Latest news with #HeartLamp:SelectedStories
Gulf Today
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Gulf Today
Author Purva Grover is on a mission to keep stories alive
There's a quiet and steady transformation unfolding in the UAE's literary scene. Book clubs are thriving. Books are showing up on Reels, in tote bags, and in aesthetic flat lays — often accompanied by cappuccinos and candles. But as the visual culture of reading grows, a question arises: are books mere props or are they inviting portals? Dubai-based author, journalist, and literary advocate Purva Grover, has been exploring this question. Since relocating to Dubai in 2012, she has worked tirelessly to preserve the spirit of reading — through her books (she has authored four so far), open mic poetry events, curated reading sessions, literary workshops, and her beloved neighbourhood book club. 'There's a hunger for genuine stories, for real literary experiences,' Purva says. 'That's the space I try to nurture.' This year, she revived her book club in Business Bay, Dubai, which had gone quiet and moved online during the pandemic. The club now meets twice a month at a coffee shop, diner, or lounge. Rules are simple: arrive as you are, read with an open heart, and speak your truth. The club's most recent session, its fifth of the year, left it deeply moved. The chosen read was Heart Lamp: Selected Stories by Banu Mushtaq, translated by Deepa Bhasthi — the title that recently won the International Booker Prize 2025. The timing was perfect. The group had serendipitously picked up the book - and was happy it had made the Longlist. When the prize was announced, it felt like a collective victory. 'As women and as readers, we were so proud,' says Purva. 'When the author replied to our book club post and replied to my message a few days before she left for the award ceremony, it felt deeply personal and was a big honour. It also spoke amply of the author's humility.' Their discussion around the book was anything but surface-level. From metaphors in The High-Heeled Shoe to the haunting cry in Heart Lamp, every story was dissected and absorbed. The conversations ranged further. One member spoke of starting a Kannada (Banu Mushtaq's native language) book club, and another reflected on how love sometimes felt like pressure. 'It wasn't just about the text — it was about life,' notes Purva. Over the years, her journey has been defined by her belief in the transformative power of words. Her latest book is #icouldhavebeenaninstapost (2024), an invitation to scroll through short shorts where one expresses 'unpretty' moments in an OTT Insta-friendly manner. Previously published were The Trees Told Me So (2017), a book of short stories, which draws a poignant picture of love, life, and loss; It was the year 2020 (2021), a fragmentary novel set in real-time, daring to speak of the pandemic waiting to take over lives, or whatever little was left of it; and She (2021), which made waves for its honest, relatable, and fun approach to the topic of womanhood. Purva is also known for her #abookaweek challenge (52 books a year) which motivates a reader, including herself, to read one book every week across genres. It is a quiet rebellion against distraction and literary alienation. Nisha Punjabi, homemaker, part-time poet, and a self-described dreamer of stories, says that 'during my first month in Dubai, I felt lonely. Then I joined the book club — and everything changed. It became a space where I found my voice, grew more confident, and felt heard. Over the past two years, I've read more books than ever — and gained friendships I cherish.' In 2021, Purva was honoured by the Dubai Culture & Arts Authority with the UAE's first-ever Golden Visa under the 'Class of Creators from the People of Culture and Art' — as an author. It was also an acknowledgement of her contributions to the region's storytelling landscape. But she says she is far from done. She continues to visit venues across the UAE to host storytelling sessions, book readings, and workshops for children and adults. 'I want to continue creating spaces where people can gather around stories — on stage, in classrooms, in cafés, in libraries, or under the stars,' she says. She has organised various sessions with Dubai Public Libraries, UAE schools and corporates, among others. With a background in journalism, public speaking and theatre, she brings structure and soul to her initiatives. She believes that storytelling is not just an art — it is a form of community care. Her sessions are more than just readings; they are invitations to reflect. She puts it this way: 'Literature isn't about perfection. It's about presence. One page, one conversation, one spark at a time — that's how stories survive.' Dr. Bijal Mehta, a specialist dermatologist, recalls that 'as someone who drifted from being an avid reader to barely picking up a book, rediscovering reading felt like coming home. Purva's book club is a space full of thoughtful conversations, diverse reads, and is a warm, non-judgmental place. It is more than just a book club — it has become a go-to place to meet like-minded individuals. It has reignited my passion for reading and reminded me of the joy of slowing down, reflecting, and connecting.' If you want to commemorate the new wave of literary culture in Dubai, Purva's work is the place to start. Her book club may be modest in size, but its impact is undeniable. Amidst the screeching of tires and the flash of neon, she is quietly building a literary home.
