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Columns by Hassaan Ahmad Awan
International Booker Laureate “Heart Lamp: Selected Stories” – A Historic Win for Banu Mushtaq and South Asian Literature
By Hassaan Ahmad Awan
In a literary moment that will be etched in the history of South Asian letters, the International Booker Prize for 2025 has been awarded to “Heart Lamp: Selected Stories”, a masterful English translation of Banu Mushtaq’s unforgettable short fiction originally penned in Urdu. This achievement does not merely signify recognition for a single writer’s artistic merit—it is a cultural milestone, a moment of global reckoning with the depth, tenderness, and fierce clarity of South Asian female voices.
The Booker Prize jury, in their citation, described Heart Lamp as “a luminous collection of psychological realism, lyrical resistance, and emotional truth, where the personal intersects with the political in stories that are both intimate and universal.” For lovers of literature, especially those acquainted with Banu Mushtaq’s work in Urdu, this recognition was not unexpected—but its global reverberation has lit a lamp of pride across the Urdu-speaking world.
Banu Mushtaq: A Voice from the Margins, Now at the Center
Banu Mushtaq, whose literary presence had long remained confined to regional journals, academic circles, and passionate readers of Urdu fiction, has finally found the international platform her stories have always deserved. Her voice—resolutely feminine, grounded in cultural texture, and emotionally astute—has chronicled lives often ignored or obscured in dominant narratives.
What makes this moment particularly historic is not only the award itself, but the fact that this marks the first-ever International Booker win for an Urdu work, and the first by a South Asian woman writing in the genre of short fiction.
Mushtaq’s stories challenge patriarchal norms, question entrenched power structures, and delicately peel back the layers of grief, longing, and quiet rebellion in ordinary women’s lives. Whether set in a rural Punjabi hamlet or a cramped Karachi apartment, her characters are richly drawn—tired but never defeated, often silent but never voiceless.
“Heart Lamp” – A Title That Illuminates
The English title Heart Lamp is itself a poetic masterstroke. Originally titled Dil-e-Chiragh in Urdu, the phrase conjures imagery of quiet inner strength and flickering emotional resilience. The translator, Dr. Sofia Rehman—herself an emerging authority on Urdu women’s fiction—rendered these stories with astonishing fidelity to both form and feeling.
What makes Heart Lamp resonate is not just its feminist impulse, but its literary finesse. The prose is never didactic. Instead, it’s richly symbolic, often soaked in metaphor and nostalgia. The stories do not scream for attention—they whisper, ache, and sometimes bleed softly.
From the titular story Heart Lamp, which explores a widow’s psychological transformation in post-war Lahore, to Khaali Khaali Ghar (The Empty House), which explores the interiority of a woman navigating divorce stigma, each piece pulses with emotional intelligence and restrained anger.
Translation as Resistance, Translation as Revival
For literary historians and cultural theorists alike, Heart Lamp is not just a book—it’s a movement. It has reignited debates around language, canon formation, and the politics of translation.
For decades, Urdu fiction—especially that written by women—was dismissed as either too regional or too sentimental for global recognition. That Heart Lamp has broken through this prejudice is an act of literary justice. It has shown that stories written in colonial and postcolonial shadows have the power to shape global imaginations—if only they are given the language bridge.
Translation here is not a dilution but a revival. Dr. Rehman’s work does not Westernize Mushtaq; rather, she lets the stories breathe in their native ethos while making them accessible to a new readership. She translates not just words, but silences, body language, and cultural memory.
A Win Beyond Borders: Implications for Urdu Literature
This Booker win is likely to have ripple effects across South Asia and beyond. Publishers, long hesitant to invest in regional language fiction, are already showing renewed interest in Urdu, Bengali, Tamil, and Pashto translations.
Young readers and writers in Pakistan and India—especially women—will now have a beacon to follow. Literary prizes are often dismissed as elitist spectacles, but for languages that have long existed under the burden of colonial hierarchy, this recognition is liberation.
In a publishing world driven by profit and visibility, Heart Lamp proves that good literature, even when born in obscurity, can claim its rightful place. It is also a reminder that language—no matter how “regional”—has no boundaries when the stories are honest.
Literary Merit Meets Cultural Memory
What makes Mushtaq’s win even more profound is the timing. As the world grapples with debates over identity, language, and cultural erasure, a book that so deliberately centers Muslim, South Asian, female identity—without exoticizing it—could not be more timely.
In an era where algorithm-driven content often dominates the literary scene, Heart Lamp is refreshingly human. It carries the scent of mehndi, the echo of old ghazals, the rustle of sarees in narrow corridors, and the quiet violence of daily life—all while being structurally sharp and emotionally daring.
Looking Forward: New Doors, New Destinies
Banu Mushtaq’s sudden elevation to literary superstardom is not merely a personal victory. It’s a reshaping of the global literary conversation. The next wave of Pakistani fiction may now be written with a new courage—no longer confined to local fame but buoyed by the knowledge that their stories, too, can reach London, New York, and beyond.
The real test now is sustainability. Will this prize result in the institutional strengthening of Urdu literary infrastructure? Will literary journals, translations programs, and government support follow? Or will Heart Lamp remain a solitary glow?
Whatever the answers, one truth remains: for Urdu literature, and for the spirit of Banu Mushtaq’s storytelling, this is a beginning, not a conclusion.
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Hassaan Ahmad Awan is a columnist and educator writing on literature, regional cultures, and South Asian identity in global contexts.
Urdu Version Of The Column: