Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

by Violet Dear

When I woke up on November 27/2008 in the remote Himachal Pradesh town of Chamba, I was greeted by the news that every Indian dreads: late the previous night Pakistani terrorists had attacked Mumbai, entering 11 different locations around the city armed with AK47s and grenades, killing 200 people. Once I determined that my partner (working in Mumbai at the time) was safe, I sat down in shock.
Not in shock at the bombing and fires at the 5 star Taj.
Not in shock at the hostage situation at the Trident Hotel.
Not even at the shootings at a maternity hospital.
I was in the most shock over Leopold’s and the 10 shot dead on its premises.

Leopold’s Bar is an institution in Mumbai. It opened its doors in 1871 and is still a popular expat and backpacker hangout today, featured in every guide book and travel show made about crazy Bombay – The Maximum City. It hosts a mix of douchebag hippies on their way to party in Goa, young urban professionals here to celebrate merger completions and red nosed Western ex-patriots escaping their demons. But it has only been in the last few years that a pint at Leo’s has become a requisite stop for EVERY literate motherfucker arriving in Bollywood, thanks to Shantaram.

It’s one of those books that are always found in backpacker neighbourhoods in Asia – Shantaram is by far the book of choice for India. Every second traveler has a finger wedged in this 900 page monster, in whose pages Leopold’s is mentioned so often that it is practically a main character.

It is because of the backpacker connection that I thought I would hate this book, as backpackers generally have their head so far up their asses that they are willing to enjoy life’s most irritating experiences – ie: drum circles, hackey sacking, eachother…. But I didn’t – despite not believing a single word that was written on the page.

Shantaram is the auto-biographical fictionalized account of Gregory David Roberts (Lin), an escaped Aussie convict who arrives in India as a fleeing criminal, and ends up “White outside, Indian inside.” It is a pretty fantastical tale, filled with do-gooding in the slums and seedy underbelly-slithering as Lin becomes entrenched in this huge crazy putrid beautiful city.

Does my doubt of Roberts account affect the enjoyment? At times, yes – when I can’t help but roll my eyes as his quick thinking saves yet another life – call it “A Million Little Pieces” syndrome.

Regardless of my cynicism, the first half of the book is a joyous experience, a page turner that tugged every emotion I have while making me laugh out loud. Laugh hard out loud – which is rare for me from anything other than good conversation with my closest friends. Roberts is an expert at painting a vivid picture – even before arriving in Mumbai I felt like I knew the city intimately. Prabaker (Prabhu) is Lin’s guide and friend and he is equal parts heart and humour – the narrative suffers accordingly when he is out of the picture for too long.

Lin’s experiences with Indian culture are also spot on – Roberts manages to pinpoint both the irritating and the amazing without veering into condescension, which once here and confronted by the oft-illogical way this country operates can be hard to do. There is a palpable appreciation and respect for the suffering of the many abject poor who live in this city.

On the other hand, when in the second half of the book Lin heads to Afghanistan to fight with the mujahadeen and then delves further into organized crime I felt the narrative was a bit rehearsed, a cross between Mr. Nice and an Indian version of the Sopranos (The Hijras?) The last third of the book is befallen by a plague of serious introspection that becomes a bit tedious – we are forced to revisit the same issues again and again as Lin struggles with unrequited love and family dysfunction. These are interesting subjects no doubt, but I simply didn’t care about them in this book – the action surrounding Lin was much more enthralling. All in all, Shantaram would have benefited had Roberts learned to self edit – 700 pages would have sufficed quite nicely.

Despite the fact that the narrative is a bit muddled at times, what is obvious is that Roberts genuinely loves India and its people, and he thinks that Leopold’s Bar is a perfect metaphor for the mix of East and West that is Mumbai. Apparently this was also obvious to the Pakistani terrorists.

As for Lin’s improbable life in India? Perhaps the media blitz that is sure to occur the minute the film version (starring Johnny Depp) is released will uncover definitively what here is true and what is embellished – but until then I remain convinced that Roberts is either a saint or a good liar.

He wove a very good tale either way.

Order Shantaram on Amazon

Violet Dear can often be found walking on all four corners of the Earth and writes a badass travel blog detailing her adventures. We were particular moved by her accounts of Tuol Seng Prison in Cambodia.

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