Jottings - Slice of life - 438 ( Arvind Adiga's “The White Tiger” - the book, the context, and the 2021 Netflix movie)

Arvind Adiga’s 2008 Booker prize-winning book “The white tiger” may not be remembered in the long run for its flowery prose or style, but it will certainly be appreciated for its hard-hitting tale about Indian society in the twenty-first century. When I read the book many years ago, I remember finishing it in less than five hours — a rarity for a Booker prize-winning work, which is usually dense and multi-layered. But “The White Tiger” in contrast was a breezy read. The pages turned with effortless ease, the language was uncomplicated, and the voice of Balram Halwai, the first-person narrator and the hero of the tale floats through the book, hypnotically recounting his life’s journey from a poverty-stricken, slavery ridden rural India, to an Indian metropolis, and becoming an entrepreneur and a master of his destiny. One would find the story surreal in certain places, exaggerated in a few episodes, but the overall narrative flows with rapid pace, a sure pen, and tremendous conviction. When I read the book again a week ago, just to refresh the impressions I had of the book and in preparation to watch the Netflix adaptation of it, I realized that novel’s structure can easily be adapted for the screen. It is full of vivid images and succinct portraits of lives, held in ancient bondage and striving to break free at any cost — socially, ethically, and spiritually. I am not sure if Adiga had a movie in mind when he wrote the book, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. With a few changes here and there, the entire book can be transformed into a complete screenplay ready to be filmed.

The tale is about caste, poverty, and opportunities in a democratic country like India. I just finished reading Isabel Wilkerson’s masterly survey of Caste in America in her latest book “ Caste: The origins of our discontents”. In one striking paragraph, she writes: “Caste is insidious and therefore powerful because it is not hatred, it is not necessarily personal. It is the worn grooves of comforting routines and unthinking expectations, patterns of a social order that have been in place for so long that it looks like the natural order of things” — a brilliant articulation of the problem of caste. It cannot be said better. The great achievement of Adiga’s novel is the honest vivisection of the class barriers in India, without any excuses, ratiocinations, or pretenses. The fact is India is still a caste-ridden society, and dreams and ambitions to grow and prosper, are still the privilege of a chosen few. The white Tiger cuts through the cheese, as it were, and reveals a society that is still ancient, parochial, patronizing, unsympathetic, and psychologically brutal in many ways, despite the economic and material progress of the country. The fact that caste and social stratification are still deeply ingrained in the psyche of the people and the great irony is those who practice it are mostly not even aware that they are perpetuating a system of inequity, handed over from generation to generation, making the whole idea even more appalling and unbelievable. The garb and nomenclature of slavery may have changed, but not the essence of it.

I don’t mean to generalize here, but walk into most middle or upper-middle-class or rich household in the metros, and you are sure to find a slew of workers bearing the title of servant maids, drivers, watchman, and many other such appellations, patiently toiling away for their master for a pittance. No questions asked, no complaints, but just pure, unadulterated loyalty or obedience to karma — is how the workers themselves would justify their appalling inequity when asked. They would say that it is the fruit of the good deeds in previous lives that landed them this current job. There is no question of rightfully asking for more money; after all, fixing a salary is the sole prerogative of the master, and it is at their discretion to decide if there should be a rise, or what responsibilities constitute their jobs after revision. There are no job descriptions for their roles. If there is one, it is open-ended and the master is free to tug in extra duties with a few loving words, or the thunder of a commandment. The average salary of a worker can range anywhere between 3K INR to 8K INR or more, depending on the household, the people, and a variety of other factors, but certainly not arrived at in any logical way. Salary is determined based on custom and precedence. If my neighbor pays 2000 INR for a certain set of jobs, then I pay no more or less. Any additional hundred rupee increment will be debated and pondered between family members, before granting it with all the necessary justification of this generous act of largesse on the part of the master. And, let’s not forget, these are masters who probably earn in Lakhs of rupees per month, and perhaps eagerly fight for their own appraisals and hikes as a matter of right.

