An absorbing narrative

S. KRISHNAN

The Tunnel of Time: An Autobiography by R. K. Laxman; Viking; pages 236; Rs. 295.

THE sub-title of the book is An Autobiography. The opening sentence says: "This is not an autobiography in the usual sense." It is an autobiography in the sense it is linear in construction, beginning with year one and coming down to the present day. It is, however, not a conventional autobiography because it deals very little with the writer's inner life, the traumas he must have gone through, and some of the great moments of his life, such as the Magsaysay Award. A certain casualness marks the narration from beginning to end. We should be grateful to Laxman for what he has chosen to share with us. Once he has done with the obligatory description of his childhood and gets on with the story of his career, he lends a touch of his professional ambience to the narrative which does interest the reader.

Cushioned by a loving family and supported by his senior siblings, Laxman had a smooth early life, except for the customary aligning and realigning with school friends. Mysore city, which even now has some grace left to it, was in his childhood a veritable fairyland. The beauty of its landscape must have helped him in an unconscious preparation for his career. "I do not remember wanting to do anything else except draw...I do not remember a day when I have not sketched, whether it was time to prepare for examinations or lying in bed recovering from a fever." Not everyone succeeds in accomplishing childhood ambitions, but Laxman has succeeded in doing so brilliantly.

His big moment came in school when the pupils were asked to draw a leaf. This was child's play to Laxman and his drawing won the approbation of the teacher.

Life was smooth for him except for an occasional bout of fever or some illness like that, until he reached the age to fend for himself. He had by this time discovered for himself the great cartoonist David Low, whose work he saw in The Hindu. He did not really understand the irony and satire as he was too young and not wholly well-versed in international affairs. But he was entranced by the drawing of Low whose name he read as"Cow".

Skipping the educational career, we meet Laxman as cartoonist for The Free Press Journal in Mumbai. A few months later, he joined as staff cartoonist with The Times of India, with which he has had a durable association for the past half century. Laxman's life as a cartoonist is, in fact, the 50 years of his life with that newspaper. Honours came to him in a flood-tide, and his Common Man became the symbol of the average Indian who suffers from everything that the rulers of this country threw in his way.

Except for occasional travels abroad and an infructuous job offer from the Evening Standard, London, which was withdrawn as quickly as it was made, Laxman's life moved on an even keel, interspersed by meetings with eminent men, parties and exhibitions of his works. The only time the even tenor of his life was abruptly interrupted was during the Emergency, when his irreverent cartoons naturally met with hostile responses from politicians and subservient officials. He managed to survive.

Almost synonymous with the work of Laxman is the Common Man. "The bespectacled Common Man in his checked coat had walked into my cartoon spontaneously, as if I had no hand in his creation. Equally effortlessly he became a silent spectator of events, moving with ease from drought-stricken villages to the airport to watch foreign delegations arriving, from the Prime Minister's banquet hall to peep at the visiting dignitary dining, to observing the sufferings of the denizens of the slums." The Common Man, within the framework of a single column, became so popular that people spontaneously sent their complaints to Laxman who used them as grist to his mill.

The better part of Laxman's book is almost entirely devoted to incidents and anecdotes. Some of these are very diverting indeed. Early on at The Times of India, he went to work one morning and found to his bemusement his hero, Sir David Low, and Mrs. Low waiting for him. Their ship had put in at Mumbai for a few hours, and they had taken the opportunity to do some sight-seeing. Laxman took them around and showed them the more impressive aspects of Mumbai, ending up with a view from the Malabar Hill. Everything looked beautiful from there. "I broke the silence, boasting: 'So Mr. Low, most foreign visitors come to India, looking for sadhus, snake-charmers, elephants and tigers. I hope you have gathered a different impression to take home.' I swept my hand at the entire panorama. At that very instant I thought I heard a faint musical note. It increased in volume... It was soon followed by a snake-charmer. He had made himself resemble the Hollywood idea of an Indian snake-charmer... Low directed all his attention with a bemused expression that was so eloquent on the snake and its charmer. The master of subtle satire did not have to turn around to look at me to rub in the fact what a ridiculous situation I had jockeyed myself into. I took refuge in a loud guffaw and said gallantly: 'Let us go before the rope-trick fellow, the sadhu, the elephants and tigers follow, Mr. Low.' "

On another occasion, when in England, Laxman called on Bertrand Russell. After an "unhurried long session" with him, the cartoonist gathered up his things and prepared to leave. Then, Russell, while stuffing his pipe in a leisurely manner, said: "The Indians discovered nothing." Laxman was taken aback and did not know "how to react to the barbarous assault on our nation, race, heritage and culture. Russel repeated, 'Absolutely nothing' observing me with his smiling eyes." Laxman proceeded to give a long list of Indian discoveries. Then "mischief twinkled in his keen blue eyes as he said, 'Calm down, young man, I am paying you people a great compliment. The concept of zero is a great mathematical discovery and the credit goes entirely to Indian thinkers. I am a great admirer of Indian thought.' "

One of the stranger aspects of Laxman's book is his unwillingness to name personalities who played some role or the other in some of the incidents he describes. One of his unflattering references seems to be directed at Sankar Pillai, the doyen of political cartoonists in India. Also, Laxman seems to have a contempt for cartoonists in general, at least the ones who were practising cartooning when he began his career. He has nothing to say about present-day Indian cartoonists either; he does not mention even one by name. His account of the cartoonists he met in the former Soviet Union is equally remarkable for its non-assessment of them or their work. What is truly extraordinary is the total absence of any reference to American cartoonists when he writes about his visit to the United States as a guest of the U.S. Government. Many consider Herbert Block of The Washington Post the greatest cartoonist since Low; but he does not figure in Laxman's account.

A word about the illustrations in the book. The jacket illustration is a delightful montage of characters from R. K. Narayan's stories as well as Laxman's own creations. However, a large green leaf covers a third of the montage, and I assume this is Laxman's tribute to the leaf that brought him plaudits in his drawing class. For the rest, there are wonderful line drawings of the crow, of Ganesh, and of leaves which somehow subtly remind one of Ganesh. What the book lacks of course is some of his famous cartoons and Common Man drawings. This brings to mind two cartoons in particular: One shows Nehru walking between Dwight Eisenhower and Nikita Khruschev, with one hand each in the other's pockets. The second cartoon shows Nehru playing a one-man band, with the caption: "Does anyone play the tabla? No? Then I shall play it myself."

Laxman's book is not ponderous, it is easy reading: it provides a chronicle of our times from a remarkable person's point of view.

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