The Crease of Conflict:
Generational, Ambition and Familial Strife on Adiga’s Cricket Pitch
Deepak Singh,
PhD
Research Scholar,
P.G.
Department of English,
B.R.A.
Bihar University,
Muzaffarpur, Bihar, India.
&
Dr. Jitendra Kumar Mishra,
Senior Assistant Professor,
Department of English,
L. N. T. College,
Muzaffarpur, Bihar, India.
Abstract: ‘Selection Day’ (2016) by Aravind Adiga
places cricket at the heart of a compelling story that combines generational
conflict, familial pressure, and generational strife in contemporary India. The
novel employs cricket not merely as a sport but as a potent metaphor—a sort of
arena where individual identities are constructed, destabilized, and sometimes
thoroughly disrupted. Central to the narrative is Mohan Kumar, an overbearing
father relentlessly intent on moulding his sons into cricketing prodigies. His
children, Radha and Manju, find themselves caught in the vice grip of his
ambitions, their personal struggles shaped and intensified by the heavy weight
of paternal expectations. The result is a nuanced exploration of identity
formation under pressure, revealing the complexities inherent in familial
dynamics and societal aspirations. This article investigates how Adiga uses
cricket as a leitmotif to reflect wider socio-cultural realities, including
class mobility, masculinity, and the pursuit of personal freedom in a
globalizing India. Through close reading of the novel alongside critical
perspectives on sport, postcolonial identity, and familial dynamics, this paper
argues that ‘Selection Day’ dramatizes not only the struggles within a single
family but also the tensions between tradition and modernity, ambition and
individuality, and authority and autonomy. In doing so, it situates Adiga’s
narrative within broader conversations about cricket as a cultural text and as
a site of both aspiration and anxiety in Indian society.
Keywords: Ambition,
Familial Conflict, Generational Strife, Postcolonial Identity, Paternal
Expectations, Familial Dynamics
Introduction
In the context of postcolonial Indian literature, cricket
emerges not merely as a sport but as a potent cultural symbol, embodying themes
of colonial legacy, nationalism, social mobility, and the persistent tension
between personal aspiration and familial obligation. Aravind Adiga’s ‘Selection Day’ (2016) exemplifies these
dynamics, showing the struggles of two brothers, Radha and Manju Kumar, within
the broader framework of India’s cricket obsession. Central to the narrative is
an intricate family dynamic, shaped profoundly by their father’s overwhelming
ambition, which frequently clashes with the sons' own desires for independence
and self-definition.
In Adiga’s story,
the cricket crease isn’t just part of the game. It becomes a symbol of where
family generations clash. Just like cricketers face pressure on the field, the
characters struggle with pressure in their own lives. Society pushes them in
one direction, family expectations in another, and their personal desires in
yet another.
Mohan Kumar, the
father, sees cricket as a way to make his sons rich and respected. But instead
of supporting them as a caring parent, he tries to control them. He forces his
own failed dreams onto them, which crushes their individuality.
Ultimately, the narrative encapsulates a broader,
persistent tension within Indian society—between entrenched traditions of
parental authority and the emergence of youthful autonomy in an era
increasingly shaped by modernity and globalization. Adiga’s ‘Selection Day’ deftly illustrates how
the cricket field, and by extension the crease, becomes a symbolic arena for
these multifaceted social and intergenerational conflicts to play out. Cricket
is not an accidental backdrop in this narrative. Scholars have often remarked
on the symbolic role of cricket in South Asian writing, where it functions as a
site of cultural negotiation. For instance, Shehan Karunatilaka’s ‘Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew’
uses cricket to explore memory, nationhood, and postcolonial identity in Sri
Lanka. Similarly, Timeri N. Murari’s ‘The
Taliban Cricket Club’ situates the game as an unlikely site of resistance
against authoritarian control. Adiga, however, turns inward, uses cricket as a
familial battleground rather than a nationalist one. The pitch is less about
collective pride than about the private wars waged within households, where
ambition becomes both a catalyst for success and a source of rupture.
The father-son relationship in ‘Selection Day’ really shows this kind of break. Mohan Kumar
represents a kind of patriarchal power that mixes up being a parent with being
in total control. His intense focus points to an authoritarian way of family
life. In it, kids end up as tools for their parent’s dreams, not as people
shaping their own paths. Radha, the older son, does well at first under Mohan’s
guidance. But in the end, he pays a heavy psychological price from all that
pressure. Manju, the younger one, handles the tension in his own way. He builds
skill in cricket, yet he also feels mixed about the game. Their challenges
highlight how ambition ties into personal sense of self, rivalry between
brothers, and family affection that turns offensive. These patterns have wider
effects that deserve attention. Adiga’s book mirrors the social and economic
side of India today. Cricket often looks like a step up for folks on the edges.
