Earlier this year, trans-Dalit activist Grace Banu participated in the 46th Chennai Book Fair to represent her newly-launched Queer Publishing House (QPH). The stall allotted to her was populated with 50 LGBTQIA+ titles, in Tamil, Malayalam and English.
For Banu, who is no stranger to transphobia and caste-based discrimination, securing a stall at a book fair that’s previously never dedicated space to queer folks, let alone a trans-led publishing house, was possible only because of political influence. However, casteist remarks and hostile, transphobic behaviour by other participants made it difficult for them. While one of the organisers asked them to “dress appropriately” and “not to hug their friends”, a fellow stall-owner vandalised their signage. Despite these odds, Banu received a good response, selling over 10,000 copies of books.
“We fought bravely and created a safe space for queer literature,” she says. “It has been a battle to fight mainstream ideas and thoughts. We are grateful to the general public; they visited us in large numbers and supported our endeavour. We can happily say that this time we have fought transphobia and queerphobia together. This is a battle won.”
There is no contention that queer literature has been sidelined from mainstream literary platforms, be it at awards functions, literature festivals, book fairs or commissions at publishing houses. So, over the years, queer folks have taken it upon themselves to promote queer narratives.
Creating their own path are these experts who take diverse approaches within publishing, either by building alternative literary spaces exclusively dedicated to LGBTQIA+ people or widening the definition of queer literature, encompassing multi-lingual, non-metropolitan and gender-fluid narratives, as well as documenting queer histories.
An intersectional lens
QPH was founded last November with the intention to encourage trans people and women from the Dalit caste identities to write and publish their own stories. Banu, the founder, learnt from her own experience of facing rejection and discrimination from mainstream publishing houses, that it wasn’t easy for trans people to get opportunities to publish their work. After trying for a year, she self-published her book Talks of Grace Banu in 2019. This led her to start the publishing house.
Grace Banu | Photo Credit:
Within eight months, QPH has already released four books, and has four more lined up, in Tamil, Malayalam and English, including queer-friendly children’s books and titles in fiction and non-fiction. Further, they are hoping to release sensitively translated English adaptations of their books published in vernacular languages, and partner with international publishing houses.
Opening doors
After launching the Rainbow Lit Fest in 2019, journalist and author Sharif Rangnekar is gearing up to inaugurate the Rainbow Awards for Literature and Journalism in New Delhi this year. “When I started visiting literary festivals, I realised access to the publishing world is difficult given the constraints of privilege and social capital,” he shares. “In addition to that, juries that assess literary work lack queer representation. As I met more people who read my books [who told me how they resonated with the writing], it helped me understand how underserved this genre is.” This is what underscored Rangnekar’s intent to launch the Rainbow Awards.
Sharif Rangnekar
Through these awards, Rangnekar says he “hopes to aggregate literary content in the queer genre and bring to the fore queer perspectives that might have gone unnoticed or only been published by lesser-known publications”. Scheduled to take place in the first week of December, the initiative will spotlight journalists and authors across categories such as fiction, non-fiction and journalism. The awards welcome submissions (the last date for which is July 18) from publishing houses, independent publishers and books that have been translated from vernacular languages into English. “This time, we are planning a workshop for writers, to guide them on how to pitch a manuscript or a story to media outlets. We are also planning to partner with the Press Council of India to educate reporters on the usage of LGBTQIA+ sensitive vocabulary.”
“Publishing houses and their editors need to believe that queer writers’ works have intrinsic value. That they need to be published, even if the book does not become a bestseller. The fact that such writing needs to be shared with the rest of the world has to come from a deep sense of belief and faith. It cannot be just restricted to Pride Month. Look beyond the immediate circle of known writers and literary agents to find these queer talents.”Bishan SamaddarSeries editor, Pride List, Seagull Books
The alter-narrative
An LGBTQIA+ activist from Lucknow, Darvesh Singh Yadavendra is preparing for the second edition of the Awadh Queer Literature Festival — which he had initiated in 2019 to ensure the voices of LGBTQIA+ youth from smaller towns and rural parts of Uttar Pradesh are heard.
Darvesh Singh Yadavendra
The festival doesn’t restrict itself to conventional programming, such as panel discussions, book launches and poetry recitals, but rather incorporates movie screenings, performances and even beauty pageants, so that their diverse audience is engaged. “For the first edition, we made sure that the curation didn’t focus solely on literature in English. To make it inclusive for participants from smaller towns, we encouraged poetry recitals in Hindi and shayaris,” says Yadavendra. While the programming for the second edition is still being planned, he hopes it will cement the platform as a safe place for LGBTQIA+ people from the region to share their experiences.
Back to the past
Launched in 2010, Queer Ink is one of the earliest publishing platforms dedicated to LGBTQIA+ people. Shobhna Kumar, its Mumbai-based founder, believes that it is crucial for queer Indians to write their own stories. Her newest endeavour is kickstarting a documentary project, Queer Ink Archives. “When we completed a decade, the most common question we got [from people we interacted with] was, ‘Who are the queer people in India?’. They don’t exist,” she says. “We are collating oral stories — recording lived experiences [of activists such as journalist Ashok Row Kavi], digitising objects and records, and compiling a database of books [such as Bombay Dost, a dedicated queer publication from the 90s], reports, academic articles and films with queer characters.”
Shobhana Kumar
Journalist Ashok Row Kavi being interviewed for Queer Ink Archives
The archive will culminate in an openly accessible database, a documentary film and published books and blogs about queer histories. It is expected to be completed by 2025. “We want to identify queer histories and place them in the larger Indian history. So that no longer can anyone claim that queer Indians don’t exist or are a miniscule minority.”
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