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How do you get the nerve, I ask Aravind Adiga, to write a novel about the experiences of the Indian poor? After all, you're an enviably bright young thing, a middle-class, Madras-born, Oxford-educated ex-Time magazine correspondent? How would you understand what your central character, the downtrodden, uneducated son of a rickshaw puller turned amoral entrepreneur and killer, is going through?

For a western reader, too, Adiga's novel is bracing: It makes Salman Rushdie's Booker-winning chronicle of post-Raj India, Midnight's Children a book that Adiga recognises as a powerful influence on his workseem Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction twee.

The Indian tourist board must be livid. Adiga, sipping tea in a central London boardroom, is upset by my question. Or as affronted as a man who has been exhausted by the demands of the unexpected win and the subsequent media hoopla can be. Guarded about his private life, he looks at me with tired eyes and says: Yes, I am the son of a doctor, yes, I had a rigorous formal education, but for me the challenge of a novelist is to write about people who aren't anything like me.

But isn't there a problem: Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction might come across as a literary tourist ventriloquising others' suffering and stealing their miserable stories to fulfil his literary ambitions? In somewhere like Bihar there will be no doctors in the hospital. In northern India politics is so corrupt that it makes a mockery of democracy.

This is a country where the poor fear tuberculosis, which kills 1, Indians a day, but people like me - middle-class people "Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction" access to health services that are probably better than England's - don't fear it at all.

It's an unglamorous disease, like so much of the things that the poor of India endure. That's what writers like Flaubert, Balzac and Dickens did in the 19th century and, as a result, England and France are better societies.

That's what I'm trying to do - it's not an attack on the country, it's about the greater process of self-examination. That, though, makes Adiga's novel sound like funless didacticism. Thankfully - for all its failings comparisons with the accomplished sentences of Sebastian Barry's shortlisted The Secret Scripture could only be unfavourable - The White Tiger is nothing like that. Instead, it has an engaging, gobby, megalomaniac, boss-killer of a narrator who reflects on his extraordinary rise from village teashop waiter to success as an entrepreneur in the alienated, post-industrial, call-centre hub of Bangalore.

Balram Halwai narrates his story through letters he writes, but doesn't send, to the Chinese premier, Wen Jiabao. Wen is poised to visit India to learn why it is so good at producing entrepreneurs, so Balram presumes to tell him how to win power and influence people in the modern India.

Balram's story, though, is a tale of bribery, corruption, skulduggery, toxic traffic jams, theft and murder. Whether communist China can import this business model is questionable. In any event, Balram tells his reader that the yellow and the brown men will take over the world from the white man, who has become and this is where Balram's analysis gets shaky effete through toleration of homosexuality, too slim and physically weakened by overexposure to mobile phones.

Halwai has come from what Adiga calls Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction Darkness - the heart of rural India - and manages to escape Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction family and poverty by becoming chauffeur to a landlord from his village, who goes to Delhi to bribe government officials. Why did he make Halwai a chauffeur? The chauffeur is the servant but he is, at least while he's driving, in charge, so the whole relationship is subverted.

But that dialectic is the spine of his novel: The White Tiger teems with indignities masquerading as employee duties. Such, Adiga maintains, is India - even as Delhi rises like a more eastern Dubai, call-centres suck young people from villages and India experiences the pangs of urbanisation that racked the west two centuries ago.

And the poor are darker-skinned because they work outside and often work without their tops on so you can see their ribs. But also their intelligence impressed me. What rickshaw pullers, especially, reminded me of was black Americans, in the sense that they are witty, acerbic, verbally skilled and utterly without illusions about their rulers. It is not surprising then that the greatest literary influences on the book were three great African-American 20th-century novelists - Ralph Ellison, James Baldwin and Richard Wright.

Ellison's Invisible Man was extremely important to me. That book was disliked by white and blacks. My book too will cause widespread offence. Balram is my invisible man, made visible. This white tiger will break out of his cage. Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction Indian readers, one of the most upsetting parts of that break-out is that Halwai casts off his family. If you're rude to your mother in India, it's a crime as bad as stealing would be here. But the family ties get broken or at least stretched when anonymous, un-Indian cities like Bangalore draw people from the villages.

These really are the new tensions of India, but Indians don't think about them. The middle- classes, especially, think of themselves still as victims of colonial rule. But there is no point any more in someone like me thinking of myself as a victim of you [Adiga has cast me, not for the first time, as a Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction oppressor]. India and China are too powerful to be controlled by the west any more.

Our time is nearly over. Adiga doesn't know how he will spend his prize money, isn't even sure if there's a safe bank in which to deposit it. Doesn't he fear attacks at home for his portrayal of India? After all, the greatest living Indian painter, MF Husain, lives in exile. Fortunately, the political class doesn't read. He lives in exile because his messages got through, but mine probably won't. Adiga, who says he has written his second novel but won't talk about it "It might be complete crap, so there's no point"flies home to Mumbai today to resume his bachelor life.

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In fact, if you check the biographies of Indian terrorists you'll find they are mostly family men who are well-off. It's a trend that needs to be investigated. Possibly in a new novel by Adiga, yet again analysing the unbearably poignant torments of the emerging new Aravind adiga wife sexual dysfunction. Ideally, though, with jokes.

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