HUMOUR
Incisive inking
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`His inking seems to punctuate space deftly and his brush strokes are delightful.'
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IF that checked coat and those bewildered eyes are in the frame you are looking at, then you know what's staring back at you is one of the neatest ideas that ever surfaced in single-panel cartooning. R.K. Laxman's The Common Man, that has kept so many minds company, is an enormous contribution to the Indian comic sensibility. He is what we'd like to call a national treasure.
The newest volume of Laxman's selected work The common man at large wears a nicely done cover. Stunning pen-work has been the unparalled signature Laxman has left on everything he has drawn — not forgetting the earliest illustrations he made in various other works. His inking seems to punctuate space deftly and his brush strokes are delightful. His drawing is bold, detailed, true. And all these black lines actually are (to a discerning reader) integral to the laugh.
"The role of today's cartoonist", says Laxman in an excellent introduction to the book, "is not unlike that of the court jester of yore. His business in a democracy is to exercise his right to criticise, ridicule, find fault with and demolish the establishment and political leaders, through cartoons and caricatures."
His style is so far unprecedented. It figures that he must be an obsessive observer: cows look preoccupied, trees beckon, cushions slouch, vehicles sport personalities, hands, postures, feet, doorknobs, staircases, roofs, raindrops, spectacles, shawls, moustaches, chappals, hoardings, roads — he doesn't miss a thing. His cartoons are completely busy.
Laxman's people-portraits are, to me, almost theatrical. They reek of character and style. Every man there has something to offer to the cartoon he is in. Each face suggests a thought. Movements create a scene within a still panel. The kindest men do not suffer and the most terrible people do not have unkind physiognomies. I feel also that, collectively in these cartoons, power, indifference, poverty, injustice, mediocrity, each have a peculiar, particular stride, manner, meaning, message.
Another most remarkable thing is the world that he conjures up through his descriptions — the verbal humour that the cartoon balances on. It comes through effectively as the quintessential modern Indian condition.
Of how the Common Man happened to be, Laxman recollects: "As I became more and more entrenched in watching and commenting on the political phantasmagoria of our country, I needed an acceptable symbol to define the common Indian in my cartoons... In the early days, I used to cram in as many figures as I could into a cartoon to represent the masses. Gradually I began to concentrate on fewer and fewer figures... Eventually, I succeeded in reducing my symbol to one man: a man in a checked coat, whose bald head boasts only a wisp of white hair, and whose bristling moustache lends support to a bulbous nose, which in turn holds up an oversized pair of glasses... He is ubiquitous... He is tough and durable. Like the mute millions of our country, he has not uttered a word in all the years he has been around. He is a silent, bewildered and often bemused spectator of events which anyway are beyond his control."
Only, to some readers like me, it is obvious that the Common Man is only apparently silent. His soft footfalls are really a geyser of opinion and comment. Laxman's humour is at once charming and wicked but also acutely moving.
The Best of Laxman: The Common Man at Large, Penguin India, Rs. 200.
NETRA SHYAM
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