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The Hindu
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Banu Mushtaq Interview: International Booker Prize Winner on Reading, Social Movements, and Marginalized Voices
Published : Jul 20, 2025 11:57 IST - 9 MINS READ This year, Banu Mushtaq received the highest literary honour when her short story collection Heart Lamp, translated by Deepa Bhasthi, won the 2025 International Booker Prize, bringing Kannada literature into the global spotlight. Banu Mushtaq's life has been shaped by literary activism and social engagement. Born and raised in Hassan, Karnataka, she developed a deep interest in reading and writing in Kannada after learning the language in primary school. Her father and grandfather recognised her early curiosity for the written word and encouraged it by providing children's magazines and storybooks in Kannada. This ignited a lifelong passion for literature. Growing up, she read voraciously—from Panchatantra and Chandamama to Bengali and Russian classics and detective fiction in Urdu. This early exposure to multiple languages and traditions laid the foundation for a career that bridged journalism and fiction. Her literary voice, rooted in her community, resonates with universal themes. Banu Mushtaq has published six collections of short stories. Her novel Kubra, two essay collections, and a poetry collection showcase her literary range. Her translation work includes rendering the Prevention of Domestic Violence Act (2005) into Kannada and translating 500 pages of Adil Shahi literature from Urdu to Kannada. Her literary contributions have been widely recognised. Her accolades include the Karnataka State Rajyotsava Award (2002), the Karnataka Sahitya Academy Honorary Award (2004), the Akkamahadevi Award (2017), the Dana Chintamani Attimabbe Award (2024–25), the Karnataka-50 Suvarna Sambhrama Award (2024), and the English PEN Translation Prize for Heart Lamp (2024). In this episode of Bookmarks, she talks about her reading life, the books and movements that shaped her writing, and how she continued to write despite setbacks. Tell us about your relationship with books. How has reading shaped your life? I started reading and writing early in childhood, which made my father very happy. When I was in first grade, he bought me children's magazines and books like Panchatantra, widely published in Kannada, and Balamitra, a Telugu children's magazine. Other favourites included Chandamama. My father got me these books and magazines regularly. I was always hungry to read more. Later, when we moved to Shimoga city and then to Krishnarajasagara near Mysore, I had access to many local libraries. I had read all the books by top Kannada authors by my twenties .Earlier, we didn't have bookstores in my hometown, so I travelled for four hours to reach Bangalore. After finishing work, I would go to a bookshop and buy as many books as I could afford. My mother used to say, 'You never wear silk sarees or gold jewellery, but you bring home hundreds of books. What are you doing with all these books?' She passed away last year at over 90. She would say I cared more about books than material things! Can you recall a transformative reading experience? Was there a particular book or author that changed how you saw the world? When I was living in Hassan, I had access to the oldest district library there. I read Russian and Bengali literature extensively. I can't point to a single book that had a profound impact. I read many Russian authors, such as Dostoevsky—his novels and short stories—during my early twenties. Were there particular Kannada writers who influenced your literary sensibilities as you began writing? It wasn't books that influenced me when I started writing. It was the social movements of the 1970s and 80s in Karnataka—Dalit movements, farmers' movements, feminist movements, environmental activism, theatre activism, and language movements. These exposed me to issues like caste and gender hegemony, constitutional rights, and social inequalities. There were speeches, workshops, and guidance from senior friends. Marxism also influenced me. A movement called Bandaya Sahitya Sanghatane (Progressive Literary Movement) was particularly important. Writers in this movement were both activists and writers, committed to protest movements and social change. It was a community of committed writers. We openly declared that literature is for the voiceless and marginalised. We wrote poems and songs for agitators, marched with them, and sometimes got arrested. Social movements influenced me more than any single writer Can you name a few South Indian writers who have influenced your writing over the years? I can't say that any particular writer has influenced my writing. The people who influenced me were the downtrodden, the voiceless, the marginalised, the faceless. My writing is unique to my experiences with grassroots organisations and marginalised communities. I draw inspiration from them, not from other writers or