While the mainstream media remained
notably quiet, the closing ceremony of the
Chennai International Book Fair echoed with
a powerful testament to justice. Renowned
Kannada author and Booker Prize winner Banu
Mushtaq, speaking in the presence of Hon’ble
Chief Minister M.K. Stalin, delivered a stirring
address that brought the audience to their feet.
Mushtaq traced the vital lineage between the
Self-Respect Movement and the modern pursuit
of equality and freedom. In an era where such
voices are often sidelined in the morning papers,
we bring you the full transcript of a speech
that redefined the cultural bridge between
Karnataka and Tamil Nadu.
I consider it a rare privilege to stand before you at the valedictory session of the Chennai International Book Fair – a space where ideas meet people, where languages converse with one another, and where democracy breathes quietly through pages and print. This book fair is not merely an event. It is
a cultural statement. It declares, without noise or aggression, that books still matter, ideas still matter, and that reading remains one of the most profound acts of citizenship.
Let me begin by acknowledging something truly remarkable. The Government of Tamil Nadu, under the leadership of the Honourable Chief Minister, has consistently worked to institutionalise book culture as a public good. This is not a cosmetic effort. It is a deeply ideological commitment.
In an age where attention is fragmented, where spectacle often replaces substance, Tamil Nadu continues to invest in reading – libraries, book fairs, translations, writers, and access. This reflects a political understanding that a society that reads is a society that questions, and a society that questions cannot be easily manipulated.
Here, books are not confined to elite drawing rooms. They travel – to schools, villages, working-class neighbourhoods, women’s collectives, and first-generation learners. This is not accidental. This is the result of a long Dravidian tradition that sees knowledge as a shared resource, not a privilege.
On Youth and the Myth of Decline
We often hear a lament: “Young people no longer read.”
I have always found this accusation deeply unfair – and intellectually lazy.
What I witnessed at this book fair tells a different story. I saw long queues of young readers, patiently waiting – not for entertainment, not for celebrity – but for books, for conversations, for autographs that carry meaning. Many of them were holding Heart Lamp close to their chests, as though holding a fragile but precious truth.
These young people are not rejecting books. They are rejecting irrelevance.
They are searching for literature that speaks to their anxieties, their identities, their moral dilemmas, and their dreams. When we offer them honest writing – rooted in lived reality – they respond with passion and seriousness.
The problem, therefore, is not with the youth.
The responsibility lies with us – as writers, publishers, educators, and policymakers – to keep literature alive, fearless, and truthful.
This book fair has also unfolded at a moment of deep literary affirmation for Indian languages.
It is a matter of pride that Perumal Murugan, whose writing emerges from the soil, science, and struggles of Tamil life, was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. Equally, it is not a coincidence that Kannada literature won the Booker Prize in 2025.
Let us be very clear: these are not isolated achievements. They are global recognitions of Dravidian literary strength.
Dravidian languages have never been ornamental languages. They are languages of debate, dissent, ethics, and everyday life. They carry within them centuries of questioning – of caste, patriarchy, power and injustice.
When the world turns its gaze towards these literatures today, it is recognising something deeper than style or novelty. It is recognising moral seriousness. It is recognising literature that does not evade discomfort, that does not flatter power, that does not abandon people.
At the heart of this moral seriousness lies one of the greatest ideas of modern India – Social Justice, as enshrined in our Constitution.
Social justice is not a slogan.
It is not an abstract promise.
It is a daily, unfinished struggle.
Our Constitution did something revolutionary – it acknowledged that equality cannot exist without correction, that freedom without dignity is hollow, and that democracy without justice is fragile.
I am proud to say that the southern, Dravidian states have been at the forefront of translating this constitutional vision into lived reality. Through policies, movements, literature, and social reform, these states have consistently worked to democratise education, opportunity, and voice.
Chief Minister MK Stalin, along with Banu Mushtaq, releasing 30 translated books at the valedictory function of Chennai International Book Fair (18.01.2026).
This legacy is inseparable from the towering presence of Periyar – who taught us to question inherited hierarchies, to reject blind obedience, and to place human dignity above tradition.
The Dravidian worldview challenges caste supremacy, patriarchy, religious orthodoxy, and cultural domination, insisting that human worth comes from being human – not from varna, creed, or lineage. Thinkers like Periyar E.V.Ramasamy transformed this midset into a powerful ethical and political movement by foregrounding self-respect (Suya Mariyadhai) as the foundation of justice.
Social justice, within the Dravidian framework, is not charity or concession; it is restoration. It demands:
Redistribution of power, education, and opportunities to historically excluded communities.
The Dravidian mindset is not merely political. It is deeply cultural and ethical.
It understands that:
Education is the foundation of equality
Rationality is the basis of freedom
Self-respect is the core of justice
This mindset has shaped literature that stands with the oppressed, that writes from the margins, and that refuses silence in the face of cruelty. That is why Dravidian literature has always been people-centric. It does not romanticise suffering. It interrogates its causes. It does not glorify power. It exposes its violence.
True literature does not entertain power – it unsettles it. It does not decorate injustice – it dismantles it. Literature that strengthens people also strengthens democracy. Literature that nurtures empathy builds social justice. And literature that asks uncomfortable questions keeps society morally awake. In this sense, writers are not mere storytellers. They are ethical witnesses.
A Book Fair is Not an Ending
As we bring this magnificent book fair to a close, let us remember something essential:
A book fair does not end when the stalls close.
It truly begins when a reader opens a book alone and begins to think differently, feel deeply, and question honestly. If even one book picked up here leads a reader to greater compassion, greater courage, or greater clarity – then this book fair has succeeded.
I extend my heartfelt gratitude to the Government of Tamil Nadu, to the Honourable Chief Minister, to the organisers, publishers, translators, writers, and volunteers who made this space possible.
Most importantly, I thank the readers – especially the young readers – who remind us that the future of book culture is not diminishing, but transforming and deepening.
May Tamil Nadu continue to lead – not just in literacy, but in ethical imagination.
May our languages continue to speak truth to power. And may books remain our most gentle, yet most powerful instruments of social change.
