Every Monday afternoon, without fail, Mario de Miranda used to come by the office of the newspaper I worked for, and deposit a set of cartoons to be used for the week. We had hired him for his pocket cartoon, which featured the crusty Boss, his obedient secretary who used to address him as Saar, the clerk Godbole, the luscious secretary Miss Fonseca and the beggar, who used to often be the recipient of the executive’s comments.
In one of them, I recall, the Boss proclaimed, “I don’t buy newspapers, I buy editors”; how relevant those words sound even today. The paper where these characters appeared had let go of Mario, and we had grabbed him without a second’s thought. I always thought of him as a journalist, and we were happy to welcome him.
But even before my working relationship with him, I had known of Mario because of his marvelous cartoons in the Evening News of India and Filmfare. In the former, his sketches of the then Bombay are mini masterpieces. An assortment of characters — the sardar taxi driver, the hapless bus conductor, the fat socialite dripping with diamonds, the roadside romeo, the portly minister, the dabbawallas, the phlegmatic cow and countless other Bombay types — jostle with each other looking for a small space on the street and on the page. Bombay then, as now, was a crowded city, and Mario was the chronicler of that moveable feast.
In Filmfare, he created instantly recognisable types who regaled us every fortnight — the coiffed hero Balraj Balram, the curvaceous heroine Miss Rajni Nimbupani, not to forget the cad Bulbul Brandy. Mario had an eye for the absurd, and along with his sketches, the names were spot on. I recall one series, called Wedding Bells, wherein the couples from different regions had priceless monikers: Petrification Pereira of Bombay marrying Gertude, daughter of Purefaction Pinto of Goa; Thomas Martyr (looking woebegone) marrying a formidable Padmini in Kumbakoli and Major Mooshwal Singh marrying Bulbul, daughter of Colonel Curry in Dehradun. Of course, only a Bombaywalla would fully understand the wedding of Darius Screwala with Bapsy, daughter of Framroze Waysidepetrols-tationwalla.
But behind that light touch was the hand of an artist and a draughtsman. Mario’s drawings of Bombay, London, New York and Paris were fine architectural renditions, bringing to life the magnificent buildings and structures of each city. Not that he missed out the people — Manhattan had its cool sax players, Paris its intellectuals and London its Bobbies.
Some of his best works are about his beloved Goa. Whether he was drawing the stately Portuguese mansions or the daily routines and absurdities of village life — the weddings, the tavernas, the funerals — Mario brought love and affection that only an insider could.
Personally, Mario was an understated type of man who preferred to quietly stand and gaze at the scene around him. He would let go off a quip with a smile, but for the most part, he was drinking it all in, all the better to put it down on the page.
He was a quintessential part of Bombay life till he retreated to his family home in Goa. I saw him last at the book release and exhibition of his works in this city a couple of years ago. He was looking exceedingly frail, but obviously happy that his friends had turned up. It brought back great memories for everyone. Today, no doubt he is up there, with his pen and pad, sketching the goings on at the pearly gates.