Somewhere between the glitz and glamour of The Hunger Games’ Capitol and the cultural explosion of Crazy Rich Asians lies the lifestyle of New Delhi’s elite in The Windfall.
Diksha Basu’s high-spirited first novel The Windfall follows the Jhas, an unassuming middle-class family from Delhi. Sudden wealth leads the Jhas to purchase a home in a lavish neighbourhood. Their old neighbours are quick to jump to conclusions. They think the Jhas family must be involved with black money real estate and are now evading taxes like the rest of India’s “new-moneyed” elite. The Jhas hardly notice. They are too busy grappling with the new world of designer tracksuits, Swarovski-studded sofas, and 24-hour instant hot water to concern themselves with their neighbours’ suspicions.
Basu’s novel exposes us not only to the influence but the culture, of wealth in India. Before their good fortune, the Jha lived in an old apartment complex populated by East Delhi’s middle-class. They face entirely new value systems and habits in their new house in the luxurious district of Gurgaon. The differences in these areas exemplify an increasingly financially unequal Indian society, where the richest 10% own over 57% of the national income. Consumerism and residential ownership are the unspoken great dividers in this society.
The Windfall introduces us to India’s uber-rich, whose families are casual large-scale rural landowners, heads of construction businesses, or the owners of mines. They command India’s wealth but desire the offerings of foreign countries. In their luxurious homes, the wealthy try to create ways to ‘forget’ that they are in Delhi. Exotic plants dot their gardens, imported cars crowd their driveways, Sistine Chapel-esque paintings cover their ceilings. This sharply contrasts Basu’s description of the Jhas’ East Delhi apartment, where peeling wallpaper and water damage characterise the building.
In The Windfall, as the residences of Gurgaon’s elite are modernising while the residences of East Delhi deteriorate, the divides of modern Delhi emerge.
Basu creates an interesting dichotomy between the Jha’s, and other Indian elites’ awareness of societal issues and their complete disregard for how they contribute to them. The mildly corrupt police officials judge the wealthy, struggling artists struggle with nothing but how to best spend their parents’ income, and gossiping housewives scrutinise each other’s homes.
These judgments have basis: India’s wealth disparity has never been greater, and the country’s art scene is dominated by individuals hailing from generational wealth. Material wealth and consumerism continue to hold value in social standing.
New Delhi, as the capital of India, has been touted as the nation’s ‘modernist’ city and was built to display architecture and infrastructure to rival prosperous international cities. In The Windfall, Basu takes care to not blame the Gurgaon elite alone for the lack of investment in greater Delhi’s development. As a Eastern Delhi resident notes when looking at Guragaon’s roads and drainage, “Who could blame the Jhas for moving when even the government seemed to prefer this part of town?”
The Windfall has the dialogue of a gossip column, wittiness of a slapstick comic strip, and the narrative power of an investigative report. Basu skillfully weaves a tale of class relations and wealth disparities through shifting narratives that form a cohesive whole. Each of these narratives is an exposè about consumerism, social class, or privilege, pushing readers to question how we devote our resources and participate in larger societal issues. The Windfall will make you laugh. If you let it, it will also challenge you to consider the broader implications of wealth disparity in modern India.