On March 25, 2025, an intimate conversation with International Booker Prize 2025 winner, writer, activist, and advocate Banu Mushtaq was held at Souharda Hall in Bengaluru. The event was organised by Naaveddu Nilladiddare–Karnataka (If We Don’t Rise–Karnataka) and the Karnataka Lekhakiyara Sangha (Karnataka Women Writers’ Association).
Banu Mushtaq, who began writing in the 1970s and 1980s as part of the Bandaya Sahitya (Rebel Literature) movement, was among the few women in a collective of Muslim and Dalit writers seeking to reshape Kannada literature by centring marginalised voices. Over the decades, her work has come to occupy a distinctive place in the literary and political landscape of the state.
The Bengaluru gathering sought to move beyond the formalities of award ceremonies, creating space for a more personal, wide-ranging conversation. As one of the organisers, Mallige from Naaveddu Nilladiddare–Karnataka, noted, the idea was to facilitate a “heart-to-heart” dialogue in which Mushtaq could reflect freely on her writing, politics, and the present moment.
The discussion was moderated by Dr R Sunandamma, president of the Women Writers’ Association, and Anita Cheria, a thinker associated with the Naaveddu Nilladiddare platform, a collective of women’s organisations and individuals working on gender justice and human rights.
At the centre of the conversation was Heart Lamp: Selected Stories, translated by Deepa Bhasthi, which won the 2025 International Booker Prize. Spanning three decades of Banu’s writing, the collection foregrounds the lives of Muslim women and girls, while engaging with caste, class, and religion.
Responding to Sunandamma’s observation that sisterhood runs as a central thread through her work, Banu said, “Sisterhood is a concept very dear to me. It exists naturally within us, though it often becomes blurred under the various pressures of the world. I try to show through my stories how it springs back to life when the moment demands.”
She pointed to her story Karinaagaragalu (Black Cobras), in which a woman, rejected by her husband and ostracised for giving birth only to daughters, endures sustained humiliation. When she loses her child, however, the women of her colony gather around her in solidarity. The story, Banu suggested, captures how collective resistance can emerge even within deeply patriarchal settings.
Anita Cheria highlighted Banu’s role in bringing working-class and Muslim narratives into Kannada literature, often in the face of backlash. Picking up on this, she asked how such writing can be sustained in the current climate.
“The momentum of the movements that existed when I started is missing today,” Banu said. “The challenges now are greater. Back then, our writings were mocked, even at literary meets, as ‘kitchen literature’ or ‘Sabara Sahitya’ (Muslim literature), and women’s writing was rarely critiqued seriously. I often faced the dilemma: should I write about ‘Kamala–Basava’ or ‘Razia–Abdulla’? It was the elders of the Bandaya movement who stood by me. Today, we have platforms like Naaveddu Nilladiddare, but we must reflect and learn anew how to stand together and hold each other’s hands.”
The conversation also turned to the political climate and the shaping of public discourse. Raising concerns about the “criminalisation” of certain communities and the growing appeal of hate among young people, Sunandamma asked how Banu viewed these shifts.
“This is not merely an ‘attraction’ to hate; it is a deliberate, state-sponsored effort to fill the hearts of the youth with malice,” Banu said. “It’s not just the government; leaders of every religion and community have abandoned the life-affirming values of their ancestors, and instead focus on imposing rigid restrictions.” She added that social prejudice has deepened to the point where people are judged, and excluded, on the basis of something as superficial as attire.
On patriarchy, Banu spoke about how its logic is often internalised by women themselves. “The idea that ‘a woman is a woman’s worst enemy’ is a lie,” she said. “It is patriarchal values that are the enemy of us all.”
Responding to a question from activist Madhu Bhushana on how Muslim women are often trapped within reductive, binary narratives, Mushtaq drew a historical parallel. “In the medieval era, women used their experiential knowledge to provide medical aid, but as soon as it became profitable, men seized it and branded those same women as witches to be burnt. There have always been tactics to control women’s agency. We must reclaim our power. We must stop war, and the exploitation carried out in its name.”
She also pointed to what she described as a worrying rollback of hard-won protections. “Today, the tide is turning against the legal safeguards for women. Even courts, in moments of insensitivity, remark that ‘a husband is not an ATM’ in the aftermath of a tragic suicide. It shows how much work lies ahead.”
The session concluded with Banu reading her poem Soojiya Kannu (The Eye of the Needle), which ends on a reflective note: “Accountability means preventing the rust… holding back time for a moment.”