For many families, it stands for hope, a route out of being poor and into the
country’s big picture. Still, that hope carries a price. It involves using
young players too hard, holding back their unique traits, and turning kid years
into something for sale. By looking at this tough part of cricket, ‘Selection Day’ fits with Adiga’s other
writings. Those works keep uncovering the mixed sides of India now. Like how ‘The White Tiger’ digs into the rough
under part of growth in money matters, ‘Selection
Day’ uncovers the personal toll of drive in a country crazy for cricket. This
article will argue that Adiga’s use of cricket as a leitmotif in ‘Selection Day’ serves to illuminate
three interwoven conflicts: the generational divide between father and sons,
the familial strife that arises from coercive ambition, and the broader
cultural pressures that define identity in contemporary India. To unpack these
conflicts, the paper first reviews relevant critical literature on Adiga and on
cricket as metaphor in postcolonial narratives. It then proceeds to analyse how
ambition, generational authority, and familial relationships are dramatized in
the novel, drawing attention to key scenes and character trajectories. The
discussion section situates Adiga’s narrative within larger socio-cultural
frameworks, examining how cricket serves as both opportunity and constraint in
Indian society. The conclusion reflects on the significance of ‘Selection Day’ as part of Adiga’s work
and as a contribution to the study of sport and literature.
In short, cricket in ‘Selection
Day’ is not merely a sport but a symbolic crease where lives are shaped,
ambitions collide, and identities are contested. By examining this metaphorical
terrain, this article demonstrates how Adiga’s novel offers profound insights
into the human costs of ambition and the enduring complexities of familial
relationships in a changing India.
Literature Review
The reception of Aravind Adiga’s ‘Selection Day’ (2016) has been marked by recognition of its dual
concerns: cricket as a cultural metaphor and the family as a site of conflict.
While Adiga is best known for ‘The White
Tiger’ (2008), which won the Man Booker Prize for its unflinching portrayal
of India’s economic divide, his subsequent works—including ‘Last Man in Tower’ (2011) and ‘Selection
Day’—have continued to interrogate the interplay of aspiration, morality,
and the contradictions of modern India. Scholars and critics have underscored
that although ‘Selection Day’ is
ostensibly about cricket, its real subject is the tension between ambition and
individuality within the family and society (Chatterjee 67).
Cricket as a Cultural
Metaphor
Cricket has long held symbolic weight in South Asian
literature, emerging as a cultural field where colonial history, nationalism,
and individual aspiration converge. As Ramachandra Guha notes in ‘A Corner of a Foreign Field’, cricket in
India is not merely a sport but a mirror to the nation (Guha 12). It embodies
the legacy of colonial imposition and the subsequent appropriation of the game
as a site of Indian pride and identity. In literature, this duality has made
cricket a fertile ground for exploring questions of class, culture, and
modernity.
In ‘Selection Day’,
cricket serves less as nationalist metaphor and more as a metaphorical “crease”
of personal ambition and familial struggle. Critics such as Rajendra Singh
argue that Adiga departs from earlier cricket novels by focusing on “the
private, domestic stakes of cricket rather than its nationalistic or communal
resonance” (Singh 89). While novels like Shehan Karunatilaka’s ‘Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew’ (2010)
and Timeri N. Murari’s ‘The Taliban
Cricket Club’ (2012) situate cricket within discourses of nationhood and
resistance, Adiga turns his lens inward, revealing how the sport can also
function as an oppressive structure within family life.
Adiga’s Narrative
Concerns
Adiga’s fiction consistently interrogates the promises
and pitfalls of modern Indian society. ‘The
White Tiger’ exposed the moral compromises demanded by economic ambition,
while ‘Last Man in Tower’ dramatized
the ethical conflicts of Mumbai’s real estate boom. Critics such as John Walsh
have observed that ‘Selection Day’
continues this trajectory by “relocating the great Indian dream from the
business sector to the cricket field” (Walsh 103). This shift is crucial
because cricket, more than any other sport, represents both the aspirations of
India’s poor and the global commodification of Indian talent.
