After walking from house to house pitching his services, Balram arrives at the gates of the Stork residence with a sinking heart but the usual impulse towards exaggeration. He screams to Ram Bahadur to be let in and pleads before the Stork when he comes out. Upon gaining entrance, he rushes in:
Swoosh!—As soon as the gate was open, I dived straight at the Stork’s feet. No Olympic runner could have gone in as fast as I did through those gates; the Nepali had no chance at all of blocking me.
This hyperbole—Balram runs faster than an Olympic runner—forcefully emphasizes his desperation for employment. It partly speaks to his skill at scaling the social ladder and the urgency with which he seeks out new opportunities for himself. But here as elsewhere, this comedically exaggerated description also flexes his performative muscles. “You’d think I’d been born into a caste of performing actors!” he tells the reader, and the observation strikes startlingly close to the truth. This colorful account is all but expected from a character who “flings” potatoes at the train tracks, wages a piety competition against his fellow servant, and screams at the cook to let him prepare lunch for his master—“I love Mr. Ashok so much you must let me serve lunch!” In its tendency towards over-performance, Balram’s narration adds a farcical quality to the tale.
Hyperbole—such as the one in this moment—reflects and reinforces a kind of comic brashness that defines his service as well as his narration. In a society that rewards the henchmen and actors, Balram consciously, shamelessly parades his own loyalty. By turns endearing, slapstick, and devious, he manages to win over the reader just as he does his master.