Let’s return to “The white tiger”. The Tale is about the life of a young boy, Balram, a son of a Rikhshawallah, whose childhood is rendered meaningless by the feudal system of his village. Education is cut short by parental commitments, but the fire of ambition burns deep in Balram. He seeks a way out by moving to the town of Dhanbad as a car driver to the landlord’s son, who has just returned from America with his Indian-American wife. It is here, in Dhanbad and then In Delhi, the character of Balram Halwai begins to reflect the plight of millions of migrant Indians who seek to break free of their pattern of living and find social and financial betterment but find it increasingly difficult to do it rightfully and legally. The humiliation, the disregard, the utter lack of empathy from those they serve, and the abominable sense of “ownership” that the masters feel about their “servants” strike at the root of the problem. The sense that workers are property and should not have feelings or aspirations is brought out poignantly through daily situations that Adiga wonderfully constructs. But Balram is made of a different metal. He adheres to the rules of slavery but nurtures resentment and restlessness to break away from the chains. He observes and learns the patterns of his masters, understands their vulnerabilities, and begins to plot his own redemption. To a man crushed psychologically, financially, physically, and largely ignored by society — the conventional standards of right and wrong become blurred. It is his own emancipation he seeks, and that is exactly what Balram does. He commits the undoable act and flees to a different town under a different name and facade. In his new avatar as a social entrepreneur, he consciously puts into practice the moral code that was explicitly denied to him in his past, and lives in a state of opulent anonymity in a country of billions, trusting the inept legal and police system to provide him sufficient cover. In a way, Balram Halwai - as he claims in his monologues throughout the book — is a self-made man, if self-made means someone who has carved his own future given the circumstances of his life.

The plight of people like Balram was seen last year when millions of migrants workers in India were left without a home or a job due to the pandemic, and trekked their way hundreds of kilometers, across state boundaries with no future. What hopes, what dreams could they have carried with them as they starved and stumbled their way to a destination, which had no promise whatsoever? Balram represents this large segment of India’s population who attempt to seek a better future in the cities but find the same feudal patterns existing in people’s hearts under a sophisticated facade, but no different in quality from what they left behind in the backward villages.

The 2021 Netflix film based on the book manages to capture the essence of Adiga’s story. Ramin Bahraini, the director, and Arvind Adiga studied together at Colombia university and are good friends. Ramin, therefore, hasn’t taken too many cinematic liberties with the text. The film unfolds in the same cadence as presented in the book. Priyanka Chopra is one of the key producers, and also plays the role of Pinky, the wife of Ashok - the landlord’s son. I have always admired Priyanka for her talent. Of the generation of Miss worlds and universes that populated Bollywood during the nineties, Priyanka was the most talented ( some may argue Aishwarya holds that position, but I differ). The sheer range of her talent and the choice of characters on screen makes her one of the most beautiful and accomplished artists of her age. Priyanka has just released her autobiography. We know she can be very articulate, and I look forward to listening to her book on audible soon. My niece, who loved the film, believes that the extra fat could be due to hormonal treatments. I have to accept her verdict. Priyanka, however, dazzles in her brief role, as always.

The movie belongs to Adarsh Gourav, who plays the role of Balram Halwai. A good performance capturing almost everything the character in Adiga’s book thinks says and does. There is a look of studied innocence on his face that hides a steely determination behind, and Adarsh manages to shift between these two faces with ease when required. It required courage and audacity to accept such a character in the early stages of one's career. It is Un-glamorized, and in some respects — dirty. But Adarsh has done well by not merely choosing a difficult role to play, but playing the role to perfection. He reminds me of Nasruddin shah in his younger days working in films like Paar and others — which demanded stepping out of stereotypical hero roles. The rest of the cast is pedestrian and really does not contribute much to the story except as backdrops to the growing resentment in the hero.

Can you watch the movie without reading the book? The answer is yes. However, the movie can be better appreciated if you have read the book beforehand. There are certain nuances of Balram’s character that are beautifully delineated in the book, which have lost their emotional significance on the screen. That is the general problem with adaptations. There is a limit to how much of the inner dialogue or ruminations (so easily captured in prose) can be translated into visual images. But for the most part, the movie can stand in its own right and delivers the story with as much authenticity as a film can muster. Fortunately, for Director Ramin, Adiga’s prose is free-flowing, and converting it to a decent screenplay shouldn’t have posed many challenges.

In all, both the book and film are worth your time. Adiga won the booker twelve years ago and was well-received by the reading public at that time. However, this 2021 movie adaptation may give his book a renewed wave of popularity, and rightfully so.

Watch the movie first ( that’s easier) and read the book at your leisure.

God bless…

yours in mortality,

Bala