Moreover, Adiga’s style of narration, marked by sharp
irony and moral ambiguity, lends itself to the critique of ambition. As
Sangeeta Datta argues, “Adiga uses satire not to dismiss ambition but to expose
the costs it imposes—on relationships, identities, and moral clarity” (Datta
55). In ‘Selection Day’, this cost is
borne most heavily by the Kumar family, where the father’s obsession with
cricketing success erodes the psychological well-being of his sons.
Family, Ambition,
and Generational Conflict
One of the most prominent scholarly concerns in studies
of ‘Selection Day’ has been its
portrayal of the family as a site of generational conflict. Mohan Kumar, the
father, embodies a model of authoritarian parenting that is deeply rooted in
both traditional patriarchy and modern ambition. Scholars such as Neha Raval
have argued that Mohan’s character illustrates “the paradox of parental love
that becomes indistinguishable from coercion” (Raval 77). His determination to
make Radha and Manju cricket stars is driven by a genuine desire to lift them
from poverty, yet it simultaneously reduces them to mere extensions of his
will.
This tension resonates with wider discussions of
generational authority in South Asian families, where parental aspirations
often clash with children’s individual desires. In his analysis of postcolonial
Indian fiction, Anjali Gera Roy notes that “the family is frequently a crucible
of conflict, where tradition, modernity, and globalization collide” (Roy 128). ‘Selection Day’ exemplifies this pattern
by dramatizing how Mohan’s rigid vision for his sons fails to account for their
personal identities—Radha’s struggle with pressure and Manju’s uncertainty
toward cricket.
Sibling rivalry further complicates the family dynamic in
the novel. Radha, the elder son, is initially groomed as the “chosen one,” but
the emergence of Manju’s talent destabilizes familial hierarchies. Scholars
such as Aparna Dharwadkar argue that this rivalry reflects “the competitive
individualism that neoliberal India imposes even within the private sphere of
family” (Dharwadkar 141). Cricket, in this context, functions both as a ladder
of opportunity and as a wedge that divides siblings and generations.
The Dark Side of
Ambition in Indian Cricket
While cricket is often celebrated as India’s great
unifier, critics have also highlighted its darker undercurrents: corruption,
commercialization, and the exploitation of young talent. As Boria Majumdar and
Nalin Mehta point out in ‘Selling of an
Untamed Sport’, cricket has increasingly become “a commercial enterprise
where the dreams of millions are packaged, sold, and consumed” (Majumdar and
Mehta 34). Adiga’s ‘Selection Day’
dramatizes this reality by portraying how children from marginalized
backgrounds are transformed into commodities by ambitious parents, predatory
coaches, and corporate sponsors.
Manju’s ambivalence toward cricket underscores this
exploitation. Though naturally talented, he often questions whether the sport
is truly his calling or merely a role imposed upon him. His conflict echoes
broader concerns in sports sociology, where young athletes are pressured into
professionalization before they can fully form independent identities. Scholars
such as Ashis Nandy have long argued that cricket in South Asia is a “colonial
sport domesticated to Indian soil but still marked by anxieties of discipline,
conformity, and performance” (Nandy 45). ‘Selection
Day’ brings this anxiety into the private world of the family, showing how
ambition can warp love into coercion.
Positioning ‘Selection Day’ within Postcolonial
Cricket Literature
In situating ‘Selection
Day’ within the canon of cricket literature, it is clear that Adiga
diverges from traditional nationalist narratives. While Karunatilaka’s ‘Chinaman’ uses cricket as a metaphor
for postcolonial memory and Murari’s ‘The
Taliban Cricket Club’ deploys it as a tool of resistance, Adiga treats
cricket as a metaphor for the intimate struggles of family life. As Rajeev
Bhargava notes, “Adiga provincializes cricket, stripping it of its nationalist
grandeur and revealing it as another arena where the ordinary Indian battles
with ambition, identity, and survival” (Bhargava 98).
This repositioning makes ‘Selection Day’ a unique contribution to both sports literature and
postcolonial studies. It challenges the reader to see cricket not only as a field
of national glory but also as a microcosm of familial ambition, sibling
rivalry, and generational conflict.
Thematic Analysis
Cricket as a
Metaphor of Ambition
In ‘Selection Day’,
cricket is not simply a sport—it is a metaphorical stage on which ambition,
control, and selfhood are contested. For Mohan Kumar, the father of Radha and
Manju, cricket is imagined as a pathway to upward mobility, a ticket to rise
above poverty and obscurity. His obsession reflects the broader cultural
phenomenon in India where cricket functions as a “dream factory,” manufacturing
hope for millions who see in the sport an escape from social and economic
constraints.