Hindustan Times
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Making of the sisterhood of a writer, her translator
The collection Heart Lamp: Selected Stories has riches, and some repetitive moments. That said, it is undeniably one of the very few examples of its kind, available in English. Like the Tamil writer Salma, Banu Mushtaq takes us to a different geography and gives us a linguistically heterogeneous, domestic world of Muslim men and women — markedly different from the North Indian fare of an Attia Hosain or Khadija Mastoor. However, my thoughts today are not so much about the original but the translation, and it involves not a comparison with the original (for I can't read Kannada) but how it comes over to us. In other words, how do I read this text as a non-Kannadiga woman reader/translator and respond from that twin-ness. This is also to foreground the translator's role who, unlike many translators has been rewarded, but like most translators, not engaged with. Like translators, readers also translate, fill gaps, and sometimes don't. (AP) When you open the book, you move directly into the first story. There is no introduction to the writer, or the translator's note — the opening paragraph in Deepa Bhasthi's translation makes a luminous start — the long sentence is done sharply, going from the 'concrete jungle' through 'people, people, people' and ending with the introduction of Mujahid. The voice is that of Zeenat ('Stone Slabs for Shaista Mahal') who then tells us how absurdly few choices there are for educated and intelligent women to introduce husbands. Mushtaq's comment on the limited language of kinship and intimacy and its repeated failure to sustain equality is picked up by Bhasthi who brings us to a witty voice, playful options such as ganda or pati and ending with how for women, Muslim women in particular, husband-as-God is sanctified in language. So, what can a Zeenat-like person do in such circumstances? Zeenat who notices the 'labour' of both Shaista and Asifa. Mushtaq, Zeenat, Bhasthi – all of them show a keen ear for what is not said, and push the conventions of language. The first striking impression is that the writer had found her translator and we have entered a world of women whose myriad spoken and unspoken words have found a place. Women translators have often found thick histories behind women's few words, told in seriousness or in play. Every once in a while, (not always), you can't help feeling that when you read a translation that only a woman could have written this; translated this — both acts intertwine, interchange, and become inseparable. Does writing carry the gender of its creator? Perhaps. It is more evident on some days. Bhasthi's use of the words, 'arey, I forgot' or 'Che! I have made a mistake' also helps define Zeenat conversationally. There's comfort with which Bhasthi makes rules and breaks them as she pleases. Her use of Indian repetitions such as 'hot-hot' samosa sparkles, and does not feel oriental or gimmick-like. Bhasthi has a light touch, she does things but also lets them be allowing for intrigue as well as familiarity. For instance, the song about pigs in 'Fire Rain'. 'Handi yendeke heegaleyuve...' which she does not translate, instead builds its meaning into the interpretative sentences of the next paragraph. 'The meat of a pig is haram. Likewise anger. Devout Muslims believe that they become impure if they even see a pig', and so on. As a non-Kannadiga reader who didn't understand the song, I saw the word handi several times and knew that to be the pig. The corrosive effects of this prohibitive food on the body, at home? I wondered. It was much too important to let it go, so I confirmed it with a Kannadiga friend. However, take another instance in the same story, 'Shavige payasa'. I do not know what 'shavige' means. The word payasa is close to payasam which I do know. So I fill in the gap and tell myself it is some kind of kheer, an analogical element that helps me get through. The sentence also has some context: '…that sister had come and asked for a share in the family property, and made the biryani and shavige payasa prepared in her honour taste bitter'. On the other hand, the word 'Rii' used in this collection by the women to address their husbands made me wonder if it was an elevating word of respect or an endearment. The relationships between husbands and wives in Heart Lamp make little room for endearments so I stayed with that ambivalence, without an anxiety to find out. The word seragu refers to the head-covering by women, but is it like a dupatta? Perhaps it is. Bhasthi would not appreciate this north Indianisation I am doing! It would have helped a little to know 'Rii' more than seragu. Is it untranslatable because it's too intimate or not intimate at all? My discomfiture with somewhat monochromatic conjugality in the book comes to my aid in making some assumptions here. Like translators, readers also translate, fill gaps, and sometimes don't, knowing that it may not be possible or even necessary. The odd Urdu word, the question tag, the Kannada word that is sometimes translated and sometimes not — is there a coherent philosophy here? It is, by Bhasthi's admissions, a 'sisterhood' and if I may add, one that also involved the writer and translator playing with multiple languages throwing words back and forth — Dakhini, Urdu, Telugu, Kannada and so on. The combination of shared understanding on one hand, and a rich repository of multilingual practices of speech by both women have created, I believe, a highly nimble, unapologetically 'itself' and sparkling translation. What goes as the translator's note appears at the end, titled 'against italics'. Bhasthi's translation philosophy is not only against italics, it is against taming. But so is Mushtaq's book and all the women in and around. Rita Kothari is professor of English, Ashoka University, and co-director, Ashoka Center for Translation. The views expressed are personal.
Deccan Herald
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Deccan Herald
Kannada Sahitya Parishat's ex-president writes to CM, urges to waive GST on International Booker Prize money
Banu Mushtaq's 'Heart Lamp: Selected Stories', translated into English by Deepa Bhasthi, won the International Booker Prize on Wednesday.
Gulf Weekly
22-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Gulf Weekly
Winning hearts
Heart Lamp: Selected Stories by Indian activist, lawyer and writer Banu Mushtaq has bagged this year's International Booker Prize. Translated by Deepa Bhasthi, the 12 stories written between 1990 and 2023 tackle the everyday lives of women and girls in Muslim communities in southern India, shedding light on a variety of themes, including class divide, cultural disconnection and generational trauma, in a manner that is witty and humourous, yet moving and excoriating. 'My stories are about women, how society demands unquestioning obedience from them, and in doing so, inflicts inhumane cruelty upon them, turning them into mere subordinates,' Banu said. Released last month, Heart Lamp is the first short story collection and the first Kannada language translation to win the prize. Deepa explained that her approach to translating the book was not to turn the language into proper English, but rather to introduce the reader to new words. 'I call it translating with an accent,' she said.
