When the Brush Turned Satirical: Bengal’s Art of Laughter and Rebellion.

- Samriddhi Dey

Kolkata’s streets have always been alive with stories either through paintings, songs or even whispers. On a humid afternoon in 19th century Calcutta, outside the crowded lanes of the Kalighat Temple, pilgrims haggle with patua painters for souvenirs. At first glance, the paintings look devotional- bright strokes of watercolor of the Gods and Goddesses on cheap paper. But when the eyes shift to other stacks of painting, something different catches the eyes - a courtesan (Bibi) with bold, sweeping outlines filled with flat, bright colours. She is seen half sitting on a man (Babu), who is considered as the elite class of Bengal in 19th Century). 

The satire is unmistakable. 

This was Kalighat Patachitra, where folk artists turned their brushes against society's hypocrisies. Capturing the rise of new, Westernized elite and the double standards of a changing city with paintings. Coming to Patachitra, it is a traditional, cloth based scroll painting where only natural colours are used. Whereas, Kalighat Patachitra is different from traditional Patachitra. Kalighat pats were painted in cheap papers and cheap watercolor. 

The Kalighat School was a unique blend of two different styles of painting- the Oriental and the Occidental. Apart from mythological paintings, the patuas also focused on everyday life  which could be easily reproduced by lithography. At first glance, Kalighat paintings look deceptively simple- the bold lines, flat colors, fluid figures. But hidden in those strokes is a biting social critique. The artists, or patuas, witnessed a society where traditional values collided with colonial modernity.The emerging Babu culture, a Western educated Bengali men flaunting silk coats, hookahs, and a taste for courtesans, became a favorite subject. One painting shows a babu lounging with his mistress, another cowers before his dominating wife. The satire was unmistakable: here were the contradictions of a class pretending to be modern but sinking into moral decay. These paintings,   which were cheap and portable, reached ordinary people directly, making art a people’s laughter against hypocrisy. Kalighat paintings were inexpensive, sold in temple bazaars, and reached a wide popular audience. Kalighat’s humor was playful, often moralistic, exposing everyday hypocrisies

Decades later to the early 20th century, the setting shifts to Jorashanko Rajbari. There, another satirist picked the brush. Not a folk painter, but a modernist from Bengal- Gaganendranath Tagore (Thakur).While Kalighat Patuas’ satire thrived in bazaars, Gaganendranath’s humor struck at the heart of the educated class he himself belonged to. His caricatures blended Japanese-inspired brushwork with Western cartoon traditions, creating a new visual language for Bengal’s elite. While his brother Abanindranath Tagore (Thakur) worked on spiritual revival of ancient art, Gaganendranath chose to laugh at society's absurdities. His caricatures- fat bellied Babus, fake reformer were as much a protest as the fiery speeches of his time.His active participation in the theatre activities of Bichitra club is often considered as the chief inspiration for his interest in comedy, satire, and social criticism. But this period is also relegated to the margins because his productions are considered as artistic whims that fall outside the rubric of serious art history. Rather it is important to consider his political stand and his particular interest in the form of pictorial caricature. The first volumes of caricatures, Virupa Vajra (Strange Thunderbolts) and Adbhut Lok (Realm of the Absurd) were published in 1917. Reading these volumes in Gaganendranath’s political context will foreground the tensions and critical ambivalence in his political participation. His works were collected in albums like The Realm of the Absurd (1917) and Reform Screams, where grotesque exaggerations replaced polite portraiture. His lithographs and cartoons became sharp reflections of the socio-political life of Bengal in the early 20th century. In his collection The Realm of the Absurd (1917), he mocked the absurdities of colonial bureaucracy and the pretensions of the anglicized Bengali middle class. In another series, Reform Screams, he ridiculed superficial social reformers who spoke of progress but failed to address real issues. His caricatures showed obese babus, pseudo-intellectuals, and blind imitators of Western fashion, stripped of dignity and inflated into grotesque forms. 

Lok Adbhut  directs laughter and scorn at the hybrid identity of anglicised Indians who adopt a colonial culture in the hope for political gains. In the elaborately titled piece, ‘By the sweat of my brow, I tried to be mistaken for a sahib but still, that man called me baboo (babu)’ we see a member of the urban elite profusely sweating because of his failure to adopt the Western garb. He has removed his hat to wipe his head and his bag is left behind. He is sweating not merely because of his inappropriate dress in the sultry weather, but also due to the embarrassment and frustration he feels in his failure to be recognized as a ‘sahib’. 

Stylistically, Gaganendranath’s satire was Modernist, even Cubist: with bold lines, exaggerated distortions, and a playful sense of the grotesque, he combined humor with a sharp political edge. Unlike Kalighat’s folk idiom, his satire was self-reflexive, targeting the very class he belonged to—the educated, urban Bengali elite. Gaganendranath’s caricatures, printed in books and journals, were aimed at the educated elite. His satire was more intellectual, absurdist, and politically nuanced.Gaganendranath chose humor as rebellion.

One was folk, the other modernist. One painted for pilgrims, the other for journals and books. Yet both Kalighat patuas and Gaganendranath shared the same instinct: to laugh at society’s masks. One spoke through the voice of the masses, the other through the brush of the elite, but their message was clear: society’s hypocrisies, whether in temples, drawing rooms, or political halls, could not escape the artist’s eye. 

Satire in art is not merely comic—it is profoundly political. The Kalighat patuas, with their bold brushstrokes and marketable imagery, captured the contradictions of colonial Calcutta with humor accessible to the common people. Gaganendranath Tagore, with his caricatures and grotesque exaggerations, exposed the shallowness of elite modernity and colonial mimicry. Both streams demonstrate how art became a human canvas of rebellion, stripping society of its masks and forcing it to confront uncomfortable truths.

In the laughter of Kalighat’s painted cats and Gaganendranath’s grotesque babus lies a serious reminder: art is never neutral—it is a living voice against social evils, and satire is one of its sharpest weapons.

References-

cocoonartmagazine.com, my notes.