How a slow but steady collective drive is finally instrumentalizing a change in the Indian publishing landscape, giving rise to queer, Dalit, disabled, Adivasi, and other marginalized voices on the bookshelves.

- Saurabh Sharma

If you seek to examine the changing face of publishing trends in India, sometimes there’s no easier bet than the storefronts of our popular bookstores. It’s remarkable how dramatically things have changed across bookstores over the past decade. Ten years ago, on my maiden bookstore visit, I observed a mix of many self-help books, literary classics, and a pile of contemporary fiction, dominated by Amitav Ghosh and Salman Rushdie. LGBTQIA+ themed books except Ruth Vanita and Salim Kidwai seminal book Same-Sex Love in India: A Literary History (Penguin) and a few academic, feminist works were almost non-existent.

There have been some crucial changes since. While the pandemic helped realize the importance of books in digital format in recent years, select international wins have helped publishers take translations perhaps more seriously than before. With its market size estimated at ₹781 billion in 2024, the health of the Indian publishing industry looks good for all its actors.

But with the benefit of hindsight, I have several questions. Do market forces play a tremendous role, or is their role limited to being blamed whenever something doesn’t work? Are editors or publishers inclined towards unearthing unique perspectives, or would they happily let any such opportunity go if their organizations decide to take a strategic, market-influenced route to platforming books?

These subjectivities aside, certain legal changes also helped instrumentalize change in the Indian literary landscape. If you’re able to see an array of queer-themed books or a dedicated LGBTQIA+ section in bookstores, then it’s thanks to a landmark judgement by the apex court of the country in 2018 which read down a part of Section 377 that criminalized homosexuality. However, as clichéd as it may sound, there’s always room for more. Or as American physicist Richard P. Feynman noted, There’s plenty of room at the bottom.

“Literature by definition has always been about transgression and new thoughts, ideas, and sensitivities—it is meant to reflect the turmoil and changes of the times.”

To meditate on this year gone by focusing exclusively on the state of sourcing and commissioning literature from the margins and socializing the need for amplification of diverse voices, The Chakkar connected with an eclectic mix of individuals from the industry.

“It’s simply never enough!” says Chirag Thakkar, who’s commissioned and published books at several publishing houses and is soon going to be an Associate Publisher at Bloomsbury, India, when asked about representation of diverse voices in publishing. “Despite best efforts, books by queer, Dalit, disabled, Adivasi, Bahujan or other minorities remain a minority portion of the total output by big publishing, which is, before anything, a for-profit enterprise,” notes Thakkar, while acknowledging that this “is beginning to change, albeit at snail’s pace.” It’s to Thakkar’s credit that he helped publish distinguished works in his time at Penguin: Water in a Broken Pot: A Memoir by Yogesh Maitreya, the founding editor of Panther’s Paw Publication, which is dedicated to publishing works in English and in English translation by Dalit-Bahujan writers, and The Grammar of My Body: A Memoir by Abhishek Anicca, “navigating desire as a queer-disabled man.”

Himanjali Sankar, Editorial Director, Simon & Schuster, also agrees that “there is greater openness when it comes to commissioning and publishing queer/Dalit/other voices now for sure. Perhaps indirectly influenced by the proliferation of social media, which is peopled with young voices who prioritize political awareness. And also, literature by definition has always been about transgression and new thoughts, ideas, and sensitivities—it is meant to reflect the turmoil and changes of the times.”

While there’s an array of factors influencing the changes Sankar is hinting at, “for the longest time, there was this problem of behalf-ism,” Thakkar notes, “where a privileged savarna expert or cis person or able-bodied writer [would] cast their gaze on caste minorities, alternative sexualities, [people outside of the binary], and the disabled as ‘subjects’ and wrote on them. Often not from a place [of] malice, but care and love. Publishing also woke up to the volatilities in identity politics and responded to it by allowing for life-writing to be done by those who’ve lived said lives instead of being represented on behalf of others.”

Self-representation entered fairly late in mainstream Indian narratives of the marginalized, often because of institutional blockades, and the discomfort that powerful structures feel when a change is on the way. However, it’s equally true that big publishing houses didn’t steer this change; they merely mimicked it. Such moves were championed by independent publishing houses, which surfaced soon enough because of the lethargy and reluctance of big publishing to change. The formation of Zubaan and Women Unlimited is a case in point.

Ishita Gupta, who is the Commissioning Editor and Manager of Contracts and Permissions at Yoda Press, helps underline this fact. She says, “Big publishers have different priorities compared to independents. When a big publisher publishes alternative voices, they are often jumping on a trend; they didn’t publish those books until they became trendy and ‘safer’ (both financially and legally). Whereas independents, especially the ones that were created with an ethos of publishing outside of the mainstream, like Yoda Press, Navayana, Panther’s Paw etc., have been publishing [such] voices since their conception.” But, like Thakkar, Gupta notes that large publishing houses “are publishing more and more queer, Dalit, marginalized voices—and that can only be a good thing.”

Chief operating officer and director of Niyogi Books, Trisha De Niyogi, on the other hand, shares her excitement with The Chakkar as their publishing house launches a children’s imprint, Perky Parrot. At a time and in an environment where media—print or digital, no matter—often ignore literature for young readers, the launch of this focused imprint is laudable. De Niyogi says that she had noticed this “lacuna in arts education for children” and had been planning to roll this imprint out for over five years now. This “desire to entertain the younger population through books (as the habit of reading is something we develop during this age)” helped De Niyogi surpass several hurdles that came her way and helped her march to “endeavour to reach out and foster a new generation of readers.”

