The inimitable R.K. Laxman

LONG before I got to know him I had sensed that Laxman had a touch of the genius. I sent a story Man How does the Government of India Run? to the then editor of The Illustrated Weekly of India, C.R. Mandy. He sent the story to Laxman for a suitable illustration. Without ever having seen me or my photograph, Laxman drew a caricature of a Sikh clerk who was the main character of my story.

It bore a startling resemblance to me. By then he had established the reputation of being India’s best cartoonist and most people took The Times of India because of his front page cartoons and its last page cross-word puzzle. The rest of the paper was like any other national daily. And however distinguished its editors, few people bothered with the contents of its edit page.

I knew Laxman was the youngest of R.K. Narayan’s six brothers. His illustrations of his brother’s short stories put life into the narrative. And that they were Tamil Brahmins settled in Mysore. No more. We struck up a close friendship almost from the first day I took up the editorship of The Illustrated Weekly of India. I told him that in my opinion he was the world’s greatest cartoonist. I meant it because I had lived in England, the USA and France for many years and seen the works of their cartoonists. Laxman did not protest: he evidently agreed with my assessment of his worth. Almost every other morning he came to my room and asked me to order coffee for him. He never bothered to ask me if I was busy. Far from resenting his dropping in unannounced, I looked forward to the gossip session.

He was as witty a raconteur of people’s foibles as he was adept in sketching them on paper. I discovered he was a bit of a snob and did not deign to talk to the junior staff. My son Rahul told me once he had run into Laxman at a cinema. When Laxman discovered that Rahul was not in of the most expensive seats, he ticked him off.

And while he thought nothing of wasting my time every other morning, he never allowed anyone to enter his cabin while he was at work. He was a great socialiser and could be seen at cocktail parties of consulates the rich and the famous. He loved driving through congested streets and gladly accepted my invitations for drinks and drove all the way from Malabar Hill where he lived to Colaba, five miles away from my flat. Unlike his brother who was abstemious, Laxman loved his Scotch. It had to be of premium quality. He never returned hospitality. Other characteristics I noticed about him which he shared with his brother was an exaggerated respect for money. R.K. Narayan was the doyen of Indian authors. He drove a hard bargain.

Once when A.I.R. invited about 10 of India’s top authors to talk about their work and offered what seemed to be more than adequate fees, Narayan made it a condition that he should be given at least one rupee more than the others. Likewise Laxman and I were asked by Manjushri Khaitan of the B.K. Birla family to do commemoration volumes on Calcutta’s 300th anniversary . We were given five-star accommodation. I accepted whatever Manjushri offered me for writing the text. Laxman demanded and got twice as much. His cartoons sold many more copies than my book.

Underneath the facade of modesty both Narayan and Laxman conceal enormous self-esteem and inflated egos. Once again I have to concede that neither has anything to be modest about. They are on the top in their respective fields.

It is for these reasons that I looked forward to reading Laxman’s autobiography The Tunnel of Time (Viking Penguin). I wanted to learn more about the man I knew. And I hoped to see what he had to say about our days together in Bombay and elsewhere. I was disappointed on both counts. Besides his childhood days in Mysore, which are vividly described, the rest is simply a narration of his gradual rise to eminence, his being awarded the Padma Bhushan and the Magsaysay Award, his travels over the world with his lovely, ever-smiling wife. About our nine-year friendship there is not a word.

Laxman admits at the very outset, "This is not an autobiography in the usual sense." It certainly is not. An autobiography should tell the whole truth about a person. This does not. In passing he mentions that as customary among some Tamil Brahmins, he married his sister’s daughter. She became a well-known Bharatanatyam dancer. He doesn’t tell us why the marriage came apart. One of his sister’s husband in the I.C.S. was dismissed from service on charges of corruption and sent to jail. Laxman has nothing to say about it. In an autobiography you must bring skeletons out of the family cupboard.

Having said that I did find things about Laxman’s life I did not know about. He was born a cartoonist and started drawing from the age of three. He was a poor student and often failed his examinations. He was refused admission to the J.J. School of Arts, Bombay, where later he was invited to be the guest of honour. He tells of his fetish for drawing Ganapati and crows. (I have one given by him). He describes them "the best among birds" and thinks they can count up to seven. He is wrong; they can’t count beyond three.

Laxman loves Bombay, hates Delhi. He writes: "I found it difficult to adjust to Delhi. A mournful atmosphere pervaded the whole city. The trees lining the broad avenues stood at cheerless attention, like regimented soldiers. I was accustomed to Mysore’s trees, which had personality and individuality, whimsical branches, varieties of colour. But most of the trees in Delhi lacked charm. Even the residential houses seemed impersonal and cold, perhaps due to the fact that they were government quarters and therefore lacked the warmth of homeliness. These were my reactions in the early days after my arrival at Delhi when I used to wander about alone pondering and reflecting over my observations."

Understandably Laxman detests politicians: they are the ones he loves to lampoon. He writes: "Largely politics was the profession of school drop-outs; I observed that politicians were endowed with immense vitality but little intelligence. Stretching out in the aircraft’s comfortable seat, I speculated that politicians were the most durable among the human species. They were tough, impervious to humiliation, failure, defeat, insults, shocks. They led a conscience-free existence, hungering eternally for power even when charged with corruption, fraud and murder! For all the travelling they did all over the subcontinent, eating and sleeping at odd hours and shouting themselves hoarse in front of a battery of microphones in heat and dust and subzero temperatures, they never suffered from cold, sore throat, fever or any such maladies that afflicted the common citizen. Thus I mused critically, judging, making uncharitable, abusive mental notes about the very people who just by being themselves, had generously provided me with bread and butter and brought me rewards and fame. I did not have to study their faces any more or read their pretentious speeches."

Laxman’s current fascination is his grand daughter: "Kutila, that is Mahalaxmi, otherwise known as Baby, Rani, Papu, Remanika, Sweety, Doll."

R.K. Laxman is the pillar that sustains The Times of India. Editors come and go: the Jains who own the paper, hire and fire them as they hire and fire their menial staff. They now fill their paper with homilies about religion and scriptures. The one-time most challenging cross-word puzzle has been replaced by some American junk. The day Laxman’s cartoons stop appearing on its front pages, its decline from being the widest circulating paper in India will begin. And Indians who start their day with a smile because of Laxman’s cartoons will have nothing left to smile about.

Clinton speaking

I am the President of U.S.A.
And why should you bother if I am a little gay?
On my shoulders lies the burden of the globe
So what if the secrets of a staffer’s body
Sometimes I probe
I am not a cow-boy, on oath I say
I am a truthful man, not guilty of perjury
Let the asses bray as they may
I have on my side, my wife, Hillary,
And finally, this is my plea:
It was she who had an affair with me
I had nothing to do with Lewinsky.

(Contributed by Kuldip Salil, Delhi).