Shantaram

I finally finished reading Shantaram. I say 'finally' because I am a slow reader and the novel runs into over 900 pages.

Shantaram, which came out in 2004, is penned by Gregory David Roberts, an Australian who was serving a jail sentence for armed robbery in his country. He escaped from jail, landed in Mumbai, spent several years there as part of the local underworld, was recaptured in Germany and, after serving the remaining sentence, got his novel published. He needed to write it thrice because his captors destroyed the first two versions when they found out. Roberts has since made Mumbai his home.

The novel is an epic, along the lines of,say, Gone With the Wind. And it's more than a novel, it's a soul-stirring experience. To think that a man could go through all that, retain his humanity and find the reserves to write a splendid novel! Roberts' mother taught him to appreciate literature and he spent his time in the Australian jail devouring first-rate fiction. It shows in his own writing.

It's impossible to capture the splendours of the novel in one short post. Roberts has said in interviews that the events are real, only the narrative is fictional. There is a charming account of Roberts' six month stay in a village in Maharashtra's interior where he is given his Indian name, Shantaram; a moving description of life in the slum near Cuffe Parade where the locals adopted him as one of their own; great encounters with Abdel Kader Khan, the underworld don, who combines a fine command of the English language with a fondness for philosophical speculation (every week, he and his comarades meet for lofty discussions); Roberts' embroilment in the war in Afghanistan when he accompanies Khan and others on a journey through Pakistan to arm the Taliban in their war against the Russians; and Roberts' falling in love with Karla Saaranen, a mysterious, beautiful and thoughtful American lady of European extraction... (you have to read the novel to know what the mystery is about).

Some of the scenes in the novel will stay with me for a lifetime. On one occasion, Roberts and a small boy (Khan's nephew entrusted to Roberts in order to experience slum life) find themselves attacked by a whole horde of dogs in the slum at night time. They try to fend off the pack with bamboo sticks but it's a losing battle. Then, Kader Khan's bodyguard materialises out nowhere, iron rod in hand. He's a trained martial arts specialist. He leaps into the air in true martial art fashion, swirls and strikes. Two dogs have their brains shattered. The entire pack, stunned at somebody taking the attack to them where Roberts was merely defending, flees.... Roberts is saved.

Then, there is the Colaba police station where Roberts is held for a few weeks. The lucky ones are those behind bars. The others are herded into a small corner leading to a toilet where shit is overflowing.... the weakest have to stand for days in a heap of shit until they drop dead....

One day, the detainees are led out and taken to Arthur Road jail (home to Sanjay Dutt for a while). Roberts is motioned to a corridor. There, the convict warders are waiting with lathis.... Roberts has to run the gauntlet but choses to walk in a gesture of defiance as the blows rain on him. He lands in his cell bloodied. The jail itself is hell with the warders showering blows on inmates at will. It makes your blood boil to think this is what the Indian system has been reduced to. One gets a sense of the daily brutality visited on the weak and the defenceless by the Indian law enforcement system.

What, one wonders, is the IPS brass doing? The only thing you could say in extenuation is that things are not much better in jails elsewhere. In his jail in Melbourne, Roberts was subject to the same kinds of senseless beating and cruelty. Recently, during the G-20 meet, the cops in UK, considered to be more civilised than the rest, were flailing their batons at harmless protesters. I guess it goes with the uniform, the sense of power it gives you. The power to ill-treat and also the power to extort huge sums of money.

The Afghan expedition is a story in itself. It takes weeks of trekking through the mountains to get there, with a maniac as escort. This man has only one mission in life and that is to catch hold of Russian soldiers and torture the life out of them. The return journey is a horror, with Roberts and a few survivors holed up in a snowy cave with no food or water for several days. Roberts makes it to a hospital in Pakistan and then finds his way back to Mumbai. With his heroic role in the Afghan expedition, he becomes a privileged member of the gang, specialising in counterfeit passports. He makes good money out of it.....

I won't narrate more. I will leave you to find out for yourself. Shantaram is being made into a film by Mara Nair. I can't wait to see it (I understand work on the film has stalled because of some problems in Hollywood). Let me just say that the book leaves you shaken and stirrred, to use a famous James Bond line.

I had a post some time back on another book on Mumbai, Suketu Mehta's Maximum City. That is also about the seamy side of Mumbai. But the philosophical approaches of the two books are very different. Mehta is appalled and outraged at the violence and corruption that lie beneath the surface in Mumbai.

Roberts writes with empathy and affection for those on the seamy side. There is understanding and love, an underlying humanity that comes from having experienced the worst of it. Roberts is now off smoking, drinks and drugs and leads the life of a celebrity in Mumbai. I doff my hat in humble salute to the man.