their themes. Also Read | The plurality of Englishes Is there a particular book in Kannada or Urdu that made a lasting intellectual impression on you while growing up? You might be surprised, but I read detective novels extensively, especially in Urdu, like those by Ibn-e-Safi (pen name of Asrar Ahmad, a Pakistani fiction writer, novelist and poet). While these didn't have a deep intellectual impact, they amused and entertained me and introduced me to various principles and methods of writing. Any episode from your childhood or literary figure that sparked your desire to tell your own stories? I am the third generation in my family to be educated. My maternal side were agriculturists, but my paternal grandfather was a teacher who knew Urdu, Kannada, and Sanskrit. He even built a mosque in his village. My father studied up to secondary school and knew Kannada, English, and Urdu. I was the first woman in my family to study in Kannada medium, become a graduate, an advocate, a journalist, and then the first woman in our family to write fiction. My father encouraged me to read and write from a young age, even though my grandfather initially objected to me studying Kannada. When I switched to Kannada medium school, I learnt the language fluently within a week and started reading and writing stories, sometimes copying and rewriting stories from books my father gave me. My father especially encouraged me. My grandfather was initially worried that learning Kannada would distance me from our Muslim culture, so he taught me Urdu and Arabic himself. This background helped me later translate works like Tarikh-e-Farishta from Urdu to Kannada. Can you recall the first story you wrote as an aspiring writer? Was it published? My early stories were not published because I didn't know how to submit them. In the early 1970s, when I was about 22 or 23, I visited Bangalore with my father and saw the name of a prominent weekly magazine editor, Prajamata, on a house. I introduced myself and said I wrote short stories. He encouraged me to send a story, and I did, but I waited, and it wasn't published immediately. I was disappointed and stopped writing for a while. Later, after my marriage, my husband brought home an issue of Prajamata and showed me that my story had been published. It was a short fiction piece but not based on my own life as I had limited experience at that time. My husband and father were very happy and proud. The magazine was prestigious and published many leading writers. However, after that, I got married and got busy with family life, so I didn't continue publishing immediately. Also Read | Reading is good when it disturbs you: Amitava Kumar Do you think this Booker Prize recognition will have a positive impact on the visibility of Kannada literature in India and globally? Yes, certainly. People are now recognising the potential of Kannada literature at both the national and global levels. Our agent told me the book has been translated into 35 languages after the Booker recognition. Even now, we are still signing agreements for more translations. This is very positive for Kannada literature, giving it more visibility and encouraging more translations. Your work gives voice to the Muslim community, especially Muslim women in southern India. Do you think these voices from marginalised communities are still missing from mainstream Indian literature? Yes, for a long time there was no representation of Muslim voices—socially, culturally, or in literature—until we started writing through the Bandaya Sahitya Sanghatane. As an Urdu-speaking Muslim, I faced many challenges. Through Bandaya, our sensibilities were shaped, and I began to see society differently. But when I wanted to write, I had many questions: What should I write about? Who should my characters be? What names should I give them? What background should I choose? I was writing for Kannada-speaking people, but my community was very closed and unexplored in Kannada literature. In our Bandaya workshops, the stalwarts advised me to write about myself, my people, and my home. They said the Muslim community had never really been explored in Kannada literature—religiously, socially, or culturally. Until then, most writers were Brahmin men, not even Brahmin women. They wrote about Muslim men, often as either saintly or villainous, but never as real people with complexities. Are there some South Indian writers from the Muslim community whose work deserves wider readership? Yes, there are many in Tamil and Telugu, especially many Muslim women writers. In Malayalam, too, there are several. For example, Salma from Tamil Nadu is a prominent writer who faced harassment when she started writing. There are many others in Telugu and Malayalam who have already been translated into English and other languages. Even my works were translated quite late compared with them. Are there any books you like to give away as gifts to family or friends? Yes, I often gift Ambedkar's literature, especially Annihilation of Caste. He has