On the face of it, Chennai isn't funny-side-up-you see no quirky murals, no offbeat public sculptures, no off-colour signboards in the city. Its vibrant “kalakkal” culture seems to thrive under the surface — in group conversations, online comments, Whatsapp forwards and comedy tracks in movies. But Chennai is comical, even hilarious, says Biswajit Balasubramanian, and has put up a 100 cartoons titled ‘MADras!’ at Forum Art Gallery as evidence.
It is all in the eye of the beholder, he seems to say. His spoofs are about everyday events that set your teeth gritting, send your BP soaring. The mendacity of cops, the thoughtlessness of drivers, the I-am-king attitude of auto-men are all grist to his comic mill. Where you will get furious, he sees the funny. Buddhist principles, he says. Stay composed, Biswajit, he tells himself; there is a story here for a cartoon. Not all the cartoons are of the same quality. A 12-year collection, he says, but its freshness and relevance proves little has changed in how we live and love life in the city. The scenes he brings alive — swimming-pool fiasco, the borewell battle, the one-way maze, flyover confusions, triumph of cows and garbage -— when will they ever go away? But Chenniites are tech-savvy, love to “upgrade” themselves, he points out in his frames on pizza-prasadam, emoticon kids, techie-weddings, Facebook-status checkers. Did you whip out your notepad to sketch when the road was blocked on both sides? Not that way, he says. The visual gets embedded in his mind, and if he hears a neat turn of phrase, he tries to remember it. Back home, when he picks up a blank sheet and a 0.5-1.00 tip pen, he retrieves the visuals and the words. He starts imagining a situation, and soon it takes shape. It’s RAM, he says, like writing poetry.
Cartooning does not have the luxury of space to pass on the idea. It is a challenge. Two parameters determine it — the ability to draw, and the skill to get the idea across. When viewers say, “Hey, this happened to me!”, his work is done, he says.
The black-and-whites are for the press who often ask for ones that can fit into 2x3-inch boxes. They are the “speaking” cartoons, their message un-distracted by colour. Most coloured ones are “composite”; they are collages that depict the city's ability to synthesise diverse viewpoints – note the bhajan group, Murugan tea-stall, bus-stop, zoo, jallikattu and the delightful sketch on his calling card: of a maami in sports shoes.
His best are about how we alter iconic Western imports to make them our own: the coffee-aathufying man carries on his back the history of “evolution” of coffee into kaapi in a smooth, organic process.
The cartoons do touch on the political — he couldn't pass up the veshti drama or the signboard translations — but stop short of being offensive. Don't want to judge or hurt, he says. The large expressive eyes, the longish nose, the detailed background and the one-liners tell stories — narratives that manage to stay clear of getting stale. Look at it from this angle, he says, and you'll laugh. Soon we know: he is holding a mirror and we're laughing at ourselves. The show is on till September 20 at Forum Art Gallery, Adyar, from 10 a.m. - 6 p.m.
