It was much before all the fan fare and the hoopla that surrounded it, when I watched the movie "Slumdog Millionaire". It was an accidental discovery on a sleepy Saturday afternoon. I liked it for its cinematic brilliance and the good story telling etc. The emphasis is on "story". I never paid much attention to the opposition and negative criticism it got especially in the Indian media mostly because I never regarded it anything more than what it was... "India as seen by the western world through a prism of their own liking". And frankly, in my opinion a mature culture should not be too concerned about how ignorant foreigners perceive it.
When the kids from the slums that acted in the movie were flown to the Kodak arena alongside the likes of Bollywood bigwigs like Irfan Khan (I refuse to misspell his name) and Anil Kapoor to be paraded in front of the western media it touched a chord but it never stirred it too much. I was happy for all of them to be making something good out of their nothing through decent means.
After a while I chanced on the Man-Booker prize winning novel by "Indian" author Arvind Adiga: "The White Tiger". It has been bestowed to be the best novel of the year by a literary society famed for its recommendations throughout the English readership regardless of country or culture ever since one could remember.
The novel had the bearings of a brilliant one too when I started reading it. But as I proceeded with chapter after chapter, a sense of the surreal began to grip me. For me again, the emphasis is on "story". I wont go into too much of the details of the novel simply because it would be in bad taste for people who are yet to read it (personally though I recommend "The House of Blue Mangoes" anytime over it). But while reading it I felt that I was reading a foreigner's novel about how he perceives India. The only thing Indian about the author that I could feel was his name. The novel talks about "The Darkness" in the eastern part of India, feudal lords who like to "dip their beaks" into men and the vast disconnect between the Delhis, Bangalores and Bihars of India. I am not against the artistic liberty that the author takes with his protagonist who seems to have magically learnt not only to speak good English all by himself and have mastered the use of internet to check out pictures of Kim Bassinger, how people started calling him the "White Tiger" when I know it for a fact that there is no such term used for praising and how childish it sounds when spoken in Hindi. But all this while he remains ignorant of all things Indian. Nor am I against the author for having no sense of reality about how democracy in India functions, where the Lalus and Paswans from the alleged "Darkness" fail miserably in elections.
Overall the novel is not a showcase piece of art neither from the literary perspective nor from the story telling one. It has the masala aspect in plenty... in how the main character decides to write a letter not to Bush/Obama or Brown/Blair but to the Chinese premier... how he works in Bangalore for the offshoring call center business... and how he has to treat Muslims with the same alienness that the western world treats the Taliban and Al Qaeda, by calling them "Muslim Uncle".
This got me thinking about what does this novel offer over all the other contenders of the prize this year to have won. And my feeling after a cursory analysis is that it appeases the western notion of how India is. Never mind the author was brought up in western countries and its not his fault that he has the same notions about India. Its the appraisal with the tones of "look how India speaks about itself, so it must be true" that I have issues with.
The only underlying theme of the novel is that to be successful in India you have to be either a crook or a thug, more corrupt and ruthless than others. If you are not, then "India" will make you into a unrepentant one sooner or later. It will corrupt your soul and you'll be proud to have done what you have in order to just plainly succeed. Just as the movie has the hero mercilessly tortured by the police for all but telling the truth, and how the other "successful" kid goes on to become a contract killer.
People who have read the novel may praise it for the "writing style" and may not take it to their hearts when another India bashing story is heralded as the greatest thing to come out of the land of the Tigers. But I am just appalled at how much do we take it from others and how much more we throw at ourselves. If the Oscars approve it must be good. If you have the Booker then you have to be better than others.
Perhaps we need another Mahatma to unite and stand with each other to voice our collective opinion, but until then at least we can stop owning up to the Oscars and the Bookers in return to being called progressive.
When the kids from the slums that acted in the movie were flown to the Kodak arena alongside the likes of Bollywood bigwigs like Irfan Khan (I refuse to misspell his name) and Anil Kapoor to be paraded in front of the western media it touched a chord but it never stirred it too much. I was happy for all of them to be making something good out of their nothing through decent means.
After a while I chanced on the Man-Booker prize winning novel by "Indian" author Arvind Adiga: "The White Tiger". It has been bestowed to be the best novel of the year by a literary society famed for its recommendations throughout the English readership regardless of country or culture ever since one could remember.
The novel had the bearings of a brilliant one too when I started reading it. But as I proceeded with chapter after chapter, a sense of the surreal began to grip me. For me again, the emphasis is on "story". I wont go into too much of the details of the novel simply because it would be in bad taste for people who are yet to read it (personally though I recommend "The House of Blue Mangoes" anytime over it). But while reading it I felt that I was reading a foreigner's novel about how he perceives India. The only thing Indian about the author that I could feel was his name. The novel talks about "The Darkness" in the eastern part of India, feudal lords who like to "dip their beaks" into men and the vast disconnect between the Delhis, Bangalores and Bihars of India. I am not against the artistic liberty that the author takes with his protagonist who seems to have magically learnt not only to speak good English all by himself and have mastered the use of internet to check out pictures of Kim Bassinger, how people started calling him the "White Tiger" when I know it for a fact that there is no such term used for praising and how childish it sounds when spoken in Hindi. But all this while he remains ignorant of all things Indian. Nor am I against the author for having no sense of reality about how democracy in India functions, where the Lalus and Paswans from the alleged "Darkness" fail miserably in elections.
Overall the novel is not a showcase piece of art neither from the literary perspective nor from the story telling one. It has the masala aspect in plenty... in how the main character decides to write a letter not to Bush/Obama or Brown/Blair but to the Chinese premier... how he works in Bangalore for the offshoring call center business... and how he has to treat Muslims with the same alienness that the western world treats the Taliban and Al Qaeda, by calling them "Muslim Uncle".
This got me thinking about what does this novel offer over all the other contenders of the prize this year to have won. And my feeling after a cursory analysis is that it appeases the western notion of how India is. Never mind the author was brought up in western countries and its not his fault that he has the same notions about India. Its the appraisal with the tones of "look how India speaks about itself, so it must be true" that I have issues with.
The only underlying theme of the novel is that to be successful in India you have to be either a crook or a thug, more corrupt and ruthless than others. If you are not, then "India" will make you into a unrepentant one sooner or later. It will corrupt your soul and you'll be proud to have done what you have in order to just plainly succeed. Just as the movie has the hero mercilessly tortured by the police for all but telling the truth, and how the other "successful" kid goes on to become a contract killer.
People who have read the novel may praise it for the "writing style" and may not take it to their hearts when another India bashing story is heralded as the greatest thing to come out of the land of the Tigers. But I am just appalled at how much do we take it from others and how much more we throw at ourselves. If the Oscars approve it must be good. If you have the Booker then you have to be better than others.
Perhaps we need another Mahatma to unite and stand with each other to voice our collective opinion, but until then at least we can stop owning up to the Oscars and the Bookers in return to being called progressive.
