By Dr. R. Balasubramaniam

Ah, the literature festival circuit — where authors go to be celebrated, debated, occasionally mistaken for someone else, and ultimately left questioning their life choices. When you first get an invitation, the excitement is real. You imagine engaging conversations, adoring readers and intellectual stimulation. You now feel like you’ve ‘officially’ arrived. Surely, this is the moment when your best-selling books, published by renowned houses, and that one dense academic tome from a famous University Press will finally be discussed and dissected. Dare you hope, they might even be ‘admired.’ You polish your biography, rehearse witty one-liners and tell yourself that this is the moment you’ve worked for.

But soon, reality strikes.

Panel discussions: A masterclass in chaos

You expect to discuss your book on Leadership and Indic wisdom. Instead, you are part of a panel on “The Future of Democracy in the Age of AI.” You are seated next to a poet who has never used the internet. A historian is present who believes all books post-1945 are garbage. There is also a celebrity author whose only credential is an Instagram following in the millions. The moderator is an ex-model turned social media influencer. The moderator introduces you as “the brilliant mind behind….” They pause and flip through notes. Then they say, “a very important book.”

You barely get a word in. The conversation quickly derails into a philosophical debate. It revolves around whether books even matter anymore in the age of viral videos. The audience claps at all the wrong moments. By the time you are finally asked to speak, a flock of cameramen rushes to capture the celebrity author sipping herbal tea. Apparently, that is the real moment worth documenting.

Meanwhile, your publisher — who once sent you enthusiastic e-mails about “pushing your book aggressively” — is nowhere to be found. You send a message asking if they arranged any promotional events. The response? A vague “We’re looking into it.” Translation: They’ve made their money, and you’re now on your own.

The fame illusion

(Or lack thereof)

One of the joys of literature festivals is being ‘almost’ famous. You are recognised, but as someone else!

“Excuse me,” a well-dressed attendee says, clutching a book eagerly. “I loved your last novel!”

You look down. It is not your ‘novel’. I have never written a novel yet! You gently inform them of this fact. They blink, stare at your name tag, and walk away, deeply disappointed.

Meanwhile, the hierarchy among authors is made painfully clear. The ‘literary rockstars’ get the prime slots, the standing ovations and the festival’s best tea. Their airport pick-ups include a car and driver. The ‘mid-tier authors’ (which, let’s be honest, is most of us) get a hotel room so far from the venue that it requires strategic military planning to reach on time.

Then there’s ‘your’ category — the ones wondering if their invitation got lost in a parallel dimension. You hear other authors complain that they were given only ‘economy’ class flight tickets instead of ‘business’. You, on the other hand, are wondering: ‘Wait, were tickets even included? What did I miss in the invitation letter?!’

You subtly check your e-mails, pretending it doesn’t bother you. But deep down, you’re doing the math: was coming here worth the time and money?

From literature to social

networking circus

Literary festivals were once about books. Now, they’re elaborate networking events. The ‘real’ work happens not on stage. It takes place at invite-only cocktail parties where authors, journalists and publishers engage in an intellectual mating ritual. Deals are struck over overpriced wine. Grudges are nurtured in hushed corners. The pecking order of the literary world is reinforced over canapés.

Here, everyone ‘must’ have an opinion — preferably on everything under the sun. Climate change, geopolitics, AI ethics, whether the avocado toast movement is destroying literature — anything. The key is to sound profound while saying absolutely nothing of substance.

Meanwhile, you — naïve, foolish, hopeful — still believe this is about literature. You are wrong.

The dress code of ‘serious’ writers

To survive the literary festival circuit, you must also ‘look’ like an author. This is a carefully curated aesthetic. Too polished and you risk being dismissed as commercial fluff. Too casual and you won’t be taken seriously. The seasoned authors have perfected the art of looking effortlessly intellectual: linen kurtas (for a “grounded” look), vintage glasses (preferably round) and scarves that imply deep suffering.

You, however, fail at this unspoken rule. You wear what you always wear, and something feels off. Nobody says it aloud, but you realise — you do not ‘look’ literary enough.

Later, someone casually remarks, “You don’t really dress like an author.” You make a mental note to buy a ‘philosophical-looking’ jacket next time.

The existential crisis (Followed by fomo)

By the third festival, you start questioning everything.

Why did I come here? Was it really worth engaging in these ego-driven gymnastics? Am I just an extra in someone else’s intellectual theatre? You consider avoiding the entire circuit next year, retreating into solitude to actually ‘write’ instead of performing authorship.

And then, the next festival line-up is announced — and your name isn’t on it.

At first, you are relieved. Finally, a ‘break!’ But then, a strange emotion creeps in.

What might I be missing out on?

What if this was the year when that one ‘right’ editor noticed you? What if they discuss your book in your absence and misrepresent your work forever? What if, against all odds, this festival was the one that finally ‘mattered’?

And so, despite your complaints, despite the exhaustion, despite the absurdity of it all — you accept the next invitation.

Because let’s be honest. No matter how cynical we become, no author really wants to be forgotten.

[Dr. R. Balasubramaniam is the founder of Swami Vivekananda Youth Movement and is currently the Member-HR of the Capacity Building Commission, Government of India, New Delhi.]