It was around 2007-08, when it made the headlines. By it, I mean “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows”, of course. What did you think? I would not care much if The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga won an award or not. Honestly. I pestered my Dad about the book, Harry Potter, of course - and it’d take some time to come by my hands. There was barely any library in my vicinity, except my school’s, and I surely knew that new releases would never come in.
I did read about it in papers though. By it, I mean The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga, winning the Man Booker Prize. It was probably Hindustan Times, or DNA, or both. (I used to read a lot of newspapers then). Or I probably heard it in the news. Likely all three. But my first thought was - “Who cares?”, especially not a school-going kid who wanted his Harry Potter fix more than any critically acclaimed book.
“The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga”. That’s how I remember it. Never just The White Tiger, but always “The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga”. As if the people couldn’t let the man exist without the book. But hey, I still didn’t care. I only vaguely remember discussing with a friend about it winning the prize. We were a lot into trivia and General Knowledge those days. Remember I used to read a lot of newspapers? But what the hell is a Man Booker? Who in their right mind names it Man Booker? What is a “Booker” anyway? Just because it has “Book” in the name, doesn’t mean it deserves to be named as an award. OK. I’ll assume a Booker may have meant a Book. A Book prize, that’s what it should have been. What’s the significance of “Man” in the “Man Booker”. Clearly, the world is full of more people stupider than myself. But, seriously, what is it really? I still don’t know. Maybe I’ll Google. Or ask an AI. Yes, that’s the most “it” thing to do.
I had seen the cover of the book plastered over newspapers. A white cover, with the typeface almost out of The Pink Panther movie graphic, and less serious at that. I knew that if given a choice, I’ll probably not read it. Not that I wanted to read it anyway, choice or not. Being a critically acclaimed novel, it was probably out of my comprehension anyway. The White in The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga meant it related to some white collar workers. Unlikely it meant something else. Especially when it has a car on the cover. Obviously, why not?
All through the years after that, I’d occasionally see the name pop up somewhere or the other. Some bookstore I used to visit once a year, someone’s GoodReads list, or something on the back of my subconscious mind. And then some years ago, somehow, a copy of the book landed in my Home. My Dad occasionally brings books like this sometimes, at random. Sometimes a copy of Chetan Bhagat’s latest, sometimes The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga.
There it sat within my shelf. By it, I mean The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. Ignored, and yellowing, waiting for me to pick it up and crack the spine open. Unfortunately, to its utter disappointment, I never crack the spine open of a book, but to the delight, I do pick up books to read. And after lying dead for years like Imhotep, the curse lifts, and it is resurrected.
I read the first chapter of the book and I visibly scowled. It is one of the most unexpected starts to a novel I’ve read. White Collar and cars?! Critically acclaimed = incomprehensible? My assumptions were put into dust on the first page itself. It was as if a pair of hands sprung up from the pages, held my head in their palms, and turned my head and eyes on itself. It says “Shut up, and keep your attention here”, and I read.
How do I describe the book? I’d rather not. I cannot. But I’ll make an attempt. The lesser details the reader knows, the better.
The plot starts like a neo-Noir movie set in rural India. The movies where there is a yellowish tint of the old world “charm”, the days from before the urban Internet as we know of today, and definitely a different era than the AI. The book is set in Delhi, and rural Bihar, as all rugged, earthy stories do. It almost reads like a particularly gory scene in a movie, when the protagonist takes revenge on his enemies. Disgusting to the eyes, but you love it. You wouldn’t wish it any other way.
Aravind Adiga starts at full throttle. No gradual gear shifts, no trickling, no edging. A straight punch to the guts. A no-holds-baared monologue, with the voice like as if you yourself are the one speaking. The prose is scathing, and he dissects the India that was then (and is still now), with a finesse of an experienced surgeon with a scalpel. After the dissection is complete, a sucker punch, one after another. It’ll leave you breathless, revolted, and disgusted. It’ll make you cynical, and a pessimist. It’ll anger you, sadden you, and make you despair. You’ll feel naked on the streets, even if you wear a 3 piece suit. And you’ll ask “Why?”. Why has India been the way it has? Why it still is that way? Does India even make sense? And a 100 other questions you have no answers for. The Harry Potter fan in me will not hesitate it comparing to a dementor, sucking the life out of you.
The characters in the book are few but well developed. Written from a first person point of view, it holds you in a way such that you won’t need to leave anything to the imagination. The writing is simple but the voice it speaks with is raw. The protagonist’s monologue almost makes him feel like an older version of Holden Caulfield. Eccentrically deranged, slightly crazy, mildly stupid, and a whole lot clever. The story feels like you’re writing a journal yourself, and who better to put the thoughts into words than you?! That’s the sign of a good writer - you feel you’re writing the work, and is written especially for you. If you’re thinking this to be a relaxing read, it isn’t. It’ll shake you out of stupor, and will suck your energy out. You’ll question, “What am I reading it for?”. I already answered above – because you like the gore.
As far as characters go, none of them are likeable, especially not the protagonist himself. And that’s what makes this book the way it is. We always think of Mahabharata as a “grey” story, with no black and white, no right or wrong. Well, good news for you, this story is greyer. The protagonist has a knack of finding the ironies in our lives. A dark comedy of sorts, sometimes you’ll laugh by yourself, and curse yourself like I did - why didn’t I read it earlier? This work is a realistic satire of the highest order, and will rile so many people up, from all sections of the society. From politicians, working class, higher class, lower class, the administration, the bureaucracy - everyone. Thank gods (all the Thirty-six million and five!) that most of them won’t care to read this book. I’m surprised he wasn’t put behind bars for this! But I guess that’s what being someone from a higher class means.
“Savage” is what “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga fits into. (I picked it up from the book’s back cover review snippet by Neel Mukherjee)
In retrospect, I realize it was the best that I had the wrong idea of how the book would be. I went into it blind, with no expectations in mind, and I was blown away.
Time for the rating – 7/7.