She further adds, “Since we focus heavily on the arts through our illustrated books, we thought this would be the right time to extend our offerings to young people. Incorporating stunning visuals in books comes naturally to us and hence it was the next logical step for the publishing house to grow. We also aim to introduce translations to young readers through our translations of books in Turkish and German for children as well as Bengali young-adult literature. We are working on expanding this list right now. We believe, Indian literature, through translations, should be introduced early to add momentum to the translations we read and award as adults.”

Besides publishing books for children, De Niyogi wants to champion Dalit and queer voices and stories from a variety of indigenous tribes. She also notes two specific priorities she has for next year: “Focus on amplifying LGBTQ+ voices and women’s writing from tier-two cities and beyond, both in English and translated from Indian languages and, more initiatives in climate-centric literature.” Through the children’s imprint and priorities, what De Niyogi shares signals what goes into materializing a change that has ripple effects across media. Such is the freedom—and risk—one gets to exercise while working independently. On the other hand, navigating discussions regarding focusing commissioning on oft-ignored voices requires a different skillset and understanding of the power dynamics at play.

Thakkar says, “Mainstream or corporate publishing that remains largely a savarna ecosystem and doesn’t account for affirmative action in its workplaces, editorial and newsrooms treats books/subjects by minorities as feel-good properties for ‘diversity, equity and inclusion’ purposes. Given that this is a business of books we’re talking about, commercial compulsions are what eventually govern which idea becomes a book and how much it sells determines the excitement for a related book in the coming cycles of publishing. Acquiring each book, therefore, is a passion-driven pitch an editor-publisher makes insisting on the need to have diverse voices despite relatively marginal sales potential. There’s been a greater reception to these now than once upon a time.”

“I think we still have a long way to go when it comes to having women and queer folx in positions of power. Our editors, managers, directors, and CEOs are still largely upper-caste cisgender men, and ultimately, they are the ones who decide what we see on our shelves.”

Sankar, however, highlights something extremely crucial: “Some of the problem is of language—English, whether we like it or not, is the language of the elite and we are talking about English language publishing here. So, yes, there is a conscious and somewhat righteous desire on the part of editors to represent the marginalized, but I wonder sometimes how authentic our attempts in this [area] are. That’s perhaps a larger question! To answer more directly, it is not very hard to access marginalized voices now, whether we are able to represent them the way we should is something I am not sure of.” But she’s certain that besides a seemingly lacking incentive to champion such books, the trend of spotlighting non-mainstream works has been established, and “for the right or wrong reasons, it does generally make the world shift a little so hopefully the trend will ossify into real change, and is here to stay.”

Another trend this year has been an uptick in celebrity authors. Twinkle Khanna’s Welcome to Paradise (Juggernaut) and deceased actor of sitcom Friends’ fame, Mathew Perry’s Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing (Hachette), and The Woman in Me (Simon & Schuster) by Britney Spears are cases in point. Did anything else besides the usual catalyse this change? Sankar doesn’t think so: “It really is all of that—curiosity, interest, an urge to learn from and get inspired by the lives of achievers and perversely also a bit of schadenfreude, to feel like, yes, everyone suffers, but we can overcome too! As publishers, we imagine readers are interested in celebrity memoirs for all these reasons and we want to cash in (is that crass?) on it. And we are readers too and are getting hooked to these stories for the exact same reasons.”

However, it’s a challenge facing the industry: later this year, people lamented that celebrity authors are preferred to draw attention and attract crowds in a literature festival and that it takes away the spotlight from non-celebrity authors. In his piece for The Wire, Priyadarshan asks, “Can someone explain on what criteria [Jayant] Sinha, [Baba] Ramdev or [Hasmukh] Adhia may be called authors?”. But that’s just how the world has bent in the digital age. For example, on Instagram, the faces of Bollywood celebrities in posts with a book in the background hold value equivalent to that of candles, curtains, and cupcakes that one is used to seeing on everyone’s (pathetically similar) grid.

A digital detox may work for an individual but there’s certainly no quick fix for issues facing an industry. But ‘overculture’, as the Booker-shortlisted author of Real Life, Brandon Taylor noted a few years ago, can be corrected by the inclusion of non-mainstream voices. Even if it doesn’t overthrow legacy systems (which seldom happens), it’d surely kickstart uncomfortable conversations much needed to bring about change. Such a change, however, Sankar says, quoting Gandhi, is a result of collective efforts. “Change is hard work, it means acknowledging what isn’t working, allowing, and accepting ideas that might be antithetical to the ideas we’ve grown up with. I can’t define the change that is needed but happy to let life surprise and take us in new directions—so long as the direction is ethical, inclusive and allows for diversity.”

“I expect [publication of marginalized voices] to grow incrementally, and so much of this depends on each editor’s and publisher’s personal tastes [and] socialization [that helps] strike a balance between their personal and political. Over the next few years, we’re likely to see the canon expand and for good,” Thakkar adds.

Gupta hopes the same but feels concerned as to “how many such books will be given a platform compared to the number of privileged voices that have always had one.” This is again a moment of reckoning. She continues, “I think we still have a long way to go when it comes to having women and queer folx in positions of power. Our editors, managers, directors, and CEOs are still largely upper-caste cisgender men, and ultimately, they are the ones who decide what we see on our shelves.”

Interestingly, when I visited the bookstore a decade ago, I had never imagined what had gone into curating what lay in front of my eyes. I imagine I was looking not seeing, as one must. But one evolves, too, like an industry should—albeit, with a collective push forward.

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Saurabh Sharma is a reader and a writer. He works as a writer in an IT research and advisory firm in Gurgaon. He reviews books and pretends to write on weekends. You can find him on Instagram: @writerly_life and Twitter: @writerly_life.

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