Mohan’s fixation with cricket illustrates how ambition,
when untemper by empathy, can turn destructive. He sees Radha and Manju not as
children with unique identities but as instruments of his dream. This obsessive
ambition mirrors what psychologists call “projective parenting,” where parents
attempt to live out their unfulfilled desires through their children. The
metaphor of cricket thus dramatizes a larger reality of Indian society, where
children are often burdened by parental expectations that are less about their
personal happiness and more about family prestige or survival.
The metaphor extends further. The rules and structures of
cricket—its strict discipline, its reliance on statistics, and its binary of
success or failure—mirror the unforgiving nature of ambition. Just as a batsman
is judged by runs scored or wickets lost, Mohan measures his sons’ worth through
performance alone. Cricket becomes not only an opportunity but also a prison,
trapping Radha and Manju in a world where every mistake is magnified and every
success is claimed by the father.
Generation Gap and
Familial Strife
Perhaps the most poignant conflict in ‘Selection Day’ is the generational
divide between Mohan and his sons. Mohan represents an older worldview, one
forged by struggle, scarcity, and the patriarchal assumption of control. For
him, authority is absolute, and children are expected to obey without question.
His sons, however, are growing up in a rapidly globalizing India, where
individual choice and personal freedom are increasingly emphasized. The clash
between Mohan’s authoritarianism and his children’s search for autonomy creates
a fracture that defines the novel.
Radha, the elder son, initially aligns with Mohan’s
expectations. Trained to be the “chosen one,” he internalizes the pressure to
succeed. But his trajectory demonstrates the psychological cost of such
pressure: the fear of failure, the erosion of joy, and the collapse of identity
outside the sport. His breakdown underscores how paternal authority, when
rooted in coercion, can destroy rather than nurture ambition.
Manju, in contrast, represents resistance. While
naturally talented, he does not fully embrace cricket. His ambivalence reveals
his desire to carve a path outside his father’s vision. Yet resistance is not
easy; it comes with guilt, fear, and the constant negotiation of familial love
versus personal freedom. The strife between father and sons reflects a broader
generational conflict in Indian families, where younger members increasingly
challenge the hierarchies of tradition.
Adiga captures this tension with remarkable subtlety,
showing how love and coercion can become indistinguishable. Mohan genuinely
believes he is working for his sons’ good, but his methods strip them of
agency. This ambiguity makes the conflict compelling: it is not a battle
between love and hate, but between different interpretations of love—one rooted
in control, the other in freedom.
Class Mobility and
Cultural Conflict
Underlying the familial struggles of ‘Selection Day’ is the broader socio-economic reality of
contemporary India. Cricket, as scholars such as Ramachandra Guha and Boria
Majumdar have noted, has become a ladder of social mobility for those from
modest backgrounds. Success on the pitch can transform lives, turning young
boys from the slums into national heroes. This promise fuels Mohan’s obsession
and explains why he sees cricket as the only viable path for his sons.
Yet this promise is double-edged. For every young player
who ascends to fame, countless others are discarded by the system. Adiga
exposes this ruthless underside of Indian cricket, where talent is co-modified
and failure is punished harshly. Radha and Manju’s struggles thus become
representative of thousands of aspiring cricketers who shoulder immense
pressure with little guarantee of success.
The novel also reflects cultural conflict. Mohan’s dream
is rooted in a traditional patriarchal framework where the father dictates the
children’s futures. But the world of cricket is globalized, commercialized, and
driven by market forces. When coaches, sponsors, and scouts enter the story,
they complicate the dynamics of control. The boys are no longer just Mohan’s;
they are products in a larger industry. This collision of traditional authority
with modern commodification highlights the tensions of a rapidly changing
India.
Adiga also hints at the ways cricket symbolizes India’s
own cultural anxieties. Once a colonial import, cricket has been fully
appropriated and reimagined by India. Yet its increasing
commercialization—through leagues, endorsements, and television—raises
questions about authenticity and exploitation. The Kumar family’s story becomes
a microcosm of this cultural anxiety, where the dream of cricket is both
empowering and suffocating.
