In this blog post, Namrata shares her thoughts about the core idea of a litfest and its changing face in recent years.
Litfests in India have long been seen as bastions of cultural exchange—spaces where writers, readers, and thinkers come together to celebrate the written word. They offer authors the rare opportunity to engage directly with their audience, share insights about their work, and network with fellow writers. On the surface, it seems like a win-win. But beneath the panels, book signings, and cocktail evenings, there lies a more complicated reality for authors navigating these events.
In recent years, litfests in India have become microcosms of the larger societal debates playing out globally. As ideological divisions deepen and public discourse grows increasingly fraught, authors often find themselves at the center of controversies they never signed up for. Sessions are sometimes canceled at the last minute, panels reconfigured without notice, and topics adjusted to either court controversy or avoid it altogether. The festival circuit is no longer just about books—it is also about the optics.
Take, for example, the abrupt cancellation of panels featuring authors whose views diverge from prevailing political sentiments. (Source)
Or the growing trend of curating panels with seemingly mismatched speakers, clearly orchestrated to spark friction and generate headlines. For some authors, these incidents serve as a harsh reminder that festivals are as much about performance as they are about literature.
For organizers, the pressure is twofold. Litfests must cater to audiences eager for provocative, boundary-pushing content while simultaneously appeasing sponsors whose support keeps these events afloat. This tightrope walk often results in programming that prioritizes sensationalism over meaningful dialogue. Organizers are frequently caught between their role as cultural curators and the need to sell tickets, which can lead to uncomfortable compromises.
Behind the Scenes at Litfests
As a global festival coordinator for a literary festival, I have encountered the opposite challenge: tirelessly following up with authors after extending invitations, sometimes until just a week before the event. This raises an intriguing question—Do authors only aspire to attend popular litfests? If so, what drives this preference? After all, every prominent literary festivals in India that draws large crowds today was once an emerging event, trying to establish its presence.
This brings us to a deeper conundrum. Established literary festival in India often gravitate towards featuring popular authors—those with mass appeal or commercial success—on their panels and stages. But for authors seeking these coveted invitations, the question becomes,
“Am I as popular as the authors they are choosing to showcase?”
For literary talent that thrives in quieter corners, this reality can feel like a Catch-22: An author’s visibility often depends on opportunities like litfests, yet those very platforms prioritize authors who already enjoy significant visibility.
The bigger, more reflective question is this: What does participating in literary festivals in India actually lead to for an author? Beyond the glamour of being featured, does it translate into tangible benefits, such as increased book sales, greater readership, or deeper industry connections? Or does it serve as more of a symbolic acknowledgment of an author’s place in the literary landscape? For emerging authors, especially, this question deserves careful thought. After all, the decision to chase an invitation—or accept one—can hinge on what they hope to gain from such participation.
Representation Matters
Litfests are often celebrated as spaces for inclusivity, creativity, and diverse thought, yet when it comes to actual representation and accessibility, there are glaring gaps that remain unaddressed. One of the most pressing concerns is the lack of planning and accommodations for disabled writers and attendees. Despite conversations about diversity becoming a central part of public discourse, many litfests fail to translate these ideals into actionable measures. This leaves disabled writers and audiences feeling excluded, not just physically, but also symbolically from a space that should embrace all voices.
Simple accommodations, such as wheelchair ramps, sign language interpreters, reserved seating for disabled attendees, or virtual attendance options, are rarely prioritized. These omissions highlight how the planning for such events continues to center able-bodied individuals as the “default” participants, reinforcing systemic barriers.
For disabled writers, the problem runs deeper: their perspectives are often overlooked in the curation of panels and discussions. It is not just about physical access; it’s also about intellectual and creative inclusion. How often do we see conversations that explore the intersection of disability and creativity, or highlight the unique challenges disabled writers face in their careers? Rarely, if at all.
For organizers, the lack of inclusivity becomes an uncomfortable truth when questioned. Instead of reflecting on how to address these shortcomings, some deflect or block criticism altogether. This reaction, sadly, underscores the reluctance to engage with the systemic issues that continue to exclude marginalized communities from participating in or benefiting from literary events.
The lack of inclusivity is not just limited to disabled writers; it extends to diverse voices across caste, class, gender, and language barriers. While many festivals claim to embrace diversity, the panels often seem curated for surface-level representation rather than meaningful inclusion. The same faces dominate year after year, while voices from regional languages, Indigenous communities, or underrepresented gender identities remain on the fringes.
