The White Tiger

You never ask for more money—I know that other drivers are constantly asking for overtime and insurance: but you never say a word. You’re old-fashioned. I like that. We’ll take care of all the wedding expenses, Balram. Here, Balram—here’s…here’s…”
    I saw him take out a thousand-rupee note, put it back, then take out a five-hundred, then put it back, and take out a hundred.
    Which he handed to me.
    “I assume you’ll be going to Laxmangarh for the wedding, Balram?”
    “…”
    “Maybe I’ll come along,” he said. “I really like that place. I want to go up to that fort this time. How long ago was it that we were there, Balram? Six months ago?”
    “Longer than that, sir.” I counted the months off on my fingers. “Eight months ago.”
    He counted the months too. “Why, you’re right.”
    I folded the hundred-rupee note and put it in my chest pocket.
    “Thank you for this, sir,” I said, and turned the ignition key.
    Early next morning I walked out of Buckingham B onto the main road. Though it was a brand-new building, there was already a leak in the drainage pipe, and a large patch of sewage darkened the earth outside the compound wall; three stray dogs were sleeping on the wet patch. A good way to cool off—summer had started, and even the nights were unpleasant now.
    The three mutts seemed so comfortable. I got down on my haunches and watched them.
    I put my finger on the dark sewage puddle. So cool, so tempting.
    One of the stray dogs woke up; it yawned and showed me all its canines. It sprang to its feet. The other mutts got up too. A growling began, and a scratching of the wet mud, and a showing of teeth—they wanted me off their kingdom.
    I surrendered the sewage to the dogs and headed for the malls. None of them had opened yet. I sat down on the pavement.
    No idea where to go next.
    That’s when I saw the small dark marks in the pavement.
    Paw prints.
    An animal had walked on the concrete before it had set.
    I got up and walked after the animal. The space between the prints grew wider—the animal had begun to sprint.
    I walked faster.
    The paw prints of the accelerating animal went all the way around the malls, and then behind the malls, and at last, where the pavement ended and raw earth began, they vanished.
    Here I had to stop, because five feet ahead of me a row of men squatted on the ground in a nearly perfect straight line. They were defecating.
    I was at the slum.
    Vitiligo-Lips had told me about this place—all these construction workers who were building the malls and giant apartment buildings lived here. They were from a village in the Darkness; they did not like outsiders coming in, except for those who had business after dark. The men were defecating in the open like a defensive wall in front of the slum: making a line that no respectable human should cross. The wind wafted the stench of fresh shit toward me.
    I found a gap in the line of the defecators. They squatted there like stone statues.
    These people were building homes for the rich, but they lived in tents covered with blue tarpaulin sheets, and partitioned into lanes by lines of sewage. It was even worse than Laxmangarh. I picked my way around the broken glass, wire, and shattered tube lights. The stench of feces was replaced by the stronger stench of industrial sewage. The slum ended in an open sewer—a small river of black water went sluggishly past me, bubbles sparkling in it and little circles spreading on its surface. Two children were splashing about in the black water.
    A hundred-rupee note came flying down into the river. The children watched with open mouths, and then ran to catch the note before it floated away. One child caught it, and then the other began hitting him, and they began to tumble about in the black water as they fought.
    I went back to the line of crappers. One of them had finished up and left, but his position had been filled.
    I squatted down with them and grinned.
    A few immediately turned their eyes away: they were still human beings. Some stared at me blankly as if shame no longer mattered to them. And then I saw one fellow, a thin black fellow, was grinning back at me, as if he were proud of what he was doing.
    Still crouching, I moved myself over to where he was squatting and faced him. I smiled as wide as I could. So did he.
    He began to laugh—and I began to laugh—and then all the crappers laughed together.
    “We’ll take care of your wedding expenses,” I