I was Budget-Batman For a Day

I remember going to school the day after watching The Dark Knight in 2008. Every dude in class was jacked to the brim on what they had watched the previous night—the iconic opening bank robbery set piece, the Joker meeting the mob bosses, the Joker setting a mountain of cash on fire. My friends and I were clearly shook by the Joker , but being good>evil traditionalists, we still craved Batman’s testicular fortitude from the ‘He’s a silent protector’ end scene.

We all wanted to scream out loud, our hearts more swagger than biology, with the angst of angels thrown out of their deserved heaven—“I am Batman!”

On the 10th anniversary of The Dark Knight, I decided to fulfil this childhood dream. I became Batman, to help others in need of assistance, in one of the poorest countries in the world where even our most famous superhero (not counting Lord Rama) is a lower-middle class farmer named Krrish.

So, how can an average Ramesh like me kick ass in a cape? I decided to find out.

Caped, we stepped out in Lajpat Nagar market, Delhi, a place overrun by Nike replicas. The surrounding middle-class neighbourhood shops here to feel better about themselves—a sentiment I felt echoed in myself, a random, short, lightweight dude trying to be Batman.

We walked down the streets looking for shoppers indulging in criminal activities. We found nine-year-old Chetanya Rawat strolling with his parents. He littered—throwing his empty packet of chips on the road, despite there being a dustbin just 10 feet away. He saw me, and I him. Our eyes met. He tried to run.

While walking, we also found that the roads are unusually jammed. The culprits were people who had parked their cars in the middle of the road. They too, weren’t spared.

After such successful missions, I tried to chat up the local constable, Brahm Prakash. He said he wouldn’t take a photo with me. I suggested that like Jim Gordon and Batman we should work together to reduce crime. To my credit, he only laughed once.

As I patrolled longer, a voice shrieked, “Arre Krrish!”

Five minutes later, I tried to stop a girl from throwing her chhole bhatoora plate on the road. She said, “Cool,” but wouldn’t take a photo with me. “This is very weird,” was her parting remark.

I couldn’t figure if she meant my Budget-Batman-ning, or my #journalism, but before I could ask, she had rocketed away on a rickshaw.

Superheroism, I realised, doesn’t leave much time for introspection. Especially if you have a day job and can’t chill in a gigantic cave like Batman. I tried to light a cigarette at a panwaadi, but realised smoking in public is illegal in India.

As our adventure veered towards an end, I realised it hadn't been a bad day. For one thing, Delhi hadn’t shat on me. Sure, I had definitely become the ‘employee most likely to be fired’, but I remembered what my mum had told me, “Make stupid mistakes beta, and one day they will be great memories.”

I thought I must be dreaming when I chanced upon an older lady about to throw her bhutta leaves. Life, as it turns out, is full of second chances even for middle-class Budget Batmans like me.