Intimacy in the City: Sarnath Banerjee’s ‘Corridor’ and Delhi as a space for intimacy
I was tasked with exploring the ‘city’ as a space in modern literature — how the context of the city shapes, influences, pervades everyday consciousness to have a lasting effect on art produced and consumed, and on our understanding of culture and society as a whole.
What really fascinated me was the atomised understanding of a modern city in a country where joint families, and communal relationships reign supreme, which led me to explore the city depicted by Sarnath Banerjee in Corridor: A Graphic Novel.
Cities are largely seen as a space of extreme modernity and hyper-individualism; the ‘atomized individual’ reigns supreme in discourse around the city, and in the way the city space is shaped, imagined, and ultimately built. However, with any large community, familiarity and intimacy do play a major role in the construction and perception of public spaces, which challenges the notion that intimacy belongs in private spaces alone, and reclaims (and redraws) the line between public and private, and what that divide then entails.
Graphic novels and comic books, here, come in handy when reconsidering how the city is perceived, and who it is perceived by. As an art form that’s rising in popularity since the 1960s (with superhero comic books in America and the Amar Chitra Katha comics in India), comic books have emerged as a new medium to tell stories, challenging the conventional notions of storytelling with words or pictures alone. Rather than being an amalgamation of words and images, comics create new layers of meaning with this combination, to provoke new thoughts and ideas from the reader.
Graphic novels are often used to discuss cities in a more detailed and nuanced way. For example, Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi provides a personal history of Iran and Vienna, exploring topics such as the Islamic Revolution through a personal lens. Guy Delisle's graphic novels, such as Jerusalem, Pyongyang, and Shenzhen, document his travels to foreign cities and offer an outsider's perspective on their history and unique qualities, much like a journalist would.
In comic books, too, stories are heavily focused on the city and the role it plays in storytelling — Batman’s Gotham is analogous to New York City, or Superman’s Metropolis was originally based on Cleveland. American superhero comics are heavily reliant on the city, whether it’s a fictional city like Gotham, or if the fictional characters are inserted into a real city (Spiderman and Daredevil live and work in New York City).
The history of the Indian graphic novel and comic books in India
The term ‘graphic novel’ is broadly understood to be a marketing term, one that Banerjee adapts to introduce comics to a mature, adult audience. Banerjee, along with others in the Pao Collective, sees the distinction as one devised by publishing houses, and to be used accordingly, to promote comics to a larger audience, and expose the art of the comic book as one that contains as much meaning and stylistic value as any other art form.
The assumption that comic books (in an Indian context, at least) are meant for children is one that has far-reaching, penetrative abilities. Before the graphic novel, comics in India included magazine, editorial, and newspaper cartoons, and the more long-form comic books that promoted Indian cultural heritage. Published under the banner of Amar Chitra Katha (translated to “Immortal Picture Stories”), comic books featured adaptations of popular Hindu myths — in an attempt to teach children about Hindu mythology — or featured simple stories with morals, as a form of moral education (Creekmur, 2015). In contrast, the Indian graphic novel arose as a form of opposition to the mainstream Indian comic, to create an alternative space for diverse voices. The graphic novel also differed from comic books in terms of style and content, with graphic novels covering a much wider range — in terms of aesthetic and story content — as compared to mainstream comics and their tight editorial rules.
Corridor: A Graphic Novel and Sarnath Banerjee
Banerjee’s critical acclaim came with the publication of Corridor: A Graphic Novel, the first Indian graphic novel that was published by a major publishing house, Penguin. His later graphic novels, Barn Owl’s Wondrous Capers (2007) and The Harappa Files (2011) established him as a seasoned comic artist, and he continues to work on his most recent series, the “Enchanted Geography” series for The Hindu, featuring Bhrigu, the character-narrator from Corridor. Apart from working as a comic artist, he has also travelled around the world, having obtained his MA in Image and Communication from Goldsmiths College in London, and going on to participate in Comica: London International Comics Festival, and working with the Asia Europe Foundation in 2007. Banerjee’s ties with international artists have greatly helped him promote the art of comics within his home country, mainly through the Pao Collective. Initially formed with five comic artists, the collective aimed to create studios, safe spaces, and conferences for comic artists to come together and discuss their work and establish a platform that promotes the art of the comic book. Later, they published an anthology, to further showcase the wide range of styles, while promoting comic artists around India. (Stoll, 2013).