written many books, and I like to give them to my relatives and friends. I was very much influenced by Ambedkar's writings, especially during my involvement in social movements. If you were to recommend three classics from Kannada literature to someone new to the language, which would you choose? I would recommend the landmark Kannada novel Kusumabale published in 1988 by Devanuru Mahadeva, a prominent Dalit writer. And Samskara by U.R. Ananthamurthy which was first published in 1965. These are highly regarded classics in Kannada literature. What are you currently reading? Anything on your bedside table? I don't usually keep books on my bedside table. Since February, when my book was longlisted for the Booker Prize, I haven't read anything except newspapers. I've been busy giving interviews. Before that, I read works by Sarah Joseph, a prominent voice in Malayalam literature. If you were going on a long vacation and could take only two or three books, which would you choose? I don't read on vacations. I prefer to enjoy the scenery and make notes about my experiences. I only read when I'm at home. Finally, what advice would you give to young writers, especially from marginalised communities, who are writing in languages other than English? Whatever language you write in, just write. Write and write. Don't wait to write in English. Write in any language you are comfortable with. If your work has potential, it will be translated and recognised. Just continue writing and don't stop. Majid Maqbool is an independent journalist and writer based in Kashmir. Bookmarks is a fortnightly column where writers reflect on the books that shaped their ideas, work, and ways of seeing the world.
India Today
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- India Today
Arunava Sinha's 'The Laboratory'
It's fair to say that literature-in-translation from Indian languages is enjoying an extended phase of cultural prominence. Writers working in Hindi, Tami, Bangla, Kannada et al are increasingly being published around the world in translation, and winning awards (the latest being the 2025 International Booker Prize for Kannada writer Banu Mushtaq and her English translator Deepa Bhasthi). In another happy development in this space, the prolific translator Arunava Sinha has started a new publishing imprint called Chowringhee Press, specifically for Indian translations. The first-ever Chowringhee Press title is Sinha's own translation of The Laboratory, a short novel by Rabindranath Tagore that also happens to be the last novel he ever wrote.
BBC News
09-07-2025
- Entertainment
- BBC News
BBC Audio Rebel writer: the Indian author who questioned everything
Indian writer Banu Mushtaq made history in May when she won the International Booker prize for Heart Lamp, a collection of short stories translated from the Kannada language. Not only was this the first short story collection to win the coveted prize, but Banu was the first author writing in Kannada to win, she shared the prize with her translator Deepa Bhasthi. Banu has been breaking stereotypes her whole life. Growing up in the southern Indian state of Karnataka, she was the first girl in her area to learn Kannada in school - a language that, at the time, was taught only to boys. She then chose college over an early marriage, and when she did finally marry, at the age of 26, it was for love, to a man of her choosing, rather than an arranged marriage. Although the early years of marriage were difficult for Banu and she stopped writing, she eventually returned to her passion, combining it with being a reporter, then an activist and eventually a lawyer. She tells Asya Fouks why she's never been afraid to stand up for what she believes in and why she's brought up her three daughters to question everything. This programme contains references to suicide. Presenter: Asya Fouks Producer: June Christie Get in touch: outlook@ or WhatsApp +44 330 678 2707 (Photo: Banu Mushtaq, winner of the International Booker prize 2025. Credit:)
Nikkei Asia
26-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Nikkei Asia
Books: Kannada Booker triumph 'to boost Indian regional writing'
Books Prizewinning translator Deepa Bhasthi celebrates international award Translator Deepa Bhasthi, left, and writer Banu Mushtaq pose with their trophies after winning the International Booker Prize for the short story collection "Heart Lamp," on May 20 in London. (© David Parry for the Booker Prize Foundation) MYTHILY RAMACHANDRAN CHENNAI -- Global interest in literature written in Kannada and other Indian regional languages is likely to rise significantly following this year's International Booker Prize win for the English translation of Banu Mushtaq's "Heart Lamp," according to translator Deepa Bhasthi. "Heart Lamp" -- a collection of 12 stories originally published in Kannada between 1990 and 2023 -- was the only work on the shortlist that was not a novel and was not expected to win the award, presented in London on May 20, despite warm notices from critics.
