Banu Mushtaq: 'Playing the role of a critical insider is not easy'

Longlisted for the International Booker Prize, writer Banu Mushtaq shares insights into her thought process, experiences, and writing style.

Acclaimed writer and lawyer Banu Mushtaq, whose book Heart Lamp has been longlisted for the International Booker Prize, is known for crafting resilient stories of girls and women. In conversation with DH’s Anitha Pailoor, Mushtaq shares insights into her thought process, experiences, and writing style. Excerpts:

Congratulations on making it to the International Booker Prize longlist! What are your thoughts on translating Kannada literature into other languages?

Thank you! This recognition is not just personal but an honour for Kannada language and literature. At the same time, it highlights the need for translation of Kannada works into English. Every year, lakhs of pages get published in Kannada. However, not even 1% gets translated into English.

Just like the Kannada translation of English works helps us understand the Western world and integrate their ways into ours, information should flow from Kannada to the West as well. 

As the judges of the International Booker Prize longlist mention, your stories portray the lives of those often on the periphery of society: girls and women in Muslim communities in southern India. How has the experience been as a critical insider in a rapidly changing society?

Playing the role of a critical insider is not easy. It requires a different kind of conviction and an ability to explore the human condition. We would be critiquing the system or the community we are part of. People celebrate when they read good things, but they do not tolerate it if the grim realities are discussed.

The criticism against me is that I get name and fame by describing the regressive ways and practices that were supposed to be confined to the community. 

When I started writing in the 1970s, Kannada literature depicted Muslim characters either as highly virtuous or shockingly vile. The black and white characters did not reflect the realities of the Muslim community. I wanted to fill the gap. I wanted to show, through my writings, that Muslims are like people from any other community. They have shades of the good and the bad. 

As a result, my characters are not black and white, and my writings explore the mosaic of human emotions and relationships. Circumstances might be different, but the complexity of human nature is more or less the same, irrespective of the community.

There was a general feeling that Muslims are a closed community, as the social and cultural practices of the community were not known to other communities. Writers like me tried to build a bridge that connected the Muslim community with other communities through prose and poetry. A large number of readers, writers, and critics appreciated the opening of a new world to Kannada literature. However, some members of the Muslim community did not tolerate us being critical insiders.

I had to face the consequences at a personal level also. Some community leaders censured and outcast me in 2000. I also had to endure shame, trolling, and violence, including a murder attempt, from fanatics for over three months. Fellow writers supported me. Baraguru Ramachandrappa and others mediated with the leaders of the Muslim community and convinced them to remove the ban on me, bringing an end to the episode.

Tell us a bit about Heart Lamp…

This is the first time my stories have been translated into English. The 12 stories in Heart Lamp are selected from my short story collection published by Abhiruchi Prakashana in Kannada, under the title Haseena mattu Itara Kathegalu. These stories were written over a period of four decades.

Deepa Bhasthi and I discussed and chose stories keeping in mind the theme, narration, technique, characters, and context. Deepa has kept the sensibilities and the style of narration intact while translating the stories. The collection won the English PEN Translation Award for 2024, and subsequently, Haseena And Other Stories was published in the UK. 

Heart Lamp is also a story in the collection, the original version of which is titled Edeya Hanate.

You are an activist, you worked as a journalist, and you are a practicing lawyer. How has this versatility contributed to your oeuvre?

Experience contributes to a person’s maturity and versatility. Life is not linear; it moves at its own pace and rhythm. As I accumulated experience as an activist, social worker, journalist, and advocate, I moved beyond the personal self. My thought process, ideology, and conversation—everything got a touch of universality. 

I started processing and providing context to the multiple incidents and characters that moved or disturbed me in my everyday life. While such incidents impact me, I also start processing them in various contexts—from historical to social. During the process, several such incidents, characters, and objects form a connection in the mind. So, when I start a story, I cannot anticipate how it will progress and what the climax will be. The rich exposure and experience that life has presented to me prepare me for the storytelling process.

How do your characters and plots impact you?

I have tried different literary genres—poetry, nonfiction, and fiction. I have been a reporter and a translator as well. However, my favourite form is short story writing. It is amazing how we can weave narratives—through the turn of events, plot twists, etc—in a small canvas. When I read the dialogues of some characters, I wonder if they are my creation. 

My writing technique has also evolved over the years. My initial stories are straightforward with a simple and plain narrative. The censure incident immensely impacted my writing. I started engaging in self-censorship. Earlier, the focus was on writing a story as it formed in the mind. After 2000, I started thinking about the consequences of a story, character, or plot. To convey a message without ruffling feathers, I started using unique narration techniques. This layered narration helps me keep the intensity of the effect without being obvious. Those who follow the tone and the tenor understand the gravity of the topic. This technique has given me the creative freedom, which is a basic requirement for any writer. 

Your stories explore various themes, but resilience in a patriarchal setting is something that stands out. You cut through caste, class, and religious fault lines through your stories. Can literary portrayal bring about change on the ground?

Yes. That is my hope. But I do not make it obvious. I communicate it through the devices I use—characters, themes, and action. It is not just about words; a short story is also about the artistry of the author. I use different shades to make a point.

My characters show that humanity is above everything else. In Karinagara, I have depicted how women can support each other even in a patriarchal setting. There are numerous such incidents in my stories.

Readers and reviewers identify these sensitivities and sensibilities. But some read it just as a story. Once a story is written, it becomes the readers’ property. They take in whatever they can depending on their grasp and exposure. Stories make an impact on readers and bring about change.

You were active in the Bandaya literary movement. How has the movement shaped you?

I was a state coordinator of the Bandaya movement. The movement mainly worked with women, Dalit, and Muslim writers. It guided young writers to weave stories around their lived experience. For instance, when I started writing initially, I was not sure if I should be using Hindu characters and festivals as opposed to Muslim characters and festivals.

Then, my readers were mostly from the Hindu community. Senior writers such as Baraguru Ramachandrappa, Chandrashekar Patil, P Lankesh, Chennanna Walikar, Ramjan Darga, who were part of the movement, guided us to write about people from our communities, write about the ways, practices and rituals that we practice in a manner that would resonate with common readers. 

Essentially, we had to build the roads to allow the movement of cultural expression and thoughts in Kannada literature so that later generations of Muslim, Dalit, and women writers could use this road. As a result, these wings of Kannada literature have grown significantly and effectively now.

Your views on the present and future of Kannada literature…

There are many positive developments and some concerns as well. There is an allegation that the current generation is commercialising literature, which deprives literature of creativity. At the same time, the younger generation is also producing high-quality literature with unique lived experiences and sensibilities. While competitions are important to churn out a new crop of literature, it is not a good development to see people writing only for the sake of competitions.