Corridor: A graphic novel is a glimpse into the lives of those living in the heart of Delhi; published in 2004, the book is comprised of vignettes — focusing on Bhrigu and his search for the love of his life, on Shintu and his search for virility, on Digital Dutta and his obsession with immigrating to America (while living entirely in his own head) — while providing a unique focal point to all of these stories. The center of the narrative’s universe is Jehangir Rangoonwalla’s bookshop, a nondescript stall that occupies one of the spaces on the outer rings of Connaught Place.
Connaught Place and its Architecture in Corridor
Connaught Place (CP), a circular shopping district located in the heart of Delhi, is a popular spot for young people to walk in the city. The historic market is beautiful, thanks to the colonial architecture of the pillars that form the market’s concentric rings, centred around a large park within the market. The city is organised based on class and caste distinctions, so CP attracts an upper-middle and upper-class crowd (Butcher, 2012).
Banerjee’s description of the corridors in CP is allegorical to Benjamin’s description of the Parisian arcades in The Arcades Project, a work that was published posthumously, lamenting both the loss of the arcades due to the war, and the moment of modernity and consumerism that the arcades bring to the city (Benjamin, 1999). Occupying and inhabiting the arcades is the flaneur, akin to Bhrigu’s wanderer mentality and his occupation/habitual wanderings of CP. Other characters within Corridor also wander CP, drawn to Jehangir’s bookstall as the natural focal point of the market (though in reality it is located on one of the outer rings); in the figure below, we see Bhrigu — still dwelling within a heady fantasy, exploding with colour[1] and imagination, approach the bookstall looking for Balzac, torn between the ideals of Marxism and the desire to flee to America, in hopes for a better future.
Though Bhrigu (the character-narrator) does explore Delhi (and Kolkata when he returns home to his family), the focal point is the historical and colonial Connaught Place, comprised of arches that form a circle of corridors, lined with bazaars and stalls that signify the heart of postcolonial Delhi. Though Jehangir’s stall occupies a spot on one of the outer rings, his placement within the narrative is central, working as a quiet pull for a variety of characters to interact with the city. The idea of finding oneself through literature is central in this book — be it Bhrigu’s search for intimacy through the city (and constant returns to the bookstall), or Shintu’s own search for his sexuality, which ultimately pushes him from Jehangir’s stall, out into the world of snake-oil cures and abstinence, on what is an intensely personal journey (where literature ultimately fails to satisfy his request).
Corridor as a ‘glocal’ text
‘Glocalisation’ is a process that infuses the local into the global, to provide new ways of studying geographical areas, and of analysing/creating texts — according to Ritzer (2003), glocalisation is a way of promoting a more heterogeneous view of the world, and of rejecting the idea of cultural — particularly Western, or imperial — homogeneity. With migration becoming increasingly common, glocalisation is a pushback against globalisation, a way to assert one’s own identity in a space where everything is being homogenised.
Graphic novels reflect the idea of a ‘glocal’ city well, thanks to intertextuality — combining different modes and media to provide a new form of looking at spaces, particularly urban spaces. Intertextuality provides additional layers of meaning to those who are privy to it; references to particular places appeal to a reader that’s from that area while providing a more global tone to the novel. Being a ‘glocal’ reader isn’t necessary to appreciate a text; Amruta Patil discusses the glocal reader with regards to Kali: “There is… a deliberate reference being made to the original master painting — I hope to be ‘found out’, but it isn’t essential to the basic reading of the tale” (Gopalakrishnan, 2014). The inside references and layers are accessible to those in the know, but it doesn’t render a work untenable to those who are unaware of the history behind it.
