Your school curriculum lied to you—here’s what Indian literature actually looks like

Regional Indian literature has long produced works that challenged orthodox norms and addressed concerns around caste and gender that speak to us even today. Why did they not receive the attention they deserve?

Ask someone to name an Indian book they consider a ‘classic’ and even those who read often enough might be stumped. While they will be aware of renowned authors like Premchand and Rabindranath Tagore, the books they wrote aren’t as popular as them. Ever questioned how we know more about the legacy of these authors rather than the works that created this legacy?

Maybe once in a while, someone will name Tagore’s Geetanjali (1910) or R.K. Narayan’s Malgudi Days (1943), but there’s a stark difference in how we learn about Indian literature as compared to Western classics such as Pride and Prejudice (1813), Jane Eyre (1847) or Little Women (1868). These publications are allowed to be true definitions of ‘classics’ because whether or not one has read them, we’re taught about them from a young age, largely as a part of the required reading in school curricula. Furthermore, they are made much more accessible and promoted in the market as opposed to works of regional Indian literature  or Indian  literature in English.

The missing link between Indian readers and Indian literature could be attributed to the fact that translations of most regional works are not easily available, the lack of promotion and marketing around such works, or the literary gatekeeping by most Indian academic institutions that aren’t keen on making the material more accessible or even relatable to readers. This raises the question: why isn’t Indian literature mainstream despite its rich history? And how do caste in literature and language barriers affect what we consider a ‘classic’’?

Many forgotten authors in Indian literature—especially those from marginalised communities—have been excluded from the larger literary conversation. Works that explore queer representation in Indian literature, or those that critique how caste and class impact Indian classics, are often ignored in favour of books that align with more traditional narratives.

Did you know the first-ever Indian novel written in English was by a prominent member of the Indian diaspora? The Travels of Dean Mahomet (1794) by Dean Sake Mohamed was published 63 years before the Indian Rebellion of 1857 in Meerut, also known as the Indian Mutiny, which is considered as one of the first instances a collective Indian identity was witnessed. 

Though Dean Mohamed belonged to the Indian diaspora, his work is typically critiqued for not being the ‘ideal’ beginning of Indian literature, given that he still adhered to a Western structure of writing—which is viewing Indian-ness from the colonisers’ perspective despite being of Indian origin. So, instead, Rajmohan’s Wife (1864) by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhay is considered to be the first Indian novel. It was published 70 years after Dean Mohamed’s debut and seven years afterthe 1857 rebellion.

Essential Indian books that never made it to the ‘classics’ list

This list is a reminder of some of the works that have built Indian literature as a genre. The aim is to familiarise ourselves with these works, the importance they held when they were published, and to attempt to initiate a conversation of how they are—or aren’t—relevant today. 

Rajmohan’s Wife (1864) by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay

First published periodically in the Indian Field, edited by Kishori Chand Mitra, Rajmohan’s Wife was compiled and republished in its entirety in 1935 by Branjendra Nath Banerjee. The novel explores themes of love and rebellion while criticising social norms—such as defying husbands’ wishes, or being a headstrong woman—of the time. It is refreshing to read male authors of a pre-independent era acknowledging gender disparity, especially at a time when feminism as a formal movement hadn’t settled in India. Scholars like Supriya Chaudhuri in Cambridge’s History of Indian Novels in English (2023, edited by Ulka Anjaria) explains how Chattopadhyay was inspired by liberal Western thinkers like Aguste Comte and John Stuart Mill, thus fuelling his writing.

The book is relevant to us today not only because it was the first Indian novel to be published in English, but also because it was the first attempt at combining English words with Indian sensibilities.

Karan Ghelo: Gujarat’s Last Rajput King (1866) by Nandshankar Mehta

A historical novel by one of the pioneers of Gujarati literature, the book was translated to English in 2015 by Tulsi Vatsal and Aban Mukherji. Nandshankar Mehta never actually sought out to write books, but gave it a shot after being encouraged by the British administration in Surat. Another motivation was the fact that the local Gujarati storytelling style lacked structured prose. While the project was funded and inspired by a predominantly colonial way of writing and thinking, it is one of the first attempts at chronicling pre-colonial Indian history. 

Gulamgiri (1873)  by Jyotirao Phule

Originally published in Marathi and translated into English by Barrister PG Patil, Gulamgiri is not really a novel, but makes it to this list because it is about time we consider it as one of the most essential reads in Indian literature. It reinterprets  several Indian historical and mythical narratives to challenge Brahminical values that maintain the unequal caste-based status quo in society. Upon its release, it did not receive much publicity or encouragement from the newspapers owing to its “anti-Brahmin propaganda". Even for free-speech standards today, Jyotirao Phule’s work stands the test of time when it comes to understanding caste-based discrimination in India. It is also one of the only few works from 19th century Indian literature that addresses the subject of caste, making Phule one of the most important writers in Indian history.                             

Marthanadvarma (1891) by CV Raman Pillai

A historical romance published by Cannankara Velayudhan Raman Pillai, it tells the story of those protecting Marthanda Varma’s (the founding member of the Tranavacore kingdom of the 18th century) and their internal conflicts as they try to protect the heir to the throne. The narrative is an entanglement of rich, complex feelings, the need to feel accepted, and yearning and loving at heightened political times. Bringing history, romance, and drama together, it is considered to be a true classic in Malayalam literature, and was a widely celebrated work in the 1890s. 

