Introducing a major literary talent, The White Tiger offers a story of coruscating wit, blistering suspense, and questionable morality, told by the most volatile, captivating, and utterly inimitable narrator that this millennium has yet seen. Balram Halwai is a complicated man. Servant.... read more
A book of coated with black humour and covered with suspense
This is a story about life in India and climbing the social and business ladder. This is not something that is done frequently. You watch the transformation of Balram and the sacrifices he...
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(warning: may contain spoilers)
“And then, thanks to all those politicians in Delhi, on the fifteenth of August, 1947 - the day the British left - the cages had been let open; and the animals had attacked and ripped each other apart and jungle law replaced zoo law. Those that were the most ferocious, the hungriest, had eaten everyone else up, and grown big bellies. That was all that counted now, the size of your belly. It didn’t matter whether you were a woman, or a Muslim, or an untouchable: anyone with a belly could rise up.”Balram
“Electricity poles - defunct.Water tap - broken.Children - too lean and short for their age, and with oversized heads from which vivid eyes shine, like the guilty conscience of the government of India.”Balram
“"What a fucking joke."”Balram, others
“Part of me wanted to get up and apologize to him right there and say, You go and be a driver in Delhi. You never did anything to hurt me. Forgive me, brother.I turned to the other side, farted, and went back to sleep.”Balram
“Iqbal, who is one of the four best poets in the world - the others being Rumi, Mirza Ghalib, and a fourth fellow, also a Muslim, whose name I’ve forgotten - has written a poem where he says this about slaves: They remain slaves because they can’t see what is beautiful in this world.Even as a boy I could see what was beautiful in the world: I was destined not to stay a slave.”
“Standing around books, even books in a foreign language, you feel a kind of electricity buzzing up towards you. It just happens, the way you get erect around girls wearing tight jeans. Except what happens here is that your brain starts to hum.”
“Open our skulls, look in with a penlight, and you’ll find an odd museum of ideas: sentences of history or mathematics remembered from school textbooks, sentences about politics read in a newspaper while waiting for someone to come to an office, triangles and pyramids seen on the torn pages of the old geometry textbooks which every tea shop in this country uses to wrap its snacks in, bits of All India Radio news bulletins, things that drop into your mind, like lizards from the ceiling, in the half-hour before falling asleep - all these ideas, half formed and half digested and half correct, mix up with other half-cooked ideas in your head, and I guess these half-formed ideas bugger one another, and make more half-formed ideas, and this is what you act on and live with.”
“I am not an original thinker, but I am an original listener.”
“I came to Dhanbad after my father’s death. He had been ill for some time, but there is no hospital in Laxmangarh, although there are three different foundation stones for a hospital, laid by three different politicians before three different elections.”
“The dreams of the rich, and the dreams of the poor—they never overlap, do they?”
They remain slaves because they can’t see what is beautiful in this world.Highlighted by 132 Kindle customers
Do we loathe our masters behind a facade of love—or do we love them behind a facade of loathing?Highlighted by 111 Kindle customers
Never before in human history have so few owed so much to so many, Mr. Jiabao. A handful of men in this country have trained the remaining 99.9 percent—as strong, as talented, as intelligent in every way—to exist in perpetual servitude; a servitude so strong that you can put the key of his emancipation in a man’s hands and he will throw it back at you with a curse.Highlighted by 103 Kindle customers
In any jungle, what is the rarest of animals— the creature that comes along only once in a generation?” I thought about it and said: “The white tiger.” “That’s what you are, in this jungle.”Highlighted by 100 Kindle customers
Iqbal, that great poet, was so right. The moment you recognize what is beautiful in this world, you stop being a slave.Highlighted by 95 Kindle customers
The story of a poor man’s life is written on his body, in a sharp pen.Highlighted by 92 Kindle customers
To sum up—in the old days there were one thousand castes and destinies in India. These days, there are just two castes: Men with Big Bellies, and Men with Small Bellies. And only two destinies: eat—or get eaten up.Highlighted by 92 Kindle customers
Let animals live like animals; let humans live like humans. That’s my whole philosophy in a sentence.Highlighted by 77 Kindle customers
Like eunuchs discussing the Kama Sutra, the voters discuss the elections in Laxmangarh.Highlighted by 68 Kindle customers
The Rooster Coop was doing its work. Servants have to keep other servants from becoming innovators, experimenters, or entrepreneurs. Yes, that’s the sad truth, Mr. Premier. The coop is guarded from the inside.Highlighted by 59 Kindle customers
The First Night
The Second Night
The Fourth Morning
The Fourth Night
The Fifth Night
The Sixth Morning
The Sixth Night
The Seventh Night
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