There’s a quiet revolution brewing in the Indian comics space—and if you’re not paying attention, you might miss it. It’s not loud, not trying to mimic the capes and cowls of Western superhero universes, and it doesn’t arrive with million-dollar marketing. But it is daring, original, and full of rich storytelling rooted in Indian soil.
One of the most striking examples of this evolution is Technicolor Lovers: Aaranya Kaandam (Book 1)—the debut graphic novel from Black Sheep Comics, written by Bijoy Raveendran, illustrated by Utsab Chatterjee, and lettered by Raviraj Ahuja.
This isn’t just a comic. It’s an atmospheric, immersive, cinematic journey into the heart of darkness—South Indian darkness, specifically.
Let’s dive into why this book feels like a cultural milestone in the Indian indie comics scene.
The Premise: A Village With Secrets and Shadows
Set in the early 1960s, the story unfolds in Arakkan, a fictional village caught between the borders of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. Arakan is geographically isolated, but it seethes with history—both human and supernatural. It’s split between the Katars, a tribal group descended from warriors and nomads, and the Tams, who appear to be more rooted in structured religious and cultural orthodoxy.
The narrative begins with the arrival of a mysterious government official, whose purpose is supposedly a routine inspection of Arakkan’s water systems. But almost immediately, something feels off—off in a way that creeps under your skin rather than jumps at you. The official begins to uncover layers of trauma, violence, betrayal, and myth that have built up in Arakkan like sediment. As he investigates, we as readers are drawn into a labyrinth of memory, madness, and malady.
Bijoy Raveendran’s Storytelling: A Puzzle Box of Memory, Myth, and Madness
Bijoy’s writing is not linear. Nor is it simplistic. This is a story that challenges the reader, asking them to hold onto scraps of memory, symbolism, and dialogue that only begin to make sense after several pages—or in some cases, after finishing the book entirely.
This narrative style is perfect for a story that lives in the gray spaces between folklore and reality, between love and guilt, between sanity and the abyss. Bijoy is clearly influenced by literary horror, psychological thrillers, and noir. His approach reminded me of Jeff Lemire’s Gideon Falls, or even Alan Moore’s From Hell—works where you can’t flip casually, because every panel holds a clue or an emotional beat.
And let’s talk about the characters. Chandrabose (the inspector) slowly morphs from a passive observer to an emotionally invested, even vulnerable figure. There’s a constant tension between what he sees and what he thinks he sees. Is he hallucinating? Is he possessed? Or is he, perhaps, the only one seeing clearly?
Even the minor characters—like villagers, rebels, and the priestly Tam figures—are shaded with enough detail to feel alive. This isn’t exposition-heavy writing. It’s intuitive and steeped in subtext.
Themes: Post-Colonial Ghosts, Tribal Identity, and Forbidden Love
At its heart, Technicolor Lovers is a book about loss—of identity, of innocence, of love. But it’s also about possession. The kind that comes from colonizers, from corrupt leaders, from memories that won’t let go.
The backdrop of Arakan’s tribal history plays into India’s real-life political dynamics—where tribal groups have often been displaced, erased, or demonized. Bijoy explores this without preaching. It’s just part of the landscape, like the mud, the mist, and the ancient trees that whisper in tongues only a few remember.
There are also strong religious undertones—rituals, purification, exorcisms—that remind you how blurred the line is between belief and control. And hovering over it all is a Lovecraftian dread—a slow, inevitable slide into darkness, madness, or both.
Utsab Chatterjee’s Art: A Living, Breathing Nightmare
Let me put this plainly: Utsav’s art is extraordinary.
It’s rare to find an artist who can do expressionistic storytelling while also being so precise in world-building. Every panel in Technicolor Lovers feels alive—not in the pristine, polished way Marvel fans might be used to, but in the gritty, smeared, textured way that feels real. You can almost smell the rain-drenched soil of Arakan. You can feel the weight of the silence in the forests.
The decision to use monochrome with selective color splashes is genius. The grayscale gives the story a timeless, dreamlike quality, while the sudden appearances of red or yellow or green feel almost spiritual. It’s a visual gut-punch every time it happens.
Some of the double-page spreads deserve to be framed. Others should come with a warning—they’re haunting, surreal, and often disorienting in just the right way.
Utsav’s greatest gift is his ability to evoke emotion through texture. You don’t just see grief—you feel it in the lines of a character’s face, in the brush strokes of a storm, in the way shadows dance inside a crumbling temple.
Lettering by Raviraj Ahuja: Subtle, Smart, Seamless
Good lettering is often invisible, but great lettering elevates the reading experience. Ravi Rajuja’s work in this book is a masterclass in control.
Given the non-linear storytelling, the heavy use of flashbacks, and the multiple inner voices, it would have been easy for the text to become confusing. But Ravi uses subtle changes in font, spacing, and speech bubble shape to guide the reader effortlessly. There are moments when the typography itself becomes expressive—hinting at emotional shifts, tonal changes, or internal panic.
This kind of attention to detail only comes from someone who understands the pacing and psychology of comics.
The Verdict: A Landmark Moment for Indian Indie Comics
Technicolor Lovers: Arana Kandam is unlike anything else in Indian comics right now. It’s the kind of book that rewards close reading, that lingers in your head, and that elevates the entire medium within the Indian context.
It’s bold, it’s unapologetically local, and it doesn’t try to imitate Western styles. Instead, it creates a new cinematic grammar for Indian comics—one where myth meets memory, and grief meets ghosts.
This isn’t just a great debut. It’s a statement of intent. And if this is Book 1 of a planned trilogy, I can’t wait to see how deep this rabbit hole goes.
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