Aravind Adiga - The White Tiger

The White Tiger

A Novel

Aravind Adiga

The First Night For the Deskof:

His Excellency Wen Jiabao

The Premier's Office

Beijing

Capital of the Freedom-loving Nation of China

From the Desk of:

"The White Tiger"

A Thinking Man

And an Entrepreneur

Living in the world's center of Technology andOutsourcing

Electronics City Phase 1 (just off Hosur Main Road)

Bangalore, India

Mr. Premier,

Sir.

Neither you nor I speak English, but there are somethings that can be said only in English.

My ex-employer the late Mr. Ashok's ex-wife, Pinky Madam, taught me one of these things; and at 11:32 p.m. today,which was about ten minutes ago, when the lady on All India Radio announced,"Premier Jiabao is coming to Bangalore nextweek," I said that thing at once.

In fact, each time when great men like you visit ourcountry I say it. Not that I have anything against great men. In my way, sir, Iconsider myself one of your kind . But whenever I seeour prime minister and his distinguished sidekicks drive to the airport inblack cars and get out and do namastes beforeyou in front of a TV camera and tell you about how moral and saintly India is,I have to say that thing in English.

Now, you are visiting us this week, YourExcellency, aren't you? All India Radio is usually reliable in these matters.

That was a joke, sir.

Ha!

That's why I want to ask you directly if you really arecoming to Bangalore. Because if you are, I have somethingimportant to tell you. See, the lady on the radio said, "Mr. Jiabao is on a mission: he wants to know the truth aboutBangalore."

My blood froze. If anyone knows the truth aboutBangalore, it's me.

Next, the lady announcer said, "Mr. Jiabao wants to meet some Indian entrepreneurs and hear thestory of their success from their own lips."

She explained a little. Apparently, sir, you Chinese arefar ahead of us in every respect, except that you don't have entrepreneurs. Andour nation, though it has no drinking water, electricity, sewage system, publictransportation, sense of hygiene, discipline, courtesy, or punctuality, doeshave entrepreneurs. Thousands and thousands of them. Especially in the field of technology. And theseentrepreneurswe entrepreneurshave set up all these outsourcingcompanies that virtually run America now.

You hope to learn how to make a few Chineseentrepreneurs, that's why you're visiting. That made me feel good. But then it hit me that in keeping with international protocol, the primeminister and foreign minister of my country will meet you at the airport withgarlands, small take-home sandalwood statues of Gandhi, and a booklet full of information about India's past, present, andfuture.

That's when I had to say that thing in English,sir. Out loud.

That was at 11:37 p.m. Five minutes ago.

I don't just swear and curse. I'm a man of action andchange. I decided right there and then to start dictating a letter to you.

To begin with, let me tell you of my great admiration forthe ancient nation of China.

I read about your history in a book, Exciting Tales ofthe Exotic East, that I found on the pavement, back in the days when I was trying to get someenlightenment by going through the Sunday secondhand book market in Old Delhi.This book was mostly about pirates and gold in Hong Kong, but it did have someuseful background information too: it said that you Chinese are great lovers offreedom and individual liberty. The British tried to make you their servants,but you never let them do it. I admire that, Mr. Premier.

I was a servant once, you see.

Only three nations have never let themselves be ruled byforeigners: China, Afghanistan, and Abyssinia. These are the only three nationsI admire.

Out of respect for the love of liberty shown by theChinese people, and also in the belief that the future of the world lies withthe yellow man and the brown man now that our erstwhile master, thewhite-skinned man, has wasted himself through buggery, cell phone usage, anddrug abuse, I offer to tell you, free of charge, the truth about Bangalore.

By telling you my life's story.

See, when you come to Bangalore, and stop at a trafficlight, some boy will run up to your car and knock on your window, while holdingup a bootlegged copy of an American business book, wrapped carefully incellophane and with a title like:

TEN SECRETS OF BUSINESS SUCCESS!

or

BECOME AN ENTREPRENEUR IN SEVEN EASY DAYS!

Don't waste your money on those American books. They'reso yesterday.

I am tomorrow.

In terms of formal education, I may be somewhat lacking.I never finished school, to put it bluntly. Who cares! I haven't read manybooks, but I've read all the ones that count. I know by heart the works of thefour greatest poets of all time Rumi , Iqbal , Mirza Ghalib ,and a fourth fellow whose name I forget. I am a self-taught entrepreneur.

That's the best kind there is, trust me.

When you have heard the story of how I got to Bangaloreand became one of its most successful (though probably least known)businessmen, you will know everything there is to know about howentrepreneurship is born, nurtured, and developed in this, the glorioustwenty-first century of man.

The century, more specifically, of the yellowand the brown man.

You and me.

It is a little before midnight now, Mr. Jiabao . A good time for me to talk.

I stay up the whole night, Your Excellency. And there'sno one else in this 150-square-foot office of mine. Just meand a chandelier above me, although the chandelier has a personality of itsown. It's a huge thing, full of small diamond-shaped glass pieces, justlike the ones they used to show in the films of the 1970s. Though it's coolenough at night in Bangalore, I've put a midget fan five cobwebby bladesrightabove the chandelier. See, when it turns, the small blades chop up thechandelier's light and fling it across the room. Just like the strobe light atthe best discos in Bangalore.

This is the only 150-square-foot space in Bangalore withits own chandelier! But it's still a hole in the wall, and I sit here the wholenight.

The entrepreneur's curse. He has to watch his business all the time.

Now I'm going to turn the midget fan on, so that thechandelier's light spins around the room.

I am relaxed, sir. As I hope you are.

Let us begin.

Before we do that, sir, the phrase in English that I learned from my ex-employer the late Mr. Ashok's ex-wife Pinky Madam is:

What a fucking joke.

* * *

Now, I no longer watch Hindi filmson principlebut backin the days when I used to, just before the movie got started, either thenumber 786 would flash against the black screenthe Muslims think this is amagic number that represents their godor else you would see the picture of awoman in a white sari with gold sovereigns dripping down to her feet, which isthe goddess Lakshmi , of the Hindus.

It is an ancient and venerated custom of people in mycountry to start a story by praying to a Higher Power.

I guess, Your Excellency, that Itoo should start off by kissing some god's arse .

Which god's arse ,though? There are so many choices.

See, the Muslims have one god.

The Christians have three gods.

And we Hindus have 36,000,000 gods.

Making a grand total of 36,000,004divine arses for me to choose from.

Now, there are some, and I don't just mean Communistslike you, but thinking men of all political parties, who think that not many ofthese gods actually exist. Some believe that none of them exist. There's just us and an ocean of darkness around us. I'm nophilosopher or poet, how would I know the truth? It's true that all these godsseem to do awfully little workmuch like our politiciansand yet keep winningreelection to their golden thrones in heaven, year after year. That's not tosay that I don't respect them, Mr. Premier! Don't you ever let that blasphemousidea into your yellow skull. My country is the kindwhere it pays to play it both ways: the Indian entrepreneur has to be straightand crooked, mocking and believing, sly and sincere, at the same time.