Scroll.in
21-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
The JCB Prize for Literature has shut down. What else has ended with it?
One full month after the announcement of the 2025 International Booker Prize winner, it is difficult to enter a London bookshop without seeing the winning book, Kannada writer Banu Mushtaq's short story collection Heart Lamp, translated by Deepa Bhasthi, displayed in full glory. From the Foyle's shop window in Charing Cross to special tables in Waterstones and Hatchard's, not to mention dozens of independent bookshops, Heart Lamp is, quite literally, everywhere. While sales figures in the UK are yet to be disclosed publicly, publishers And Other Stories, whose decision to publish the book in the UK made it eligible for the prize, have been working hard to meet the demand from online and in-store buyers. In India, sales are believed to be closing in on the 100,000-mark, an incredible achievement by any standards for a work of serious contemporary fiction, and a translation, and a volume of short stories, at that. These figures are in the same orbit as the sales of Geetanjali Shree's Tomb of Sand, the English translation of Ret Samadhi by Daisy Rockwell, which won the International Booker Prize in 2022, and of the Hindi original. Clearly, when an Indian book wins the International Booker Prize for its English translation, readers – some regular, many more sporadic – in the country snap up copies. Earlier, we saw the same success for Indian or India-linked winners of the Booker Prize – Salman Rushdie, Arundhati Roy, Kiran Desai, and Aravind Adiga – for their books. The end of the story This is exactly what the JCB Prize for Literature had wanted, hoped and expected to achieve with its winning titles in India. Launched in 2018, the prize picked seven winners in seven successive years, awarding the writer Rs 25 lakh, and the translator, when there was one, Rs 10 lakh, before quietly disappearing. The prize that had positioned itself as the Indian Booker, and had definitive plans to make the same impact on the world of books in India, had the unlikeliest of endings – at least, in the form in which it had begun life – by simply ghosting the entire literary world. No announcement, no farewell, no summing up. Of course, the modest ceremony for the 2024 award, held not at a swank venue but at the sponsor's corporate headquarters in Faridabad, Haryana, held a clue. So did the near-total lack of marketing for the shortlisted books. Everyone in the literary establishment, especially in Delhi, had an inkling that this might be a swansong. There is still no formal acknowledgement, but with no announcements having been made for the 2025 awards, it is obviously the end of the prize as we knew it. The only official document in this context is a document that has been uploaded to the website of the JCB Prize for Literature, stating, among other things, that the 'Notice is hereby given that in pursuance of sub-section (4)(ii) of section 8 of the Companies Act, 2013, an application has been made by JCB Literature Foundation to the Registrar of companies, Delhi & Haryana at Delhi for revocation of the licence issued to it under section 8(5) of the companies Act, 2013. After the cancellation of license, the company will be required to add the word 'Private Limited' to its name in place of 'Foundation'. The same document, however, lists activities that are more or less the same as those involved in running the prize. The same mills that churned with the rumours of closure have also been suggesting that the JCB Prize might be back, in a different form. The organisers have commissioned a survey to assess the impact of the prize over seven years, and many people in the world of books have been interviewed for it. But whether the findings will form the basis of a newer version of the prize, or will feed into a closure report, is a closely guarded secret at the moment. Play Why, then, did the JCB Prize fold? Why, for that matter, did its big-ticket predecessor, the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature go the same way after its 2019 awards, the ninth in the series that gave $25,000 to the winning title (shared equally between the writer and translator in case of a translated book). The onset of the pandemic may have forced the hands of the sponsors, although there, too, no formal announcement was made. Still, the JCB Prize for Literature came on the scene with a grand flourish and with seemingly powerful intent, as exemplified by the extravagant marketing, advertising, and event-management that went into the first two years of the prize with Rana Dasgupta as the director. Dasgupta, for reasons never made clear to the literary community, was let go of immediately after the second year of the prize, and a few months later, Mita Kapur, founder of the literary agency Siyahi, took over, leading the prize over the next five years, including the difficult ones during the