Welcome to Wayanad

A report from India's "first and largest rurally-held literature festival"

I went to Wayanad in rural Kerala for a literature festival. The most noticeable thing about being there was I was no longer confronted at every turn by the giant face of the Great Leader smiling sternly from a billboard. What a relief! At the litfest today, a popular actor named Prakash Raj declared from the main stage that the Prime Minister was a “useless, heartless, visionless man” and the audience erupted into wild applause. In other words, I learned that in Modi’s India there can be—no, there is—an India where there is no Modi.

We must ask: why did the South not allow itself to be seduced by the rhetoric of the Hindu right? For several people that I spoke to here, the answer is very clear: the conscience of this part of the nation has been forged in a long struggle against caste in Hindu society and the fight for social justice. That is the main explanation for the electorate’s refusal of the blandishments of the bigoted raj.

Karthika V.K., editor and publisher

Dhirendra K. Jha, author of Gandhi’s Assassin and other titles.

I had some extraordinary, revealing conversations at the festival and you will get a sense of that from postcards like the ones in this post but I have to admit that I felt pretty useless at the festival—except the point I’m making is that this fact of my feeling marginalized speaks well for India’s future as a democracy.

Most of the invited authors spoke Malayalam and certainly the vast majority of the audience did too. English had a smaller role to play and Hindi none at all. ( The festival was buzzing with readings and all manner of conversations. It’s just that most of it was in Malayalam, which isn’t one of my languages. This experience was new to me; it was different from the city festivals I have attended in India. But it was a reminder of the ways in which regional cultures are separate and complete unto themselves; they cannot be controlled by a figure in distant Delhi. Whether this underlined India’s federal governmental structure or not, it certainly emphasized a linguistic and cultural autonomy. (I remarked about this at one point and a Malayalam- and Tamil-speaking participant told me that English was still a “friendly language” as far as she was concerned; she was resistant only to Hindi and Sanskrit which, she said, was “being shoved down our throat.”)

Justice Jasti Chelameswar

K.R. Meera, author of Aarachaar (Hangwoman) and other titles

Sorry for going on about feeling marginalized, but bear with me a bit. I presented one of the keynotes to the “international academic conference” that was also part of the broader litfest. (Why an academic conference? Who enjoys listening to academic writing? And why wasn’t Vinod Jose there if he had invited me to engage in this farce? But who am I to mock the ambitions of Vinod Jose and his team who pulled off an amazing feat of assembling 250+ writers and so many more in the audience? All with the help of a dedicated and utterly selfless set of volunteers! Not only that, the festival also showcased a farmer’s market and an arts and crafts fair. I was tempted to buy a dhoti when I saw a woman working the loom right there in a huge tent, white cotton with the most attractive gold border!) I was on time for my presentation. For a long while, the cameramen in the room were my only companions. Then, finally two more people came. But this was the moderator and her pleasant-faced colleague. This colleague came up to shake my hand. He said he taught English and that he had picked up my book at a recent book festival. It must have been my vanity that made me ask, Which book? He said, Against Storytelling. (This is a book edited by my good friend Amit Chaudhuri. I have nothing to do with it.) I hesitated. I guess I wished that it was indeed my book. And maybe I felt that I, too, had written it in a way. The WLF had made me feel we were all part of a giant community. Sure. I’m so happy you are reading my book.

I wish to note that at dinner last night, I was at a table where most of the people were journalists, many of them women. Several of these women had had serious cases filed against them for their reports on the injustices in our society. The cases are ongoing; the people charged have to make regular court appearances. The women at the table were debating which state of this nation would be best for their incarceration and why. Which state prohibits the serving of meat to prisoners? (I think the state mentioned was Yogi Adityanath’s Uttar Pradesh.) Which state allows the jailed to receive food from outside the jail walls? (Was it again Uttar Pradesh?) Not only did I feel that these writers were doing important work (more important than what is usually presented at litfests) but that the cruelty of the system was exposed when it brutally victimized its most conscientious citizens.

I recorded other precious interviews. I also had a fabulous conversation on stage about my books and writing practice with Rahul Bhatia as my thoughtful interlocutor. Yesterday when I woke up I found out that The Hindu newspaper had chosen my novel My Beloved Life among the ten best works of fiction in 2024. And this morning I went to the nearby Banasura Sagar Dam. Photos below.