20 July,2018 07:47 AM IST | Mumbai | Snigdha Hasan
Amit Vachharajani
Amit Vachharajani, filmmaker and illustrator
The Gujarati edition of Chandamama was among several other magazines we subscribed to in our Junagadh home. I learnt much later that the publication's founder, B Nagi Reddy, was also the well-known Telugu film producer. Perhaps that explains the interest in mythology and the social ethos of most of the magazine's stories.
While I didn't know at that time that I would take up illustrating professionally, it was the vivid illustrations of the serialised Ramayana and Mahabharata stories that appealed to me the most. The stories at the beginning and the end, I remember, would be published in full colour while the other sketches were in dual tone, but equally beautiful.
Tushar Sharan, student of medicine
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Chandamama was the only subscription-based publication that came to our home. I recall it as my monthly friend, for it was full of relatable topics. Though the magazine's old issues were circulated in the neighbourhood, I would always be the proud owner of a fresh copy of the latest edition.
The section dedicated to child prodigies was my favourite. What stood out for me, though, was the deep involvement of the editor in every issue. His personal touches could be felt in the little notes he wrote to young readers that were sprinkled across each edition. But that involvement became palpable when I participated in a contest for the Dashavatar series, under which I wrote a story and posted it to the editorial address. A couple of months later, I got a note from the editor thanking me for my contribution. He also said that he liked my story and sent a CD of the Dashavatar animated series, which I continue
to treasure.
Sreekala Warrier, retired banker
My earliest memories of Chandamama are of the time I started reading books as a child, which also included Phantom and Mandrake comics. I liked the interesting format of the general knowledge snippets. There was the staple Vikram Betal series, but my favourite part was the small stories that were given about three-fourths of a page. I still remember some of them in all their vivid description.
The August 1948 issue of the Tamil edition of the magazine, which was published as Ambulimama. Pics courtesy/Chandamama.in
The story of a child who ate too many sweets, for instance, was a simple but effective tale of how his mother takes him to a guru, urging him to advise her son to not indulge in sweet treats. The guru asks them to return after a week, and repeats the mother's instruction verbatim, leaving her puzzled. 'I have a sweet tooth. I spent the last week weaning myself off sweets, so I had the moral authority to tell your son to do the same,' he says.
These are the stories that moulded our character as much as lessons we learnt in school. And I still quote them whenever an apt occasion arises.
Aditya Sharma, writer
There is not one but many generations that have grown up reading Chandamama. In fact, sharing and exchanging the various issues was like an indoor sport for children. The mythological tales apart, there was a lot of action (not of the violent kind) in the stories, which was supported by the intricately detailed illustrations.
I remember how a story was accompanied by the vivid scene of a meal being cooked, which featured a brass vessel sitting atop a chulha with vapours wafting up from the dish. These were stories that subtly inculcated good values in children, without being too didactic. These were also stories that left you with a cosy feeling that the world is a good place, where good triumphs over evil. As a child, you need that emotional security.
On another level, Chandamama also gave a platform to fiction writers, which remained a source of livelihood for many of them for years together. So, when it went out of print, it was a loss not just for readers but also writers. Today, hardly any periodicals give space to fiction.
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