Shantaram -- by Gregory David Roberts
I arrived at this tome long after the missives had piled up either anointing it or debasing it. Reading Shantaram is not just a journey or a launch to a faraway place, it is a committed residence at an exhilarating vantage point. The mind that I followed, the voice that I listened to, the heart that I bled for, the shoulder that I leaned on, the spirit that I inhabited, the humiliation I shared, the despair I felt, the joy I embraced, the exhaustion of letdowns I endured as my own, the anger I expressed for his unlearned mistakes as if he were my own were all palpably real. Yes, that was the most remarkable thing, the unmistakable feeling like the narrator were my own. The kinship I felt with the narrator, I have never felt in any other book I have ever read.
A dreamer soul beats at every turn and save for a few self-destructive turns, the narrator and central character always forges ahead and never shies from life. The way he treasures the little gestures of people and the way he celebrates the dignity of the poor has never been illustrated better by anybody in any other art form in my experience. The majesty of the poor is not from their inability to better their situation but at their refusal to betray their souls to achieve it. This gem of a perception never dawned on me until this novel. And like the best of art, it is beautifully evoked without any machinations.
At times a novel about crime, at times a holy book, frequently an ode to love, and always a celebration of the human connection, this novel shows how best to immerse yourself in a culture, in a land, in an environment not naturally your own. While the author and narrator are Australian, and there’s no doubt that their souls will light up the darkest of human settlements, they certainly get the Indian way.
I could write more about the plot, the narrative, the characters, but why? Just experience it. The plot takes you places most lives will never tread, but then the narrator lives no ordinary life. Similarities and differences between the narrator and the author have been the subject of many critics of the novel. To those critics, I say, read it as a novel and let the truth of it settle in you. Do not settle your mind on the truth of the author’s personal experience. Like a magnificent painting with many focal points requiring many studious visits, the variety of characters that leap off the page is arresting. To me it was more than a book read, it was like a life lived.
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