I think it was somewhere in 1982 when I first saw Mario Miranda in an old Illustrated Weekly of India. Those of you quizzically looking around in your memory for the “file,” like desi babus in file-filled offices—upon whom Mario bestowed a mythical status—well, you weren’t born then, and you missed out on a lot of fun. You could say that I was lucky enough to meet a man who collected magazines, and Illustrated Weekly was one of them.
Now, The Illustrated Weekly was a largish magazine with an illustrious bunch of people behind it. The name by which us Generation Xers knew it came about in 1923, though it had been in publication since 1860. The magazine ceased publication in 1993, but before that, it spiced up the intellectual life of India, with guys like Khushwant Singh, M. V. Kamath, and Pritish Nandy at the helm. Most importantly, it taught us better grammar without being a Wren or Martin. The magazine assumed you were smarter than the rest.
Obviously, I was a puny kid when I saw The Illustrated Weekly. The language in this aspirational English magazine was something that made me scratch my head like the stray dogs that Mario Miranda loved to caricature. I could not understand the depth and nuance of its language or the politics the magazine espoused. However, the magazine was still fun for me because of a certain Mario Miranda, who had a penchant for drawing voluptuous, wide-eyed women and pencil-legged men who seemed to love everything except the work they were supposed to do behind their desks. At the time when I first laid my eyes on this legendary weekly, Mario had already quit and joined other news organisations like Mid-Day and Afternoon Courier & Despatch, before moving on to do his own thing. While these magazines were slowly relegated to press history, Mario continues to be alive and well in the cartoon canon he created.
His characters were comical, to say the least, and the situations he drew in the magazine were always busy, bright, and carnival-like—no matter what the topic was. And yes, the people in his cartoon realm were mischievous, wicked, and politically incorrect. In fact, he would have been labelled a sexist today, in our woke world, for his depictions of Ms. Nimboopani. She had the widest eyes, the longest lashes, the biggest lips, and liberally blessed bottoms and bosoms. Mario Miranda, a true-blue mischief-maker, was secretly having a laugh at the seedy fantasies of bosses and male colleagues in offices across Indian towns and cities.
Before you judge him, it is pertinent to remember that no matter the advances Ms. Nimboopani had to face, she never lost her bearing, dignity, or her quick-witted comebacks. She was a tough nut to crack.
It is pertinent here to mention a conversation I had with Nidheesh Tyagi (one of Abir Pothi’s founders) about Mario. He made an observation that was spot on: “Mario’s cartoons were not acerbic. There was a joy to them.” I agree with this view because almost all the Mario Miranda cartoons I have seen here and there were made of a sarcasm that does not hurt anyone. There is wickedness, don’t get me wrong—but he doesn’t make you feel less. He had a deep respect, especially for the people of Goa and their culture. The creation of the stereotype of the happy Goan is one of his most powerful and enduring impacts on Goan reality. It works because Mario knew there was more than a generous dollop of truth in it.
It would not be wrong to say that he gave us the guidelines—the holy book—on how to draw Goa’s heartbeat, that instantly recognizable Goa. I have seen people who have spotted faux Mario cartoons on the walls of restaurants and instantly turned to ask, “So, vindaloo must be good here?” It’s not even a stretch to say that Mario’s caricatures of Goa, that bold line style of drawing, are the unofficial logo of Goa—far more recognizable than the official one. In fact, I don’t even know if Goa has a logo, but I know Mario has a lot of Goa in him.
However, that doesn’t mean Mario was not a man of the wider world. His days at The Illustrated Weekly ensured that his keen sense as a cartoonist was well utilized to make comments that affected a larger culture, a greater world, and its ideas. His cover on Mahatma Gandhi was, for lack of a better metaphor, a dish as delicate and fun as a plate of calamari—cooked just right.
Most of all, Mario made us laugh at ourselves—gently, kindly. His work was half conscience, half jester. Exactly the guy you want to hang out with and chill.
In my next piece, I want to talk about Mario Miranda’s characters and what those characters ‘espoused.’ Till then, be in a state of susegad!
Epilogue: R. K. Laxman also drew for The Illustrated Weekly. Mario and Laxman were colleagues. While Laxman went on to become the Common Man, Mario became the Common Man with a flowery bush shirt — having a whale of a time.
Feature Image Courtesy: MutualArt
Former Editor at Abir Pothi
