Each of us would try to make under-the-counter deals with him. We would secret away issues behind copies of National Geographic and Esquire, hiding them until we had collected enough pocket money to buy them. And we would mess with one another’s brakes.

The Bloody Bicycle Incident of 1989 led to a truce, the Great Summit on the Hill, then to the realization that we’d be better off pooling resources, and finally to the formation of the Bicycle Brotherhood — Kuala Lumpur’s first and only superhero team. We didn’t have special names that I can recall, but we had electric blue bedsheets we’d knot around our necks, and costumed in those second skins, we’d ride around dreaming up worlds, righting wrongs, saving lives.

We were Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist and Christian. We were brown and yellow. But we didn’t mind that our role models were all white. We were Spider-Man. We were Batman. We were Superman. We were Captain America. We were always, happily, obliviously, super.

I suppose the current push to draw diversity into comics and add variety to the canon is meant to reinforce the notion that anyone can be a superhero. But that only risks undercutting the genre’s universal appeal.

It can’t be an accident that so many efforts to create an Asian superhero have failed. The first attempt, back in 1944, was called the Green Turtle. He fought for China, America’s ally, against the invading Japanese Army, and reportedly was drawn to look Chinese. There was no way to know, though, because he always had his back to the reader, plus he wore a mask. The Green Turtle disappeared after five issues.

Then came the Great Ten, Lady Shiva, Tsunami and Collective Man, among others. Mostly sidekicks or secondary characters, they failed to generate much of a following, partly because though Asian in name and looks — yellow skin, slanted eyes — they were not in spirit or essence.

As recently as 2004, “Spider-Man: India” transposed Peter Parker’s story to Pavitr Prabhakar, a poor Indian boy in Mumbai. Aunt May became Aunt Maya. Mary Jane, Meera Jain. It was a near-literal translation of American tropes into an Indian setting, and made no use of India’s rich mythological traditions or particular class and caste struggles.