If literary festivals are truly to be spaces where stories of all kinds are celebrated, then the inclusion of disabled writers and attendees, along with marginalized voices across the spectrum, must become a non-negotiable priority. Accessibility and diversity cannot remain afterthoughts—they must be embedded into the very fabric of these events. It is time for organizers to step up, listen to constructive criticism, and create festivals that reflect the richness of all human experiences, not just a select few.
Recommended Reads: Authors in India and the Unbelievable Craze to have Mass Social Media Following
The Sponsorship Saga
On one hand, we have authors like K. Vaishali, who won the Yuva Puraskar 2024 for her memoir Homeless (Simon & Schuster India and Yoda Press, 2023), pointing out how litfests often overlook authors whose books are performing well. (Source) On the other hand, influencers like Prajakta Koli and Bollywood personalities such as Anshula Kapoor are seen headlining litfests almost a year before their books even release. This stark contrast raises questions about the role of sponsorship-driven decision-making in shaping festival line-ups.
The controversy surrounding Prajakta Koli’s book release only added fuel to the fire, with her publisher HarperCollins facing backlash and being heavily trolled. While there is no denying the business logic behind influencer publishing—it is a clear numbers game—their prominent presence at literary fests, even before proving their literary merit, feels harder to justify. The inclusion of celebrity names and influencers at these events highlights a growing disconnect, where audience appeal and brand visibility often trump the recognition of meaningful, well-crafted literature.
For many authors, especially those who write literary fiction or tackle niche subjects, securing an invitation to a popular literary festival can feel like an uphill battle. The reality is that while these festivals are often celebrated as platforms for diverse voices and ideas, the selection process can be heavily influenced by commercial considerations.
Organizers face mounting pressure from sponsors to ensure high footfall, which often translates into prioritizing bestselling or widely recognized authors. This dynamic creates an uneven playing field, where visibility and audience appeal often outweigh the literary merit or critical acclaim of a book.
Authors whose works have achieved literary success but lack commercial popularity frequently find themselves overlooked. A novel that wins awards or garners critical praise might not have the same pull as a celebrity author’s latest release. For organizers, the ability to draw large crowds—whether through a famous name or a charismatic stage presence—can feel more important than curating thought-provoking, nuanced conversations. This focus on entertainment value over substance can leave emerging or literary authors sidelined, regardless of the cultural significance or intellectual weight of their work.
Moreover, the lack of festival invitations limits an author’s opportunities for broader exposure. Litfests are not just spaces for celebrating books but crucial networking hubs where authors connect with new readers, fellow writers, and industry insiders. Missing out on these events can hinder an author’s visibility and ability to engage with wider audiences, perpetuating a cycle where lesser-known but talented authors remain under the radar.
As festivals grow larger and more corporate in nature, the challenge for literary authors becomes not only writing compelling books but also finding ways to break through the commercial barriers that determine who gets a seat at the table.
At a recently concluded popular litfest, there were noticeable instances of panelists known for spreading misinformation through their platforms being given a stage. These individuals, while educated and accomplished as writers, lacked credibility in their statements—something reflected in the backlash they faced online, including community notes and critical reactions. Yet, they were prominently featured on panels discussing topics that often ran contrary to their publicly expressed beliefs.
Even the most celebrated litfests, which boast about fostering dialogue and embracing diverse perspectives, often seem to feature the same roster of voices year after year. This recycling of speakers—many of whom are undoubtedly accomplished—raises important questions about whether these festivals are genuinely committed to exploring new perspectives or if they are merely catering to the tried-and-tested formula of popular names for guaranteed footfalls. While the familiar faces may draw audiences, they inadvertently crowd out opportunities for fresh, diverse speakers to share their insights, particularly on topics where a multiplicity of voices is crucial.
Take panels on subjects like caste, gender, regional literature, or climate change, for instance. Instead of reaching out to grassroots activists, regional writers, or academics whose lived or professional experiences could enrich these discussions, litfests often rely on high-profile authors or public figures with a broader but less nuanced understanding of the issue. This approach not only dilutes the depth of the conversation but also sidelines voices that might challenge the mainstream narrative or speak to audiences often excluded from such spaces.
It’s worth asking: Does this homogeneity boil down entirely to the economics of footfalls and sponsorship pressures?
Organizers often have to balance programming with the demands of ticket sales, media coverage, and sponsor expectations, and a familiar name is a safer bet to fill seats. But in doing so, they risk turning litfests into echo chambers rather than platforms for genuine discovery and dialogue. The same authors discussing the same topics not only diminishes the intellectual vibrancy of these events but also alienates readers and writers who are hungry for novelty and diversity.
