The bearable lightness of Bengaluru

When well-known cartoonist and illustrator Paul Fernandes was young and impressionable, as they say, his family lived in a bungalow at No 17, Pottery Road, on whose walls he caricatured, unfettered. What’s more, his father owned a tonga as well as a Victorian chariot!

A delicious throwback to a Bengaluru nearly forgotten, prints from that era find pride of place in the artist’s rib-tickling new book, ‘The Great Bangalore Morph-From Kempegowda to Covid’, a collection of paintings and cartoons, with apt prose by Meena ‘Chicku’ Jayadeva. The book joyfully explores Bengaluru through time while exuding a distinct ‘old Bangalore’ essence and celebrating the spirit, people and history of the ‘ooru’. For Paul, it has been over 50 years of tracing the city’s idiosyncrasies. The University of Baroda alumnus has, over the years, built a solid reputation for his remarkable ability to scour through ordinary life, pick cheeky happenstances and infuse grace and laughter into it all with a touch that’s as light as it is deep. Paul’s art is rambunctious, poignant and grin-worthy, a welcome distraction in these chaotic times. 

The book, which runs to over 300 pages with relevant textual history ranging from the times of the Hoysalas to the pandemic years, was released at the Bengaluru Literature Festival earlier this month. This was followed by a walk-through with the artist at the Bangalore International Centre, where Fernandes regaled the viewers with his own experiences, a veritable feast for that peculiar animal, the ‘old Bangalorean’. Shashi Tharoor succinctly captures the spirit of the book in his foreword when he says it is a “kaleidoscopic tale of Bangalore’s morphosis.”

The book is divided into three equally droll sections: ‘The Days of Yore’  — a colourful pictorial history before Independence, ‘More Familiar Times’ — what the city morphed into and ‘2019’ — the year the world changed with Covid. “The visual came first, of course, which was then supplemented by handpicked anecdotal facts minus boring bits,” explains Paul. 

“When the pandemic hit, I was shocked, unnerved. We both mulled over whether it should be a book on Covid too. It eventually became a huge collaborative effort. Working with Paul has been wonderful, and natural,” says Chicku Jayadeva.

A special pullout Then and Now, of chosen drawings, and postcards evokes wistfulness with its clever juxtaposition of the past and the present. 

Paul embraces his artistry intuitively. To think it all started in the 1960s when Fernandes, mischief on his mind, in his characteristic deadpan manner, drew a portly roly-poly Hindi teacher in his school! (see box)  Even though he failed in Hindi, drawing became his refuge to illustrate the mercurial nature of life, and humour became his calling card.

Paul’s indelible connection with whimsicality in paintings shines through the work. Interwoven with Chicku’s eloquently written text, the images leap out, each poignant and evocative — be it Namma Metro which sees the old have a tete-a-tete with the new, or M G Road circa 1970, and once-popular haunts like Chit Chat and Nanking.

A gentle transformation

It was at Baroda that Paul sculpted his comic identity — enriched with the rigours of advertising. “I wanted to record the changes I saw over the past 75 years of Independence. It began as a simple ode to the city, and working with Chicku went along beautifully. It was an idea whose time finally came in 2019, all from a box of ideas. I have a Bombay box, a Goa one too,” he smiles.

Chikku was also a co-author of two of his earlier books — Bangalore: Swinging in the 70s, and Coastline. This magnum opus though cements his proclivity for comic relief.

“The book shows you glimpses of a city as it gently morphs. An effort to understand our history, where we came from, how far we have come, and where we are going,” elaborates Fernandes. The watercolours are translucent, imbuing life and lightness to a bygone era, the faces are classics, and most are Fernandes’ dear friends, “You might find yourself there,” he grins even as he tries to get that smile or that particular scowl right.

Allegory to a city

The collection, Paul says, is not an academic chronicle of Bengaluru but an allegory to the city he loves. From the first mention of the city in inscriptions to the petes (markets) and life in the cantonment — the cartoons are a journey into its soul, with bits of historical anecdotes thrown in. “In 1898, Bengaluru was inflicted by the plague and the government instructed the populace to move to Malleswaram in the west, Basavanagudi in the south and Frazer Town in the north. Many small temples dedicated to the goddess Mariama sprung all over, to ostensibly protect everyone from the scourge. She was Plegamma,” he explains, adding, “There is a particular temple of hers near IISC — she dons a mask now.”

Also rendered beautifully are the histories of Ulsoor Lake and the Kempegowda Tower. The incredible attention to detail with a Mysuru peta-clad babu bookmarking the ooru’s progress from being a lazy British outpost to a city of pubs and liquor barons to becoming the IT capital and fighting Covid with ‘Corona Naale Baa’, this is a wondrous tribute to the multiplicities of the metropolis.

Keeping the city’s essence

His is an active mind always scouring for humour-toned nostalgia and jokes and a new project is already on the cards. “It is a journey down a fantastic artery of life in Mumbai,” says Paul.

For him, the joy of producing this book was in its irreverence. It is a book punctuated with memories for people already familiar with his art gallery aPaulogy. His muse has always been people, even while the city’s green canopy and lakes have served to inspire him. “The weather, the people and the freedom to enjoy both...this is the essence of Bengaluru. We have to maintain this, keep this alive.”