To begin this album of mystery and intrigue, of murder and deceit, money and melody, I offer two passages from The White Tiger by Aravinda Adiga:
“Balram, play Sting again. It’s the best music for a traffic jam.”
“This driver knows who Sting is?”
“Sure, he knows it’s my favorite CD. Show us the Sting CD, Balram. See—see—he knows Sting!”
I put Sting into the player.
Ten minutes passed, and the cars had not moved an inch. I replaced Sting with Enya; I replaced Enya with Eminem. Vendors came to the car with baskets of oranges, or strawberries in plastic cases, or newspapers, or novels in English. The beggars were on the attack too. One beggar was carrying another on his shoulders and going from car to car; the fellow on his shoulders had no legs below his knees. They went together from car to car, the fellow tapping or scratching on the windows of the car.” (204-205)
If you can get past the indignity towards Ashok’s condescending pride that Balram can recognize Sting, then there is something else waiting: Balram’s musical score. The soundtrack to Balram’s dreams. While he is instructed to play Sting at first, he then intentionally chooses two more: Enya and Eminem. Significant? We’ll see. Below, we read that right after Balram confirms he is carrying a load of Ashok’s cash and right before he commits the grisly murder of his master, it is he who desires to listen to Sting. Good servant or auditory courage?
The elevator was coming up fast. It was about to reach the eleventh floor.
I turned and ran.
Kicking the door of the fire escape open, hurrying down two flights of dark stairs, I clicked the red bag open.
All at once, the entire stairwell filled up with dazzling light—the kind that only money can give out.
Twenty-five minutes later, when Mr. Ashok came down, punching the buttons on his cell phone, he found the red bag waiting for him on his seat. I held up a shining silver disk as he closed the door.
“Shall I play Sting for you, sir?”
You can hear it in his voice, can’t you? It has lost the innocence and naïveté that defined his speech earlier in the novel. Almost creepy. He wants to not just hear Sting, but hear that one song about the poor man who steals from a wealthy one; about where the imagination can take you when you realize how thin and permeable the membrane between the rich and poor can be:
I’m just a poor boy in a rich man’s car
So I whisper to the engine, flick on the lights
And we drive into the night
Oh the smell of the leather always excited my imagination
And I picture myself in this different situation
I’m a company director, two kids and a wife…
At this point Balram’s vivid imagination would be alive with the dreams and thoughts of ill-gotten wealth. Did Sting influence Balram to not just imagine himself in a new life, but to actually create it?
After Ashok treats Balram like a trained monkey and the Mongoose can’t believe that the village idiot can recognize Sting, Balram moves onto Enya. Here we have two sensible options: 1) the mesmerizing and soothing harmonies of Enya placed Balram in a relaxed and psychologically influential state; 2) the message was furthered in yet more subtle poetry. A few of Enya’s songs could be influential. I offer the following:
I Want Tomorrow
Now you’re here, I can see your light,
This light that I must follow.
You, you may take my life away, so far away.
Now I know I must leave your spell
I want tomorrow.
Balram most certainly does want tomorrow. Today. Just the fact that he has chosen to be a driver indicates that he is not satisfied obeying the traditional protocols of Hindu caste adherence. Otherwise, he would have stayed a chai-walla. He would have sent money home. He would have obeyed his autie’s orders and married. This image of wanting tomorrow spliced with the light metaphor continues:
Once You Had Gold
Now you can see
Spring becomes Autumn,
Leaves become gold
Falling from view.
Ever and always,
Always and ever
No-one can promise a dream come true,
Time gave both darkness and dreams to you.
I know you caught that, but let me repeat it: Time gave both darkness and dreams to you. Being from the Darkness and full of dreams, it almost seems like Aravinda created the psyche of Balram from an Enya song.
Either way—direct message or hypnotic and influential trance—Enya’s music would have made the next CD, Eminem even more potent.
Eminem’s music is full of wanton violence, but his most commercially popular song, Lose Yourself, is about opportunity. It would have spoken directly to the heart of Balram’s entrepreneurial spirit. It begins:
Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted,
One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
No he wouldn’t let it slip. His morals and obedience to his dharma may slip, but not opportunity. He knows he has but one moment, one opportunity, and in this moment it is solidifying that he will not let it slip. Later the repeating chorus would echo through Balram’s ears:
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow,
Opportunity comes, once in a lifetime, yo.
And if Ashok’s fate wasn’t sealed by this point, it certainly didn’t get any better:
Too much for me to wanna
Stay in one spot, another day of monotony
Has gotten me to the point, I’m like a snail
I’ve go to formulate a pot or end up in jail or shot
Success is my only mutherfucking option, failure’s not
Mom, I love you, but this trailer’s got to go
I cannot grow old in Salem’s lot
So here is my shot
Feet fail me not ‘cause maybe the only opportunity that I got…
Balram’s plot is formulated, now all he needs is the courage. There is almost a choppy Eminem-esque minced lyrical nature to Balram’s request (dare I say siren song?) for Ashok to join him in the rain. He could call it, Trust me, sir.
There’s a problem, sir.
What is it Balram?
Sir, will you step out, there is a problem.
The wheel, sir. I’ll need your help. It’s stuck in the mud.
It’s raining, Balram. Do you think we should call for help?
Oh, no, sir. Trust me. Come out.
It’s been giving problems ever since that night we went to the hotel in Jangpura.
The one with the big T sign on it. You remember, don’t you, sir? Ever since that night, sir, nothing has been the same with this car.
Come out of the car, sir. Trust me
Come over to this side, sir. The bad tire is on this side.
It’s this one, sir—and be careful, there’s a broken bottle lying on the ground.
Here, let me thrown it away. This is the tire, sir. Please take a look.
It seems fine.
Well, you know more about this car then I do, Balram. Let me take another look.
There is a problem, sir. You should have gotten a replacement a long time ago.
All right, Balram. But I really think we—
Culminating with the shattered bottle of Johnny Walker Black, Balram formulated a plot, took his shot, took the opportunity he got. Over Ashok’s skull, through to his brains, gouging his throat, Balram’s new song begins.
Music may soothe even the savage beast, but in the case of Balram, music woke it up.