Identity,
Masculinity, and Freedom
A central theme of ‘Selection
Day’ is identity: who Radha and Manju are beyond the cricket pitch. The
novel raises the question of whether selfhood can survive under the weight of
imposed ambition. For Radha, identity collapses entirely under pressure. For
Manju, identity becomes a battleground where cricket, family, and personal
desires compete for dominance.
Cricket also intersects with masculinity in the novel.
Mohan’s authoritarian parenting is deeply gendered, rooted in the belief that
sons must embody strength, discipline, and success. His obsession reflects a
patriarchal view of masculinity as performance—measured not in emotional
well-being but in public achievement. Failure in cricket, therefore, is equated
with failure as a man. This equation is internalized by Radha, whose struggles
suggest the psychological dangers of equating identity with performance.
Manju’s resistance also challenges this model of
masculinity. His ambivalence toward cricket and his exploration of alternative
desires (including his complex relationship with Javed Ansari) suggest a
redefinition of masculinity that values vulnerability, choice, and
individuality. In this sense, ‘Selection
Day’ does not merely depict conflict but opens space for reimagining what
it means to be a son, a brother, and a man in modern India.
Freedom, finally, emerges as the novel’s deepest concern.
Cricket promises freedom from poverty but imposes new chains of discipline and
control. Family promises love but becomes a source of suffocation. Adiga
dramatizes the painful negotiation between external expectations and internal
desires. The crease, in this metaphorical sense, becomes a space not only of
conflict but also of possibility, where the boundaries of identity, ambition,
and freedom are tested.
Discussion
The analysis of ‘Selection
Day’ demonstrates that Aravind Adiga is less concerned with cricket as
spectacle than with cricket as a metaphorical field of struggle. The sport
becomes a symbol of ambition’s promise and peril, a ground where fathers
project their dreams, sons resist or comply, and families fracture under
pressure. In this sense, Adiga’s novel extends beyond the boundaries of sport
literature and enters the realm of social critique.
What distinguishes ‘Selection
Day’ from other cricket novels is its intimate focus on the family. While
Shehan Karunatilaka’s ‘Chinaman: The
Legend of Pradeep Mathew’ situates cricket within the discourse of national
memory and Timeri N. Murari’s ‘The
Taliban Cricket Club’ employs the game as a metaphor of political
resistance, Adiga strips cricket of its grandeur. Instead, he presents it as
another mechanism of power, one that can liberate or imprison depending on how
it is wielded. For Mohan, cricket is liberation from poverty; for his sons, it
risks becoming a prison that confines their identities.
This shift in focus reflects broader trends in
postcolonial Indian literature, where attention has moved from collective
struggles of nationalism to the private, interior struggles of individuals and
families navigating modernity. The novel dramatizes how the promises of
globalization—wealth, opportunity, fame—filter into the private sphere,
reshaping relationships and identities. Mohan’s obsession with cricket is
inseparable from the neoliberal dream of turning talent into capital. His sons,
however, remind us that human beings are more than their market value.
The sibling dynamic in the novel further complicates the
metaphor of ambition. Radha and Manju are not simply rivals; they are mirrors
of each other, each reflecting different responses to paternal control. Radha’s
collapse under pressure illustrates the destructive force of coercive ambition,
while Manju’s resistance represents the possibility of carving an identity
beyond familial expectations. Their relationship reflects the way neoliberal
societies often pit siblings, peers, and even communities against one another
in the race for success. Cricket, as Adiga portrays it, is not just a sport but
a mechanism of competition that permeates all levels of life.
Another critical element of the novel is its exploration
of masculinity. Mohan’s authoritarian fatherhood reflects a patriarchal view
that equates masculinity with success, discipline, and obedience. The novel
critiques this model by showing its psychological costs—alienation, breakdown,
and estrangement. Manju’s ambiguous journey challenges traditional gender norms
by emphasizing vulnerability, ambivalence, and the right to resist paternal
scripts. In doing so, ‘Selection Day’
reimagines masculinity as something fluid and contested rather than rigid and
prescriptive.
By connecting the microcosm of the Kumar family with the
macrocosm of Indian society, Adiga underscores a paradox: ambition is both
empowering and destructive. Cricket provides the possibility of transcendence,
but it also co-modifies talent, turning children into products for the
consumption of the nation and the market. This duality is not limited to sport;
it reflects the broader contradictions of modern India, where globalization
creates opportunities while deepening inequalities.