The idea of a ‘glocal’ text is visible in Corridor, too — we see posters of Arnold Schwarzenegger next to posters of an Indian actress; one of the characters, Digital Dutta, looks up to foreign communist leaders (like Stalin or Mao) as personal heroes, as inspiration. However, tied with these ‘global’ aspects is a setting that’s far more local; local to the country and to the city itself. We see a photo of Nargis, from the film Mother India[2], in the iconic pose that’s seen at the end of the film, but we also see snapshots of bazaars and marketplaces that are typical of Delhi and other major cities in India. There are references to Charles Atlas’[3] work in terms of bodybuilding, with other references to the Amar Chitra Katha comics and India’s own comic-publishing history.
Banerjee mixes global cultural history and imperialism with local aspects of India, and Delhi in particular (through comic book history, architecture, and through Bhrigu’s own fantasies of being a modern-day Ibn Battuta[4]). Bhrigu evokes the pre-modern traveller in the minds of the reader, of the flaneur-like figure exploring pre-modern cities while exploring the flaneur in a non-European context and redefining Baudelaire’s term in a more Asian sense. In this way, Bhrigu discovers Delhi anew, not through the eyes of colonialism, but of pre-modern wanderings.
Intimacy in the city
The complex infrastructure of the city opens spaces for anonymity and intimacy, often occupying the same space, where architecture lays claim to the relationships built within city spaces. The emphasis of interior versus exterior is often highlighted with architecture, where the built form solidifies the divide between interior and exterior, furthering the divide between domestic and public, between personal and political (Pereira-Edwards, 2020). Viewing intimacy as something that belongs to the private helps enable the divide between the public and the private and helps further crystallise social norms in space (Wilson, 2016).
The hypotheses pushed by urban sociologists of cities being spaces of specialisation and anonymity fall flat when thinking about intimate spaces and the re-appropriation of infrastructure to accommodate such spaces within the city. Intimate spaces are found throughout the city, from mid-sized cities to large, global networks (Smith, Form & Stone, 1954). Relationships, intimacy, and sexuality thrive in the city, and relationships are prevalent, both within public spaces and smaller residential areas. Although residents from lower economic areas are likely to move within the city, their intimate relationships are dispersed, and they’re likely to find intimate spaces throughout the city — on the other hand, residents from high-income groups are less likely to move, and therefore carve out spaces for intimacy and familiarity within smaller residential areas. (ibid.)
Of course, the debates around intimacy are also strongly centred in the debates around what is and is not ‘acceptable’ in public and private spaces, including the types of relationships. For example, sexual intimacy (within Indian societies) is frowned upon, with most older Indian families being unwilling to show a sense of intimacy to their partners or family members in most public contexts. Sexuality and intimacy are highly policed by communities in India — with most housing societies rejecting single adults as tenants, due to fears of ‘illicit sexual practices’ (Chander, 2017). Such strict policing has pushed intimacy out into public spaces, something that is now commonplace in most cities in India, including the capital.
Intimacy Within Delhi and Sarnath Banerjee’s Corridor
Within the city of Delhi (and other metropolitan cities in India), intimacy is often pushed into the public space, outside the home. Bringing someone from the opposite gender home is an act that is frowned upon by the family (and the surrounding community); the only place open for intimate spaces is in the public. (Chakraborty & Thakurata, 2013). Parks, therefore, become a space for intimacy — a public space that requires no charge, with little to no watchful attendants, is one of the only places for people to be able to practice intimacy without fear of familial confrontation or retribution. Bhrigu, too, discusses this trait, writing about the Victoria Memorial[5] in Kolkata:
Crawling the city for intimacy isn’t an idea that’s unique to Indian society, or to the contemporary era. The search for a relationship is one that spans cities — we see Bhrigu search for the ‘love of his life’ in Delhi and in Kolkata, a search that is relentless and covers multiple public spaces. His search, however, features a sense of finding oneself amidst the chaos; Banerjee uses architecture to mirror Bhrigu’s internal reflections, where the built form is used to accommodate one’s private thoughts — be it for intimacy, or for self-understanding.
