Mischief without malice
The first thing that struck me about him was his insatiable curiosity about people, places, birds, animals and every conceivable mechanical object.
DILEEP PADGAONKAR on the R. K. Laxman he knew. (Photo credit: topnews.in)
Throughout his professional life spanning more than six decades R.K. Laxman was showered with accolades. He would take them in his stride. No false humility (“I’m humbled.”) But no to-do either (“Another feather in my cap.”)
After he received the Padma Vibhushan, a young journalist in the Times of India asked him what he felt about it. “What kind of stupid question is that?” he shot back and then, an eye-brow arched, added: “Does one feel unhappy about receiving an honour?” There was not the slightest malice in the first query nor the faintest sign of smugness in the second one. The remarks merely expressed a matter-of-fact candour.
He would have responded in much the same way to the fulsome tributes he received following his death on Republic Day. Neither surprised nor blasé. He was supremely confident about his talents as a cartoonist and equally aware of his widespread appeal. With a twinkle in his eye and that arched eyebrow he would have shrugged, with the words “Let’s move on, I say.”
Now that he has moved on the moment is opportune to examine the reasons behind his unprecedented popularity. Day after day for more than sixty years he brought a smile on the faces of millions of fans across the country and well beyond it with his caricatures and cartoons.
The fans were tickled pink to see him puncture the egos of wielders of power, authority, wealth or celebrity. They were in thrall of him because he dared to declare that this or the other VIP had in fact not a stitch on him. And they were also grateful he was portraying in his pocket cartoons their daily concerns: potted roads, power failures, taps running dry, the works.
The obituaries noted all this and more. What few, if any, stressed was what Laxman was like in person. That is no surprise. He guarded his privacy with the ferocity of a Rottweiler. But the handful of people he took a fancy to were given a glimpse of his traits of character.
I was privileged to be one of them. Right from the time I joined the Times of India – as its Paris correspondent in October 1968 – I observed him from close quarters. The first thing that struck me about him was his insatiable curiosity about people, places, birds, animals and every conceivable mechanical object ranging from watches and clocks to motor-cycles and car engines.
His sense of observation took one’s breath away too. Within seconds he would zero in on a detail about an individual that had escaped the attention of other mortals. And that detail – a facial expression, a gesture, a pose, an attitude – would invariably reveal the quintessential nature of the individual. This of course got reflected in his prodigious output as a caricaturist.
What I treasured above all was the playful mischief that was characteristic of Laxman both in his cartoons and his day-to-day conduct. He used it with great dexterity. In the cartoons he would depict the flaws of the powerful without fear. But never once did his sharp barbs wound their dignity. Malice was the Laxman rekha he never crossed.
The element of mischief popped up every now and then in the most harried circumstances. One example would suffice. Laxman and I once visited Patna for a couple of days. His programme was packed with meetings (including a memorable one with Lalu Prasad Yadav whom Laxman thanked for keeping him in business), visits to museums, lectures, interviews and so forth. He couldn’t take the strain any more. But he had to fulfil once last commitment before he retired for the day: to inaugurate an exhibition of cartoons by local cartoonists. Laxman cut the ribbon, went round the exhibition with a radiant smile and swiftly headed for the exit where he was mobbed by autograph hunters. Within seconds however the milling crowd made way for him to leave the venue.
In the car I asked him why that had happened. He said: “Oh, I told them that today was ‘my’ Wednesday and I give no autographs on this day. They promptly withdrew their autograph books.” I told Laxman that people observed many days of the week as a day of fasting but Wednesday was not one of them. “Don’t I know that?” he answered. And then, with that twinkle in the eye and that arched eye-brow, he added: “My dear boy, the only thing that works in this country is religion!”
I thought of this incident at his cremation. According to his wishes, no religious rites were performed. I should like to believe that I was perhaps the only one in the huge crowed of mourners to relish the irony.
(The author is a former Editor of the Times of India and now its Consulting Editor.)
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