Remembering a great man & artist Mario Miranda

I first met Mario in the summer of 1976.  I had just joined as a rookie illustrator with the Art department of The Times of India. I will never forget that defining moment, that first impression he made.

Mario was striding down the long aisle along the magazine editorials, wearing a black shirt and beige trousers, his right hand instinctively pushing back his unruly hair. In his left hand, he juggled a few sheets of Kent paper - not meant for lesser mortals like us. Milon Mukherjee, back from one of his frequent trips to the toilet, introduced me to the legend.

“So you’re Francis H D’Sa,” Mario beamed, his baritone embracing me. “I see your sketches, nice lines…come.” And he drew me into his room, which was right next to the toilet, although he never complained.

He was probably the first Indian cartoonist to use a crow-quill. He would dip it directly into a bottle of Pelican ink and begin. At the same time he would chatter and smile constantly, as if cartooning were the easiest thing in the world.

His cartoons were copied by all and sundry. Mario took it with a smile. He was, as the Goans say, ‘susegaad’. He complemented his work ethic with a simple, down-to-earth Goan lifestyle.
His knowledge of anatomy was less known in those days than his legendary cartoons.

I chanced upon his ‘anatomically correct’ drawings one fine day — long after I had grown used to seeing his cartoons — and I stupidly remarked in the art department, “Hey, Mario has changed his style now.”

The then art director, Ramesh Sanzgiri, gently took me to his cabin and said, “You know why Mario’s lines are so strong and commanding in his cartoons?”

I said, “No, sir.”

“That’s because of the power of his realistic drawings,” the art director continued. “If you want to be anything, cartoonist, painter, illustrator, sculptor, you must know anatomy. Mario is a draughtsman first and cartoonist later.”

Wise words that have stayed with me down the years. His drawings had a great influence on my life, they were sheer power…

Over the years, whenever we met, he would greet me with a twinkle in his eye, “Francis H…the H is important!”
Circa 2008 Mario is at a bookstore in Mumbai to launch his latest book. He must be nearing 80. I see his picture in the flyer. His hair has thinned. I call him on the phone.

After a long pause, I hear a frail voice, “Hello”?

“Mario!” I exclaim. “This is Francis H D’Sa, remember me?”

The voice at the other end of the line, barely a whisper, says haltingly, “Francis H D’Sa…”

I do not recognize this voice. The baritone is completely gone. I think I have the wrong number. I mumble something… and gently hang up.

This was not the Mario I used to know. I refused to get real. And now, today, when I came to know of his passing away in his sleep at 85 years, I am saddened. A great man,  artist, and dear, dear colleague, whom I’ll miss. Always.