The Wire
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Wire
Humour, Scepticism and the Realities of the Familial in Banu Mushtaq's ‘Heart Lamp'
Representative image. Photo: Joshua Tsu/Unsplash Real journalism holds power accountable Since 2015, The Wire has done just that. But we can continue only with your support. Donate now The diversity of the seething everyday life of certain classes of southern Indian Muslims is showcased in swift, confident strokes in Kannada writer Banu Mushtaq's Heart Lamp: Selected Stories (translated by Deepa Bhasthi). The edition unfortunately does not fully clarify when each story was written, but the blurb indicates these were written between 1990 and 2023, even as Mushtaq is linked to literary movements from the 1970s onward. The helpful translator's note informs us that Mushtaq's Kannada/Dakhni is brewed from a lively mix of Persian, Dehlavi, Marathi and Telugu. Even though English must partially flatten, much of the humorous, wide-eyed energy of the stories does come through. Bhasthi argues that it is not enough to Anglicise Indian words – rather, that Anglicisation must carry the flavour and sound of the region that is being translated. Thus, rotti instead of roti, and lungi and panche instead of dhoti, and the Kannada-inflected khabaristan instead of the more 'accurate' Arabic-laden qabaristan. Banu Mushtaq, translated by Deepa Bhasthi Heart Lamp: Selected Stories Penguin, 2025 Translations must thus negotiate familiarity and distance. One must not assume that a reader can eavesdrop at any home; and yet, the pleasure of eavesdropping is also to see all the clashes of similarity and difference. Many of the stories deal with the family, for example, and Mushtaq, who is also a lawyer active in social causes, both reaffirms and undermines the centrality of the family by introducing barbed questions of property, marital distress, the education of professional women, livelihood and parenting, and so on. What makes this literary and engaging is that Mushtaq carves enough distance from these perennially stressful issues. There is much descriptive humour, a love of describing faces and attitudes reminiscent of leisured nineteenth century novels: 'That their thoughts went in the same direction was proof of their friendship. He was an expert in deducing the mutawalli saheb's moods from the ups and downs of his face, the latitude and longitude of the movements of his eyebrows, the quivering of his moustache, the lines of his nose and the lines at the side of his mouth. He would tailor his words, his behavior, the bend at his waist accordingly.' The shrewdness of Mushtaq's writing is that it is sometimes unclear if the tone is only that of humour, and not also that of scepticism and menace. For example, here is a description of a body being transported to be buried in a cemetery after it was inadvertently misplaced: 'Finally Nisar's body was exhumed. The mutawalli and his follower's draped the rotten body in the brand new, starched shroud they had brought with them. Since the body was too rotten for ritual bathing, holy water was sprinkled on it. The foul smell made them want to retch, but no one showed it on their faces. The policemen covered their noses with their handkerchiefs…They had poured on copious amounts of scent and covered the top of the bier with a chador made of strings of jasmine to mask the smell of rotting flesh. None of the jasmine buds had bloomed.' The black humour continues, corpses continue to be mislaid: 'Was it a Hindu corpse? Was it a Muslim corpse? The body was too rotten to be identified. Should it rot her, should it rot there.' Banu Mushtaq. Photo: Facebook/Banu Mushtaq Astringent humour continues to serve as social commentary. Here is an example from another story titled 'A Decision of the Heart': 'The first option was to give talaq to Akhila. But given that he really loved her, and that they had four small children, he decided that was no answer. Apart from her intense irritation with Mehabood Bi, Akhila was a good woman. Also, if he gave her talaq, there was no way he could stay in town. Wouldn't her brothers break his arms and legs?' Such passages put one in mind of the works of Anees Salim. There are stories however that work on a more consistently grave register. This includes the last one, 'Be a woman once, Oh Lord' (the deity is also addressed as Prabhu), where the tone retains a more job-like questioning, a whole life poured out in angry bewilderment at endless obfuscations of tradition and avuncular patriarchy: 'I has asked three or four simple questions, to which I received thousands of answers in reply.' Shot through the despair are still some desperately hopeful imaginations of what marriage somewhere may still be: 'If only I had been his backbone and he the hands that would wipe my tears away…' As noted, it would have been helpful if the chronology and rationale of the ordering of stories were explicated. One would then have had a better sense of Mushtaq's evolving sensibility, her responses to her own maturing imagination. Yet, even as it stands, much is gained: an introduction to many readers to a voice that can be playful, despondent, forgiving, and often just minutely and detachedly observant. The work is a testament to the riches of writing that one continually finds in India – whether the axes that one chooses to explore be that of region or gender or language or profession or religion. Nikhil Govind is the author, most recently, of The Moral Imagination of the Mahabharata (Bloomsbury, 2023).
