Selection Day by Aravind Adiga
I finished Selection Day and I’m still thinking about it. Mainly because after I finished the book, I realised that there’s a Netflix series based on it. But I’ll get to that later. I have notes here and there, but this is my attempt at consolidating it all in one place, so this is going to be messy.
Selection Day is Adiga’s third book after White Tiger and Last Man in Tower. I’ve read all three, and in order too, so I feel like I have many things to say. I feel like his writing is getting bolder book by book.
First of all, the prologue blew me away. It was one of those things where I didn’t know what was happening but also exactly knew the vibe that was coming at me, and I liked it. Also, how often do you see a Kannada word in an English novel? Kattale. Took me by surprise.
Speaking of surprises, there were a whole bunch of them in this book. The biggest one was probably the sexuality of the main character, Manju. (There are a few main characters, but he’s my main character.) I watched a 40-minute interview of Adiga talking about sexuality in passing, but I didn’t realise it was such a big part of the book. If it had been me, I’d have talked a lot more about that. Definitely one of the most unique things I’ve read in an Indian novel.
Another surprise: The dad does an “examination” every day after practice, which includes the boys stripping naked and him examining their penises and foreskins for infection. The dad’s nuts, as you can tell. It’s epic. The Netflix series chickens out at that. They make the dad sit on a chair with a notepad and the boys stand in attention and tell him their stats and scores for the day. Lame. Let him examine their penises! No, it’s understandable: it’s a bit much.
The boldness of the writing, yes. I can quote whole sections. But I won’t. I especially liked this shockingly accurate description of what a South Indian temple smells like:
Camphor, crushed marigold, wet stone and stale coconut combine to produce the body odour of a South Indian god, an odour not always pleasant, but always divine.
The character of Anand Mehta is also brilliant. He reminds of a Sanjay Rajoura gone wrong. (I’m not sure if that makes sense.) I was very disappointed with what they did with his character in the show. They made him some good-looking 30-year old who gets thrown off a building by gangsters. What? (Listen, I’m not going to apologise for the spoilers. Why are you even reading this.)
There are a lot of references that you’ll only get if you’re Indian and you’ve been in India for a while. Kissan Mixed Fruit Jam. Mogambo khush hua. Phixed and phraud. Puncher Shop. The poster/arch/thing with the floating heads of local goondas and politicians. How do you get any of that if you’re not Indian? I’m not sure what to make of this. I LOVE it because I feel good about getting the references and there’s some nostalgia involved, obviously. But what about the people - even the Indians - who don’t get it. What about the ones I don’t get? Surely, there would be some. If I read a book set in Africa, am I just supposed to not get them?
One of the things that I’ve resigned myself to is writing Indian stuff. Stories set in India, revolving around India. But now that I’m not in India (and won’t be for a while) I’m worried I will lose out on all the pop culture references. What was it like to live in India during the pandemic? I can never, ever write about that. And I can’t help but feel a sense of loss.
Some random highlights:
Like many middle-class Indians of his age, Tommy Sir could be curious only by being hostile.
Revenge is the capitalism of the poor.
(They rightfully rally around this sentence in the Netflix show.)
I liked the way the book ended. The book consists of two parts: Part One is them being teenagers and it’s about that year where Manju goes to England, comes back and Selection Day finally happens. 300 pages. Part Two is a scene of the two brothers meeting 11 years after that Selection Day. Not even 20 pages. I have to admit, I wanted a little more from Part Two than that. But I get it.