The focus on footfalls also perpetuates the idea that only commercially successful or highly visible authors are worthy of a platform. This is a disservice to lesser-known writers, especially those from marginalized communities, who might have important, unique perspectives but lack the visibility to secure a place in these festivals. By prioritizing popular appeal over meaningful engagement, litfests miss an opportunity to truly broaden their audiences and provide attendees with a richer, more varied experience.
Ultimately, the question is this: Should litfests exist purely to entertain and attract large crowds, or should they also take on the responsibility of championing new voices and creating spaces for dialogue that challenges the status quo?
If the latter is the goal, then the inclusion of diverse speakers—especially those who might not draw immediate footfalls—needs to be an intentional and integral part of planning these events. It’s not just about who will bring in the crowds today, but who will shape the conversations of tomorrow.
This raises a crucial question for authors: How does one navigate such situations?
On one hand, simply being invited to litfests is a significant opportunity, often hard to come by. Does it make sense, then, to take a stand and decline participation when sharing a stage with someone whose extreme views you fundamentally disagree with? Or should you engage in the discussion and use the opportunity to voice your dissent openly?
Alternatively, the least confrontational approach might be to participate but remain polite, firm, and disengaged, avoiding direct confrontation while still maintaining your integrity. Each choice carries its own risks and rewards, leaving authors to weigh their professional visibility against their personal principles.
Where does this leave the authors?
Emerging writers, in particular, find themselves in a precarious position. Rejecting a misaligned panel—one that misrepresents their work or places them alongside polarizing figures—can feel like professional suicide. Litfests are crucial platforms for visibility, and declining participation may lead to exclusion from future editions. The unspoken rule seems to be: take the opportunity, even if it comes at the cost of discomfort.
However, not all authors are willing to toe the line. Increasingly, high-profile writers are using their platform to call out questionable programming decisions, advocating for more thoughtful curation and inclusive representation. This pushback signals a broader shift, one where authors are reclaiming some control over how they are presented and engaged at these events.
Recommended Reads: Literary Festivals in India
So, how can authors navigate this evolving landscape?
For one, preparation is key. Authors should thoroughly research festival line-ups and the themes of their panels before agreeing to participate. Open communication with organizers can help clarify expectations and avoid unpleasant surprises. It is also important for writers to establish their own boundaries—knowing when to gracefully bow out of a session that feels disingenuous or exploitative.
Another essential skill is mastering the art of redirection. Not every question posed during a panel needs to be answered directly. Authors can subtly steer the conversation back to their work or broader, less controversial topics. And in moments of unavoidable confrontation, a calm, measured response often resonates far more than heated debate.
At the heart of this conversation is the question of authenticity. Litfests thrive when they foster genuine exchanges between authors and audiences. But when authors feel coerced into performative roles, the very essence of these events is undermined. As the landscape continues to shift, authors and organizers alike must reflect on how to preserve the integrity of the festival experience while adapting to the demands of an ever-changing world.
For authors, the path forward is unlikely to be smooth, but perhaps that is not entirely a bad thing. Literature, after all, has always thrived on complexity, and navigating the mixed bag of literary festivals is simply one more chapter in the ever-evolving story of a writer’s life.
To Conclude
Litfests hold immense potential to be transformative spaces—platforms where stories intersect, perspectives collide, and voices long silenced find their resonance. Yet, the reality often falls short of this ideal, with commercial considerations and safe, repetitive programming overshadowing the promise of diversity and inclusivity. If the purpose of a litfest is truly to celebrate literature in all its forms, then it must move beyond the constraints of footfalls and sponsorships to become a space for meaningful engagement.
The responsibility lies not only with organizers but also with authors, attendees, and stakeholders. Organizers must push the boundaries of curation, actively seeking out underrepresented voices, creating accessible spaces, and fostering authentic dialogue. Authors must weigh their participation thoughtfully, challenging the systems that perpetuate exclusivity while using their platforms to advocate for inclusion. And attendees, too, must demand more from these festivals, encouraging a culture of curiosity and open-mindedness.
The magic of a litfest doesn’t come from celebrity panels or crowded auditoriums—it comes from the exchange of ideas, the discovery of new stories, and the elevation of voices that challenge, inspire, and provoke. To truly fulfill their potential, literary festivals must embrace the courage to be uncomfortable, to take risks, and to prioritize impact over convenience. Only then can they evolve from mere gatherings into true celebrations of the power of the written word.
Read other posts from the Founder’s Desk
Leave a Reply