I was in Kozhikode, India’s only UNESCO City of Literature, from the 22nd to the 24th for the Kerala Literature Festival. Three days only. I skipped the fourth day, the Sunday. I didn’t want the fest fatigue to overcome me. Three days felt like the right measure. Enough to listen, absorb and get rightly overwhelmed.
I reached the venue at Kozhikode Beach at around 10 am on the first day. Early. Almost too early. The place was still waking up. Volunteers were moving about with purpose, a few delegates were trickling in and the sea was doing its usual thing.
I collected my delegate pass and immediately felt the weather. January in Kozhikode is warm (32°C) and if you are coming from North India in winter (16°C), your body takes a moment to catch up. Mine did not. I downed a couple of lime juices in quick succession and accepted the obvious truth. This was not North. This was the Southern coast.
By noon, the place had transformed. From quiet to crowded in the span of two hours. The organizers had split the venue into eight pavilions for sessions. There was also one pavilion for books and one for food.
Now all this sounds neat on paper. But, on the ground, it feels like controlled chaos. You are constantly making choices. Stay here or move. Listen or walk. Commit or abandon. I hopped from session to session over the next three days, guided less by schedules and more by instinct.
KLF at Scale: Sessions, Crowds and Constant Choices
Some sessions stayed with me more than others. Sunita Williams speaking about her journey aboard the International Space Station was one of them. Calm, precise, and quietly inspiring. No drama. No chest thumping. Just a steady account of perspective. It grounded the festival in a way few sessions do.
Then there was Ben Johnson. Controversial, combative and completely unfiltered. His views on doping and the systemic corruption in track and field were bold and unsettling. You did not have to agree with him to feel the jolt. That session shook me more than I expected. Not because of the content alone, but because festivals rarely allow that kind of discomfort to linger without cushioning it.
Satoshi Yagisawa, known for Days at the Morisaki Bookshop, brought a gentler vibe to the fest. When he moved to sign copies of his books, a serpentine queue – almost 500 people – in the coastal heat lined up. That tells you how great literature transcends boundaries.
One of the strongest sessions for me featured Anita Pratap, Chitra Subramaniam, and Anupreeta Das discussing the Epstein files and other exploitative stories. This was journalism at its sharpest where all three speakers unpacked one uncomfortable truth after another. No sensationalism. Easily among the best conversations I attended.
Salman Rushdie joined virtually for a conversation. I wish he had been there in person. It began well and then the glitches started. Audio dropped, screen froze, there were awkward pauses. That familiar sinking feeling when technology intrudes on thought.
This is one thing literary festivals should seriously reconsider. Virtual appearances dilute more than they add, especially at this scale.
On the third day, the Nobel laureate Abdulrazak Gurnah spoke about the quiet violence of postcolonial lives, in the context of his work. It was subtle, measured and deeply affecting. It also reminded me that some of the most powerful writing does not scream.
I missed Shashi Tharoor on Day 3. I will regret that. These things happen at festivals. You choose one tent and lose another.
What Worked, What Didn’t and Why KLF Still Holds Together
There were downsides too. One session titled Cities of Literature, a conversation between Alexandra Büchler and Govind Deecee, one of the organizers, was held near the main road. Someone outside was playing loud music. For thirty minutes straight, both speakers were visibly irritated, as was the audience. No one could do much about it. It was a reminder that open venues come with trade-offs.
And yet, the beach is also a huge plus. For those travelling from other parts of the country, the proximity to the sea adds a dimension few festivals can offer. Between sessions, you breathe. You walk and reset and that matters.
There is no doubt in my mind now that KLF could legitimately claim the title of Asia’s largest literature festival. The footfalls were staggering. The official numbers will come out soon, but even without them, the scale was obvious.
State government support has certainly helped, but support alone does not guarantee substance. Getting a lineup of this calibre is not easy. Holding together a festival of this size and scope is even harder.
Next year will mark the 10th anniversary of KLF. Something tells me it will set a record. Maybe even move beyond the “largest in Asia” label that people love to argue about. Labels aside, what stayed with me was simpler. Three intense days of listening and thinking. Which is exactly what a good literature festival should do.
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