Unsentimental Truths

This sparingly written debut novel steers clear of lyricisms

NIRPAL SINGH DHALIWAL

FROM THE QUAGMIRE of post-colonial lyricism, Indian writing is developing a new voice to express gritty realities. Like other postcolonial literatures, such as those of Africa and South America, India’s inferiority complex vis-à-vis the developed world has been articulated with an addiction to linguistic flourish rather than writing that just conveys its people’s experiences with blunt and lucid simplicity. But as India now engages robustly with the world, Indian writers are finally shaking off their insecurities and using English with confidence and playful insouciance. The latest example of this is The White Tiger, Aravind Adiga’s debut novel, a dark wry tale of a country bumpkin’s rise to freedom and wealth in the new India.

It is a deceptively intelligent book, written with great wit and simplicity. Its anti-hero, Balram Halwa, embodies the arriviste energies, anger and moral ambiguities of contemporary India. A poorly paid driver for a corrupt, wealthy family, Balram is a wonderful underdog. Sexually frustrated, he forever longs to “dip his beak” into his employer’s wife and girlfriend. He engages in every type of petty scam and sends nothing back to his grasping but impoverished family in the village; instead, he blows a small fortune on a ridiculous but hilarious quest to have sex with a blonde hooker. And he is prepared to see his entire family slaughtered while he escapes after murdering his boss.

It is not surprising to know that Adiga lived in America. Like Suketu Mehta, whose Maximum City dealt with Mumbai with revolutionary truthfulness, Adiga’s prose has an American grit and energy. His writing is no homage to Americana — it is too fixated on India’s harsh actuality to be accused of that — but he uses a voice that’s distinctly American in the way it uses English to deal with local, contemporary issues.

This novel is deeply reminiscent of African- American writers and comedians, such as Richard Pryor, who tackled the truth of America with expletive-laden routines that went to the heart of its national dysfunctions around race, class, exploitation and sex,

THE WHITE TIGER Aravind Adigra Harper Collins 543pp; Rs 495

and did so with a breezy, jaded nonchalance. Adiga, unlike Arundhati Roy and Rohinton Mistry, doesn’t condescendingly portray the poor as righteous casualties of capitalism and corruption. He reveals them for who they are: autonomous, free thinking human beings, who make individual and often questionable choices.

The iniquity of Indian politics is a constant theme and is handled with laconic ease. When his village erupts with enthusiasm at election time, Balram succinctly summarises the limitations of democracy: “Would they do it this time? Would they beat the Great Socialist? Had they raised enough money of their own, and bribed enough policemen, and bought enough fingerprints to win? Like eunuchs discussing the Kama Sutra, the voters discussed the elections in Laxmangarh.”

Adiga is not the only Indian now writing in plain, unsentimental terms. Altaf Tyrewala returned from studying in America to write No God In Sight, which takes us into the lives of criminals, peasants and abortionists, revealing a combination of heroism, mediocrity and moral ambiguity. With his pared-down writing style, he eschews lyricism to take us on a journey through what one of his characters calls “the mess, sweat, dirt, blood and mucous of real life”. Even poetry is freeing itself from the constraints of lyricism. Having assimilated the straightforwardness of America’s post-beatnik literature, Jeet Thayil — another returnee from the US — is the most accomplished of India’s latest crop of poets. Emboldened by their experience in theWest, Thayil, Adiga, Mehta and Tyrewala bring a raw frankness to the nation’s iterature.

In a country teeming with suppressed stories, this is sure to open a Pandora’s box, unleashing ugliness, beauty, misery and brilliance. Be grateful for it.