Padmini: An Indian Romance (1903) by T. Ramakrishna Pillai

The book was written at a time when revivalist literature (recollections of South Asian history before the British colonisation) was a popular means to understand collective history. Upon reading its introduction, it seems as if T. Ramakrishna Pillai wrote with the intention of generating not just a bank of Indian historical narratives for Indians, but also to garner some empathy from the colonisers. While it is hard to say if the novel was perceived as such at the time, as history stands as evidence, perhaps it did contribute to the cause. Ramakrishna's work seems to highlight romance from the perspective of pride for one’s country, of looking back at history with rose-tinted-glasses, as one tends to do in times of political distress. 

Chocolate by Pandey Bechan Sharma a.k.a ‘Ugra’ (1924)

Chocolate is also known for being modern India’s first queer publication from a century ago. Queer literature as a genre is, more often than not, taken out of its larger context, with a tendency to ostracise the queer community. It is then quite surprising that queer literature’s origins in India date back to a time when the nation wasn’t even formed. Chocolate is a collection of eight stories that focus on queer (primarily gay) relationships between men, which, as expected, did cause a public uproar—from both Indians and British officials—making sure that queerness was finally publicly spoken about, even if it was through controversial means. 

Dada Comrade by Yashpal (1941)

While Yashpal’s short stories are a part of the ICSE Hindi curriculum in schools in India, it does come as a surprise that Yashpal was never taught as a socialist thinker but solely as a nationalist writer. Set in pre-independent Lahore, the Dada Comrade is about what happens when a young protagonist begins to question the credibility of arms resistance and gendered social norms.  Unfortunately, we continue to struggle not just with gendered roles, but gender with respect to violence, protection, and nationalism.

Tedhi Lakeer by Ismat Chughtai (1943)

Most of Ismat Chughtai’s work revolves around themes of female sexuality, queerness, and Islamophobia—revolutionary not just for its time, but also for today’s time. Knowing of only two female authors while growing up—Sarojini Naidu and Toru Dutt—discovering Chughtai was akin to finding a voice in the past. Chughtai’s work, especially in Tedhi Lakeer, shows us that feminism is not just a concept borrowed from the West, but an ideology around which women have been raising questions, only to have their works sidelined and silenced.

Our Struggle for Emancipation by PR Venkataswamy (1955)

Chronicling the details of Dalit history and the Dalit movement in Hyderabad from 1906 to 1953, the autobiographical route of this book is what makes it an essential read about minorities in Indian history and Indian literature. Right from the Nizam’s rule that received opposition from the Congress, the Andhra Mahasabha, and the rise of Dalit organisations and their evolution into an anti-Hindu movement, it lends insights into a range of key events. 

Ek Sadak Sattavan Galiyan (1957) by Kamleshwar

This novel sparked a furore with its conversations about Indian queerness when it was first out in 1957. Published roughly three decades after Chocolate, Ek Sadak Sattavan Galiyan (The Street With 57 Lanes) opened a small window to Indian queer cinema too, as it went on to be adapted into the country’s first queer film—Badnam Basti (1971), for which Kamleshwar served as the screenwriter. With the streets serving as a spatial and literal metaphor for how people are entangled with each other—and in life—it shows us how love (romantically, platonically, and spiritually) exists in every corner. 

Fakira by Annabhau Sathe (1959)

Fakira is a fictitious tale inspired by thousands of real, unsung heroes who spent and gave up their lives rebelling and standing up against colonisation. They fought not only against British rule but even against the orthodox, Brahmo-patriarchal, and de-humanising caste system.

 Jevha Mi Jat Chorali (When I Concealed My Caste) (1963) by  Baburao Bagul

It was writer and poet Jerry Pinto’s English translation of this book that made this masterpiece accessible to a demographic that would perhaps have never considered reading Dalit narratives of younger Indians. Baburao Bagul, like many other Dalit writers of his time, witnessed the growth of not just India as a nation, but also of Marxist and Ambedkarite thoughts at an early stage.

If our exposure to the works of Indian authors seemed finite during the early days of our education, it’s probably worth questioning whether our educators have failed to make Indian literature accessible? The tropes taught in school curricula largely focused on nationalist sentiments. But in hindsight, not only were these works teaching us about the importance of unity  but offered a more expansive commentary on our society. Why were those bridges between such works of Indian literature and cultivating an outlook beyond nationalism never encouraged? Why doesn’t India (or rather the South Asian sub-continent) have ‘classics’ that have been popular and replicated across generations? Or is it that wedo have classics that have been relegated and are collecting dust since Independence? We often see ‘classic’ Hindu myths being recreated and referenced in popular media, with the latest example of the Bollywood film Singham 3 following the outline of the Ramayana.

While India doesn’t lack talent when it comes to creating a range of literary works across regions and languages, have we forgotten the contemporary Indian literature that held us in good stead and helped us stand together as a nation? Is it safe to assume that India lacks the will to support its diverse past and its potential future? 

Curated by Gaysi Family | Illustration: Anjali Nair

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