Godrej Literature Live 2026: AI Anxiety, Literary Elitism, and the Courage to Think Differently

An afternoon among Mumbai's literati offered stimulating conversations, an unexpectedly delightful encounter with an Irish author, and some uncomfortable questions about artificial intelligence, inherited privilege, and the cultural establishment's commitment to inclusivity.

There is something reassuring about seeing Mumbai turn out for literature.

On Sunday, October 25th, I attended the final day of Godrej Literature Live, The Mumbai LitFest 2026, held at the National Centre for the Performing Arts, NCPA, Nariman Point. The three-day festival, presented by Godrej Industries in association with the NCPA, featured over 130 speakers from 17 countries and more than 100 sessions. Admission was free, with visitors encouraged to register for their preferred conversations.

What struck me immediately was the enthusiasm of the attendees. Young aspiring writers mingled with seasoned literary enthusiasts, academics, publishers, and cultural practitioners. There was a genuine appetite for intellectual exchange across generations.

I enjoyed meeting Asad Lalljee of Avid Learning, Naman Ahuja of Marg, and reconnecting with Parmesh Shahani, formerly of the Godrej India Culture Lab. My acquaintance with Parmesh goes back to 2016, when I had a very brief stint exploring an opportunity with the Culture Lab. Encountering him again a decade later was a pleasant reminder of how Mumbai's cultural circles intersect over time.

Several sessions were absolutely fantastic. The festival offered opportunities to encounter perspectives one might not necessarily agree with, and that is precisely what makes intellectual gatherings worthwhile.

However, some of the most interesting moments occurred beyond the formal discussions.

One of my favourite encounters happened at the Kitab Khana pop-up bookstore. I had barely begun browsing when a gentleman approached me and suggested a book I ought to pick up.

I immediately recognised what was happening. "You're the author, aren't you?" I asked.

Indeed, he was.

The gentleman was Paul Waters, an Irish author and professor who had participated in the festival. The programme listed his novel Death at the Elephant House in Saturday's session, The Daggers Are Out, and his Sunday workshop, Cosy Crime.

I told him I genuinely appreciated his approach. After all, if you aren't going to promote your own work, who will?

There is something admirable about an author unapologetically championing his creation. I appreciate that entrepreneurial instinct. Creative people should be encouraged to advocate for their work rather than regard commercial ambition as something beneath artistic dignity.

We immediately struck up a wonderful conversation. I met his wife, Aneysha, and we discussed our respective projects. I introduced him to AltBollywood, shared a copy of The AltBollywood Zine, and spoke about the fiction I have been developing.

Our conversation soon ventured into Indocentricity, Indofuturism, transhumanism, and posthumanism. Paul asked whether I was familiar with Afrofuturism. I was, although I admitted that I had yet to explore some of its literature in sufficient depth. In retrospect, I wished I had mentioned Marvel's Black Panther and Wakanda, perhaps among the most recognisable popular cultural expressions of Afrofuturist imagination.

I explained that my own fiction explores the intersection of culture, technology, and the near future through an Indocentric philosophical framework. For me, Indocentricity draws upon the Vedantic understanding of universality, singularity, and the interconnectedness of existence. I see its philosophical possibilities as fundamentally pluralistic and inclusionary. This differs from the historical Eurocentric traditions I critique, particularly those shaped by Roman imperial ideas of civilisational hierarchy and their later appropriation by exclusionary nationalist and fascist ideologies. Of course, European intellectual history also contains rich traditions of universalism and pluralism. My distinction concerns the philosophical foundations I choose to emphasise in imagining an Indocentric future. Indofuturism, as I envision it, draws upon these Vedantic possibilities while engaging with artificial intelligence, technological evolution, and the transformation of human civilisation.

It was an unexpectedly stimulating exchange.

Before parting, I purchased a couple of Paul's books, which he kindly signed. I also shared my publication with him. Two writers, two different literary journeys, and a shared enthusiasm for ideas and the business of storytelling.

Precisely the kind of encounter that makes literary festivals memorable.

My principal reservation about the festival concerned what I perceived as a recurring scepticism towards artificial intelligence. Across conversations I encountered, AI was frequently discussed as a threat to authentic creativity.

One particularly dismissive characterisation described using AI for writing as kaam chori, the Hindi expression for shirking work. I found that sentiment especially ironic when expressed from a position of inherited cultural privilege. An established family name, literary ancestry, or access to influential professional networks can provide advantages that aspiring writers without those connections may never enjoy. Yet technological assistance, which could potentially democratise creative production, is dismissed as laziness.

How convenient. An illustrious storytelling lineage does not automatically confer literary talent any more than access to artificial intelligence guarantees good writing.

We are already confronting the realities of a transhuman technological transition and increasingly posthuman questions about intelligence, creativity, and authorship.

Writers must adapt.

AI can assist with research, structure, and composition, but the author remains responsible for intellectual originality, editorial judgement, and a distinctive literary voice.

Hallucinations, fabricated references, and algorithmic biases are legitimate concerns. They demand rigorous fact-checking and independent research. But rejecting an emerging technology rather than learning to use it responsibly strikes me as intellectual complacency.

If inherited privilege is celebrated as heritage while technological empowerment is condemned as cheating, perhaps our understanding of creative merit deserves reconsideration.

Another revealing moment came during Art Works, a session publicised as reflecting on eighty years of cultural publishing at Marg. A question about the publication's accessibility prompted assurances that it was for everyone. I found the response less than satisfactory.

The principal question I wanted to ask Naman Ahuja, director of Marg, during the audience Q&A, went unasked. I would have liked to hear him reflect on how editorial subjectivity shapes Marg's brand, and whether he would encourage other editors to embrace their own editorial perspectives while building publications.

I did not ask that question because it felt accusatory.

But the question lingered with me, as did the earlier exchange about whether Marg is truly for everyone. Declaring inclusivity is easier than making intellectual discourse accessible beyond academic and cultural elites. The language, the assumptions, the confidence required to participate, these can all act as invisible barriers. Festivals and cultural institutions must be willing to examine these boundaries honestly, including the narratives they tell about themselves. Despite those reservations, I left encouraged. Literary spaces matter. They create room for dialogue, for disagreement, for curiosity. But curiosity must extend to emerging technologies and to questions of privilege. Literature has survived every technological revolution so far. It will survive artificial intelligence too.

The more interesting question is who gets to participate in shaping its next chapter.