In the book The Indian Graphic Novel — Nation, History, and Critique, Nayar (2016) discusses the idea of the ‘urban graphic’, and the representation of cities in Indian comics. In Corridor, Bhrigu’s descent into the underground metro in Kolkata is a mirroring of Bhrigu’s mental descent, into the consideration of his relationships, and of Kali in particular. The vast emptiness of the metro station (there’s a noticeable void of ticket-sellers, train drivers, and other passengers) reflects his own emotional self — one that is able to process his separation from Kali in far more clinical terms (Nayar, 2016).
Despite the search for a relationship in a large city, we see Bhrigu contemplate a connection with a woman on the train, who he later meets at a party — a friend of a friend of a friend, the city shrinks down in size to the people in that room, and the normally atomized, anonymous city takes on a tone of local familiarity and intimacy.
Intimacy was also found in places like cafés and bookshops– Jehangir’s bookstall was a major source for familial and friendly intimacy, with Jehangir routinely spending time either providing advice, playing chess, or simply enjoying a calm moment with friends and customers; the line is blurred between the two, and the space feels contained, despite being an open bookstall in one of Delhi’s crowded markets. Indeed, there’s a scene where Jehangir smokes a joint with a friend, DVD Murthy, crouched behind a pile of books, treating the bookstall like one does a home, or a shady bench in an empty park, claiming the crowded, open area for his own intimate uses.
Cafés and coffeeshops, too, are typical places of intimacy (something we see reflected in coffeeshop culture in European cities[6]), and we see Bhrigu and his ex-lover amidst other couples in a café in Delhi, nursing a cup of tea and ruminating on the difficulties of relationships, being single, and on the state of the city. The café, like the bookstall, is a liminal space in terms of public and private, both open to the public yet closely intimate in its use.
Shintu’s search for sexuality is one mirrored by many Indians; fuelled by insecurities due to the lack of sexual education in Indian schools (Ismail, S., Shajahan, A., Rao, T.S.S, & Wylie, K., 2015), and the stigmatization of sexuality within Indian society[7] (Benoit, C., Jansson, M.S., Smith, M. & Flagg, J. (2018). Shintu’s wariness stems from sexual nervousness; his journey begins with an arranged marriage[8], and is understandably nervous when it comes to consummating the marriage. After a few days, he decides to rent an adult movie, to break the ice with his new wife. However, the adult movie also fuels his insecurity, leading to a search that takes him through the city to find a ‘cure’.
His search eventually leads him to a dubious doctor named Hakim (who has far too many credentials to be legitimate), who launches into a fantastical tirade about the evils of Western culture[9] (with the added assumption of free sex being a uniquely Western — and inherently corrupt — phenomenon); further fuelling the flames of Shintu’s fear, the man goes on to describe the chilling consequences of masturbation[10], claiming that it can only lead to further impotence. He then provides some advice for Shintu to strengthen his virility, further tying morality to sexuality.
The examples pulled up are images from older Indian comic books, when comics were directed towards young children with the sole purpose of moral and cultural education — tying back to India’s history with the Amar Chitra Katha comics. Of course, this path ultimately leads him nowhere, resulting in another search for a doctor who promises to solve his every problem with a simple, potent cure — for the heavy price of 1000 rupees.
Shintu’s shame at having to resort to outside measures also feeds into the stigma around sexuality, and the idea that impotence is tied to shame and moral failings forces Shintu to hide his serum. By the end of the novel, he realises that he was able to perform well without it, and that ‘sex resides in the mind’ (Banerjee, 2004), breaking the myth that ties sexuality to traditional morality — thereby bringing Shintu into a more modern world, at par with the city.
