Banu Mushtaq's Win is Big for Kannada and Even Bigger for Muslim Women

Mushtaq's win dents the dominant communal narrative by portraying Muslim women beyond binaries of religion.

Banu Mushtaq's win is a timely reminder to many young writers and thinkers for whom Universalism has been eclipsed by aggressive identity.

(Photo: Aroop Mishra/The Quint)

When Banu Mushtaq won the prestigious Booker Prize, I was filled with great joy. This joy, I observed within myself, was not cloured by a linguistic pride or nationalistic pride. To use an image, it felt like sunbathing on a winter day or having a glass of cool water from the earthen pot on a hot summer day. Her acceptance speech brought tears to my eyes, and I couldn't immediately decipher why.

So, I transcribed the speech for myself and began underlining the portions that moved me deeply. Then it became clear why Banu Mushtaq's win meant so much to me.

Her emphasis on building bridges, celebrating diversity, resisting divisiveness, and thinking of literature as a sacred space stood out. More importantly, it was a timely reminder to us that we need a world where every story matters, every voice is heard, and every person belongs.

It was the soft affirmation in this statement that made the moment of Booker stand out; it became much more than just a proud moment for India and Kannada.

Later in the day, I got asked by a freelance journalist what Banu Mushtaq's win meant to me as a Kannadiga and as a translator. Three things that came to my mind immediately.

No Social Capital

One, for the world out there, at a national and global level, Kannada literature has meant Girish Karnad, UR Ananthamurthy, AK Ramanujan, and off-late Vivek Shanbhag. Undoubtedly, these are prominent Kannada writers who hold significant cultural importance too.

But the Kannada world is much more diverse beyond these writers. Banu Mushtaq's win is a welcome change that way.

Moreover, the global recognition of the aforementioned writers has reasons beyond their literary merit as well. This is not a question about their art or creativity, but their social capital and linguistic positioning— their ability to converse with the English world and access the right niches of literary criticism, has contributed to their popularity beyond the Kannada landscape, allowing for wider readerships and reception.

Unlike them, Banu Mushtaq has scarcely been in the network of other authors, publishers, and curators—neither nationally nor globally.  

A Muslim Woman in a Polarised Nation

Secondly, Banu Mushtaq has won the prize at a time when the state and society are heavily invested in othering, cornering, and isolating the Muslim community by weaving hateful narratives about them.

Muslims today are portrayed and perceived as two-dimensional figures with no interiority; they are thought of only as destructive people, not creative beings.

This win creates a dent in that dominant narrative subscribed by many.

Thirdly, though Banu Mushtaq's major preoccupation in her creative works has been around Muslims and women, nowhere in her long creative writing career has she lost sight of 'Universalism' as a value and worldview.

Her win is a timely reminder to many young writers and thinkers for whom Universalism has been eclipsed by aggressive identity politics.  

The Politics of Language

The freelance journalist listened to me patiently as I expressed my thoughts. However, he later told me that he wished to know what the Booker Prize meant to me as a Kannadiga and a translator rather than what her win meant in general. I asked him for some time to think it through. But being preoccupied with other things, I wasn’t able to contemplate much on his question. So, when the time came to share my thoughts and feelings, I spoke spontaneously.  

Firstly, no matter how unimportant prizes and awards are, they somewhat reflect a certain mood of the world.

The politics of language, their hegemony, and hierarchy always makes regional languages feel 'small'.

The recognition at the Booker makes me, as a Kannadiga, feel that Kannada is not just a shadow language, but a language of the world. The kind of cultural confidence it gives is significant. There is a very popular Kannada folk song that begins with the lines dharani mandala madhyadoLagey, mereyutiha karnaata deshadoLu, that means, "In the centre of the earth there is a place called Karnata(ka)".

It is so thrilling to realise that poetic minds that birthed this song saw Karnataka, the land of Kannada, as the centre of earth.

To be factually correct, any point on the earth is the centre because the earth is spherical. To have grown up with this image of the local as the centre of the world, but made to feel like a peripheral culture/ language is quite confusing. To be recognised at the global level, and feeling seen and heard by the global gaze makes one feel that Kannada, like any other culture, is at the centre of this earthly existence.  

Due to the order of things, for a bilingual like me, Kannada felt like the language of the intimate space of home, and English, a language of the courtyard that is open to engagement with the world outside

The wall that divides these two worlds seems collapsed now because of the Booker recognition. Now, it feels like the two worlds are conversing with each other.

Not Lost but Found in Translation

I don't mean to say the two worlds have merged, but it now feels like the movement between the two worlds has become smooth and easy. Earlier, it felt like the wind of the outer English world easily rushed into the inner Kannada world, whereas the life of the world within couldn't move out easily.

This is what makes the moment so important for me as a translator. I have always believed that translation creates bridges. It never occurred to me that translation can also bring down the walls. This Booker win has made me realise the hitherto unknown (to me) power of translation. 

Finally, quite hesitantly I shared a thought with the freelance writer. I told him how Banu Mushtaq's victory feels like "we" have won, in contrast to the victory of Aravind Adiga, and even the nomination of UR Ananthamurthy felt like "one among us" had won and was shortlisted.

This is similar to the striking difference one sees in the autobiographies of men and women.

In the life stories of men, the 'coming of age' is always individual-centric and achievement-oriented, whereas in the life stories of women their 'coming of age' is always collective and marked not by achievement but fulfilment.

The victory of Banu Mushtaq doesn't feel like one among us has won, but feels like we have won. This perhaps is also because of the political creativity and creative politics of Banu Mushtaq. To take cognizance of this is important to me as an aspiring writer and also as someone who teaches storytelling for screen.

(Samvartha Sahil is a writer and translator based out of Manipal, Karnataka. He teaches screenplay writing courses at FTII, Pune, and is the recipient of Charles Wallace Trust Fellowship 2022-23. This is an opinion piece and the views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)