pandemic. To its credit, despite having to go online for everything, the prize did not falter in its commitment during this period, returning to something like the grandeur of its pre-pandemic version from 2022 onwards. What changed, then, forcing the decision to close down? Maybe it is important to accept and acknowledge here that the corporate entity behind the prize, JCB, has had its own inadvertent image problem in India with its bulldozers being pressed into service for demolition of private property as a means of punitive administrative steps undertaken by several state governments. This even led to an open letter criticising the prize, signed by over 120 writers, translators, and publishers in 2024. But the company, of course, has not gone public with its reasons for stopping – or, at the very least, pausing – the prize. Did the prize make an impact? Perhaps the more important question, however, is what sort of JCB-Prize-shaped hole there will be in India's literary world now. To make even informed guesses, it is, of course, necessary to consider the achievements of the prize over its seven years. And the very first question here is, are seven years long enough for a literary prize to have made significant effect? The JCB Prize for Literature was by no means the first high-profile literary prize in India. The Crossword Book Award was instituted by the bookshop chain back in 1998 and continues to be run despite a brief break. The Hindu Literary Prize began life in 2010, continuing the till the outbreak of the pandemic in 2019. The Sahitya Akademi awards were established as far back as in 1954, and continue to be given out. And there was, of course, the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature. Stepping as it did into a space already primed for literary awards, the JCB Prize had the luxury of being able to hit the ground running. Given this backdrop, seven years was long enough to build on an impactful beginning. For comparison, remember that Tomb of Sand won the International Booker in its seventh year. The greatest opportunity for the prize was to create interest – and, by extension, a return to a reading culture – in not just the winning book but the entire list of shortlisted and even longlisted titles. Over seven years, these numbered 71 (in 2019, two of Perumal Murugan's novels were considered as a combined work) and 35, respectively, amounting to a fine showcase of fiction from India. And yet, despite efforts ranging from special films, appearances at literary festivals, and bookshop partnerships, none of the novels could be said to have gained a boost because of their appearance on the longlist or shortlist. Why, even the winning books have not reported anything remotely close to the kind of sales that India's two International Booker Prize winners did. Consider the seven fine novels that have won the JCB Prize between 2018 and 2024. 2018: Jasmine Days, Benyamin, translated from the Malayalam by Shahnaz Habib. 2019: The Far Field, Madhuri Vijay. 2020: Moustache, S Hareesh, translated from the Malayalam by Jayasree Kalathil. 2021: Delhi, A Soliloquy, M Mukundan, translated from the Malayalam by Fathima EV and Nandakumar K. 2022: The Paradise of Food, Khalid Jawed, translated from the Urdu by Baran Farooqi. 2023: Fire Bird, Perumal Murugan, translated from the Tamil by Janaki Kannan. 2024: Lorenzo Searches for the Meaning of Life, Upamanyu Chatterjee. While official sales figures are not available, the informal response from publishers was that none of these books became break-out successes among book-buyers. Play Arguably the most important actual achievement of the prize, therefore, was to create expectations of winning, among writers and publishers. For the first time, both of these groups thought actively about the possibility of winning the prize when they put out a title. Perhaps the great change in publishing programmes came because of the decision of the prize to consider translated books as well as those written in English. As many as 19 of the 36 shortlisted titles over seven years have been translations from various Indian languages. While it might be an exaggeration to state that publishers looked at translations with greater intent because of the chances of one of them winning the prize, there was undoubtedly a renewed focus on translated because of the prize. The impact of the end of the prize, then, will be felt mostly by the publishing community. Most of all, probably, by the writers and translators who will not win the Rs 25-lakh and Rs 10-lakh purses. With serious writing being a monetarily dismal practice in India, awards like these can go a long way towards supporting future work by prize-winning authors. For readers, unfortunately, the closure of the prize may have very little impact. Still, the JCB Prize for Literature has create a model. The literary community will certainly be hoping for a second version of the prize – or a new one to replace it.