Conclusion
Sarnath Banerjee’s Corridor not only reflects the intricacies of Delhi as a post-colonial city but Delhi as a city that combines the Western, globalised ideals of the city as an anonymous space, while also containing spaces for intimacy and familiarity, in a more Eastern, local sense. Shaped both by imperial notions and traditional Indian societies, Delhi functions as a space of multitudes, where intimacy is both accepted and rejected in public spaces. Bhrigu’s search for intimacy is one that’s familiar to most city-dwellers; the constant search for love in a vast, anonymous city like Delhi is coupled with the familiarity one feels with one’s own home, and Bhrigu’s complicated relationship with his ex-lover, Kali, is mirrored in the way he travels through the city.
Shintu’s (misguided) search for his own sexuality, too, exploits his familiarity with the city, which leads to a spiral down ‘traditional’ routes and what that entails, in terms of abstinence, family values, and social and cultural taboos that must be reckoned with. Ultimately, he’s left grappling with a new understanding of intimacy and sexuality, one that is far more modern and secular in its outlook. However, not every character’s journey has a neat ending — with Bhrigu’s own search being ultimately left open-ended by the end of the book, though he does have a far better understanding of himself.
Though Banerjee may be one of India’s first graphic novelists, he’s certainly not the only one, and has helped pave the way for other Indian graphic novelists and cartoon artists to explore the new medium, and the city-spaces, by providing safe spaces (like studios, workshops and conferences through the Pao Collective) and by pushing Indian art and artists onto a global stage. Corridor was merely the first step in what is a global reckoning of Indian comic art, a recognition of the art styles, and a more glocal view of India that has resonated with Indians around the globe.
Footnotes
[1] Banerjee’s use of colour within the graphic novel is sparse but is used to highlight fantasies. In Scott McCloud’s work, Understanding Comics, he discusses the use of colour as a way to heighten the realism within the work, as colour automatically draws more attention to the details within (McCloud, 1993). Banerjee’s use of colour therefore adds a layer of realism to the fantasies, like the one constructed within Digital Dutta’s head.
[2] Mother India is an epic drama released in 1957 and has become an Indian cultural classic. The film is about a poverty-stricken woman, Radha (played by Nargis), who struggles to raise her sons in the village without her husband. The film is strongly nationalistic, released soon after India’s independence in 1947, and reflects the ideal Indian mother, who has strong moral values, and how far a mother should go for her society, when it comes to self-sacrifice.
[3] Charles Atlas (1892–1972) was an Italian-born American bodybuilder who popularised a bodybuilding method and the associated exercise; he’s also known for sparking a marketing campaign that featured his body and his techniques, with the marketing campaign becoming one of the most popular and memorable campaigns to date.
[4] Ibn Battuta (1304–1369) was a North African explorer who travelled through Afro-Eurasia, and effectively travelled more than any other explorer in pre-modern history. Reported to having covered around 117,000 kilometres, he then documented his travels across the continents in an account titled A Gift to Those Who Contemplate The Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Travelling.
[5] The Victoria Memorial in Kolkata, built between 1906 and 1921, is the largest memorial dedicated to a royal (Empress Victoria), while the gardens of the memorial cover 64 square acres.
[6] For more information, see Matthew White’s (2018) article on newspapers, gossip and coffeeshop culture, published on the British Library website.
[7] This stigmatisation further blurs the line between public and private; with intimacy being seen as illicit within the home — and when multi-generational homes are common across the country — intimacy is pushed out into parks, markets, bazaars, and other open, free spaces.
[8] With a rigid caste and class system still in place, and with a highly communal society, arranged marriages are common in India, and often take place when the couple is still young, making the marriage the first real relationship — in terms of intimacy and sex — that young Indians experience.
[9] With Delhi being a global city, it’s no secret to see the influences of European and American culture seep into the city, resulting in some Indians embracing the global nature of the city, while others strive to reject everything ‘Western’, regardless of how beneficial or harmful it is.
[10] Masturbation, being tied to self-pleasure and free sex, is taboo in Indian society, further tying into the stigma around sexuality and intimacy as a whole within Indian society.
Works Cited
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