From the palette of sombre colours used in the illustrations to the black humour running all through, Gautam Bhatia's graphic novel Lie: A Traditional Tale of Modern India is, at every level, a very dark piece of work. A broad picture-book narrative that is part-soap opera and part-family melodrama, the self-proclaimed critic and satirist explores every nook and cranny of society, laying bare the flaws with brutal honesty.
Thus, Bhola the protagonist, flawed in every conceivable manner morally, takes to politics and the apathy, corruption and wily mechanism of the bureaucracy is revealed in a manner that is as entertaining as it is disturbing. At the other end of the spectrum is the impoverished and ideology-driven farmer Alibaba who chooses to walk the Gandhian path of uprightness and justice. Mid-spectrum is the sex-worker turned prime minister, Rekha.
Fresh perspective
The caricatures of the lead characters are two-dimensional and simplistic and there are no prizes for guessing which real life personalities they have been modelled after. Bhatia takes recent political and religious milestones and stands them on their heads giving the reader a fresh and unexpected perspective to old subjects. He flits abruptly from one subject to the other with disconcerting speed and the reader needs to develop a high degree of agility to keep pace but there is an irreverent wackiness to the whole treatment that is extremely charming.
The author drags in all kinds of everyday items like Maggi noodles, MacDonalds, a typical Hindi film scene and succeeds in connecting with the reader with an easy familiarity.
A couple of real life publications are mentioned in a tongue-in-cheek manner (including this one!) as Bhatia uncovers all kind of social maladies from religious intolerance, female foeticide, police atrocities, the underworld mindset to the plight of the farmers and famine.
But in trying to skim through so many problems in a matter of 170-odd pages, he compromises on depth. The section where minister Rekha declares Emergency is captivating as is the sketch of Rekha with the easily identifiable swatch of gray hair rising from her temple. One sympathises with the farmer Alibaba trudging across famine-struck lands but there is also a sense of resignation in the way one visualises things are going to end. As a recurring (but inconsequential) punctuation in the narrative, Bhola's wife repeatedly delivers little girls. Bhola's mother disposes of them speedily and efficiently. The very blandness of this message chills the heart.
The thrust of this graphic novel is undoubtedly on the illustrations. From the deep blue cover that opens on to dull red pages, there is something brooding and menacing about the tints used: overcast slate gray skies, muted green lawns, vast stretches of brown barrenness, burnt umber rooms, ochre floors and pewter coloured walls. The arid lands surrounding Alibaba's mud house are vividly done, so much so that one can almost smell and taste dust.
The artists, graphic artist Orijit Sen, miniature artist Shankar Lal Bhopa and Birju Lal, muralist and wall painter Ghansham have no qualms about presenting themselves as part of the cartoon parade (in the introduction page) and their combined efforts are well synthesised. The vastness of the background pictures and the pint-sized childish figures within them are metaphorical of a people dwarfed by situations around them. The red text on blue background is a bit of an optic strain though, and could be headache-inducing.
The author, in his note, confesses that his initial project was much longer and one wishes he hadn't slashed it quite so much. Bhatia, in this social commentary, is not really saying anything new but he has the knack of saying the old things in a very new manner.
All too believable
When he talks about politicians lunching on caviar and wine, cutting ribbons and entertaining foreign delegates while famine-struck lands parch under the sun elsewhere, the scenario is all too believable. The double lives politicians lead is well etched as is the messy red tapism surrounding babudom. Which leaves both the reader and author scratching their heads about what really is in store for the common man in the future.
Lie is rather like the day's newspaper where, in an impromptu decision, the editorial page has been handed over to a bunch of talented cartoonists. And the cartoonists, in their moment of truth, have thrown all inhibitions to the wind and decided to paint the town red.
Lie: A Traditional Tale of Modern India;Gautam Bhatia, Tranquebar, Rs. 395.
