There is humour in almost every situation, and no one spots it faster than cartoonists and comedians. Their reflections don’t always sting; instead, they offer clarity wrapped in wit. Rather than providing mere comic relief in an otherwise serious moment, they use humour to critique the situation itself, often with a touch of sarcasm. This is exactly what BP Acharya’s Obtuse Angle does so well.
Acharya, a senior officer of the 1983 IAS batch, calls these moments of humorous insight his ‘obtuse angle’, lending the book its title. The collection gathers cartoons drawn and published over nearly four decades, tracing his journey as an IAS officer, including his early years at the Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration, Mussoorie.
His love for RK Laxman is evident, and his continued preference for black-and-white cartoons—which he believes have a classic appeal—largely stems from that influence. Drawn with an easy hand and a sharp eye, the cartoons touch everything under the sun: IAS training days, political jingoism, rising religious intolerance, floods, caste, sports, the economy, and the everyday churn of the news cycle.
The first chapter, Mussoorie Miscellany, chronicles his training years from 1983 to 1985, offering an insider’s glimpse into the lives of IAS officers, often in ways that feel surprisingly relatable. It opens with a cartoon of Lal Bahadur Shastri, after whom the academy is named, being denied entry because he isn’t wearing a tie. With that, Acharya begins his gentle spoof of bureaucratic life. In one cartoon, probationers—the new recruits—stand with lines from TS Eliot’s The Hollow Men: “We are the hollow men/We are the stuffed men...,” a pointed comment on a schedule so packed it leaves no room for creativity. In another, an officer is imagined as a rhinoceros, a nod to the thick skin civil servants are expected to grow, echoing the Government of India’s 1986-87 campaign promoting civil services.
The chapter Obtuse Angle turns to what he calls ‘bureaucratic rigmarole’. Witty and sharp, these sketches don’t glorify the profession and largely dwell on its ironies and everyday absurdities. A security guard holds a newspaper with the headline “Officer detained for carrying Rs 21 lakh” as he is bribed Rs 300 to clear someone at the checkpoint. In another, powerful men offer free utilities, while a farmer—holding his vote—asks, “But what about good governance?” Let’s Face It shifts gears to portraits, from Indira Gandhi and Atishi to Kangana Ranaut and Shyam Benegal.
The book can be confusing at times. Most cartoons are presented with little to no context, except in the opening sections, and the lack of chronology adds to the disorientation. Despite the shortcomings, it reflects Acharya’s affection for the cartoon form and its power. As Acharya says in an interview, cartoons allow us, in small ways, the ability “to rediscover our sense of humour as a society.”