Conclusion
‘Selection Day’ is more than a novel about cricket. It is a novel about
the human costs of ambition, the fractures of generational conflict, and the
intimate wars waged within the family. Adiga uses the metaphor of the cricket
crease to dramatize how lives are shaped and tested under pressure. Mohan’s
obsession with his sons’ success embodies a paradoxical love that blurs into
coercion, reflecting broader patterns of patriarchal authority in Indian
families. Radha and Manju’s struggles embody the difficult negotiation between
duty and freedom, tradition and modernity, performance and identity.
In its portrayal of cricket as both ladder and cage, ‘Selection Day’ aligns with Adiga’s
larger literary project: the exposure of India’s contradictions. Just as ‘The White Tiger’ revealed the costs of
economic ambition and ‘Last Man in Tower’
explored the ethical compromises of urban development, ‘Selection Day’ illuminates the price of parental obsession and
societal expectation. It reminds us that success, when pursued at the expense
of individuality and freedom, can become another form of bondage.
By situating cricket within the private sphere of the
family, Adiga expands the horizons of sports literature. He shows that cricket
is not only about national pride or colonial memory but also about the daily
struggles of ordinary families trying to survive in a competitive world. The
crease, then, is not just a line on the cricket pitch; it is a symbolic
boundary where generations confront each other, ambitions collide, and
identities are forged or broken.
Ultimately, ‘Selection
Day’ is a novel of both critique and possibility. It critiques the
destructive forces of coercive ambition, but it also gestures toward the
possibility of self-definition beyond imposed roles. Manju’s resistance,
however fraught, suggests that individuals can claim the right to define their
futures. In this way, Adiga’s novel speaks not only to the Indian context but
also to universal questions of freedom, identity, and the costs of ambition.
The analysis of ‘Selection
Day’ demonstrates that Aravind Adiga is less concerned with cricket as
spectacle than with cricket as a metaphorical field of struggle. The sport
becomes a symbol of ambition’s promise and peril, a ground where fathers project
their dreams, sons resist or comply, and families fracture under pressure. In
this sense, Adiga’s novel extends beyond the boundaries of sport literature and
enters the realm of social critique.
What distinguishes ‘Selection
Day’ from other cricket novels is its intimate focus on the family. While
Shehan Karunatilaka’s ‘Chinaman: The
Legend of Pradeep Mathew’ situates cricket within the discourse of national
memory and Timeri N. Murari’s ‘The
Taliban Cricket Club’ employs the game as a metaphor of political
resistance, Adiga strips cricket of its grandeur. Instead, he presents it as
another mechanism of power, one that can liberate or imprison depending on how
it is wielded. For Mohan, cricket is liberation from poverty; for his sons, it
risks becoming a prison that confines their identities.
This shift in focus reflects broader trends in
postcolonial Indian literature, where attention has moved from collective
struggles of nationalism to the private, interior struggles of individuals and
families navigating modernity. The novel dramatizes how the promises of
globalization—wealth, opportunity, fame—filter into the private sphere,
reshaping relationships and identities. Mohan’s obsession with cricket is
inseparable from the neoliberal dream of turning talent into capital. His sons,
however, remind us that human beings are more than their market value.
The sibling dynamic in the novel further complicates the
metaphor of ambition. Radha and Manju are not simply rivals; they are mirrors
of each other, each reflecting different responses to paternal control. Radha’s
collapse under pressure illustrates the destructive force of coercive ambition,
while Manju’s resistance represents the possibility of carving an identity
beyond familial expectations. Their relationship reflects the way neoliberal
societies often pit siblings, peers, and even communities against one another
in the race for success. Cricket, as Adiga portrays it, is not just a sport but
a mechanism of competition that permeates all levels of life.
Another critical element of the novel is its exploration
of masculinity. Mohan’s authoritarian fatherhood reflects a patriarchal view
that equates masculinity with success, discipline, and obedience. The novel
critiques this model by showing its psychological costs—alienation, breakdown,
and estrangement. Manju’s ambiguous journey challenges traditional gender norms
by emphasizing vulnerability, ambivalence, and the right to resist paternal
scripts. In doing so, ‘Selection Day’
reimagines masculinity as something fluid and contested rather than rigid and
prescriptive.
By connecting the microcosm of the Kumar family with the
macrocosm of Indian society, Adiga underscores a paradox: ambition is both
empowering and destructive. Cricket provides the possibility of transcendence,
but it also modifies talent, turning children into products for the consumption
of the nation and the market. This duality is not limited to sport; it reflects
the broader contradictions of modern India, where globalization creates opportunities
while deepening inequalities.
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