emit unpleasant odor.

The only option that our superbuddy has is to put on his costume, cross the seven seas, wade thro’ the thick forests, fight the dangerous minions and ultimately put out the plutonium enriched cosmos-vaporizing machine just in time to save himself, the nosy but a hot reporter who is curiously tied to the plutonium enriched cosmos-vaporizing machine and also the rest of the complicated, judgmental, pedantic and conniving world – exactly in that order of priority.

Sometimes when the supster is clearing out the place, it hits our fella that he meets only two kinds people in his line of work – smelly mad geeks or nosy reporters. While both are suicidal and can potentially eat his brain out in one form or other, he decides test waters with the nosy reporter. Smelly mad geeks seem to have a lower social acceptance than the superhero himself.

So in a perfectly romantic place, surrounded by bombs, tanks, broken metals parts and all other forms of ill-conceived weaponry, our hero expresses his interest in spending much of his non-crime chasing life with this precariously perched heroine. As the girl, who is literally heels over head, elaborately explains the terms of endearment, our friend begins to understand the exact reasons why the mad geek had tied this specific to the plutonium enriched cosmos-vaporizing machine.

At that instant, our man profusely thanks the cover of anonymity that his super costume provides and saves himself, yet again, from the smelly mad geek and nosy reporter. He heads back to his cave with no recognition of his work, no gratitude for his efforts - only to be confronted by increased insurance premiums and more laundry to do.

As you will now agree, the supers indeed lead a miserable, lonely and an unrewarding life. All I can say is please join me in creating awareness about the wretched dwelling conditions and the sub-human work environments that our super-humans endure. May their scarred souls rest in one piece for now and may all the mad geeks start using Listerine.