The White Tiger أو النمر الأبيض
رواية The White Tiger تستحق القراءة والاشادة بالفعل. لم اكمل الرواية الى الآن ولكن اسلوب السخرية اللاذع او الكوميديا السوداء التي يستعملها الكاتب لوصف و مقارنة الطبقات المعدمة في بلده بطبقة النبلاء , وتلاعبه على اوتار هذه التناقضات تجبر القارىء على المتابعة.
من نماذج سخريته الغير مالوفة وصفه لحرق جثة والدته:
As the fire ate away the silk, a pale foot jerked out, like a living thing; the toes, which were melting in the heat, began to curl up, offering resistance to what was being done to them. Kusum shoved the foot into the fire, but it would not burn. My heart began to race. My mother wasn't going to let them destroy her.
Early morning. The roosters are going mad throughout the village. A hand stirs me awake…I shake my brother Kishan's legs off my tummy, move my cousin Pappu's palm out of my hair, and extricate myself from the sleepers.
(For this land, India, has never been free. First the Muslims, then the British bossed us around. In 1947 the British left, but only a moron would think that we became free then.)
Once you walk into the house, you will see—if any of them are still living, after what I did—the women. Working in the courtyard. My aunts and cousins and Kusum, my granny. One of them preparing the meal for the buffalo; one winnowing rice; one squatting down, looking through the scalp of another woman, squeezing the ticks to death between her fingers. Every now and then they stop their work, because it is time to fight. This means throwing metal vessels at one another, or pulling each other's hair, and then making up, by putting kisses on their palms and pressing them to the others' cheeks.
A rich man's body is like a premium cotton pillow, white and soft and blank. Ours are different. My father's spine was a knotted rope, the kind that women use in villages to pull water from wells
وهذه من احدى اجمل السخريات في الكتاب:
It is an ancient and venerated custom of people in my country to start a story by praying to a Higher Power. I guess, Your Excellency, that I too 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 36,000,004 divine arses for me to choose from.
مودتي
(تم إجراء آخر تعديل على هذه المشاركة: 12-14-2008, 11:34 PM بواسطة الحر.)
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