Faint rumours that the JCB Prize For Literature — which paid Rs 25 lakhs to the winner(s), and was awarded for Indian novels originally in English or translated into the same — was quietly shutting down began circulating just a little over a year ago. Last month, a number of articles released, almost simultaneously, concluded that this was true. We — the reading, writing public — had sort of been ghosted by the country’s most lucrative literary honour, which at its inception had revived in the field a sense of glamour not seen in a long time, along with solid, substantial rewards beyond the usual ineffable aura of prestige.
What does patronage for the arts mean in a time of reduced appreciation of the arts? No one can argue in good faith that arts and culture — with the exception of arts and culture that comply with state-backed religiosity — are thriving in India, whether in terms of output or outcomes thereof. In this climate, in pragmatic terms, the monetary rewards associated with certain prizes can indeed be life-changing. Rs 25 lakhs may not be enough to retire with — but it makes permissible a wide range of choices, from taking an extended sabbatical from a day job to focus exclusively on research or creation, to paying off debts, to serious investment. Even for a middle-class writer, it can be a precious ticket into, at minimum, short-term financial stability. For a working-class writer, it can be even more impactful.
An open secret: generational wealth is the main reason why many people in the arts, across fields, have long careers. The corollary that is rarely examined: how many fall through the cracks not because of a lack of talent, but because of a lack of support and patronage that is, in basic, no-BS terms, financial.
There are other literary prizes for English-language books in this country, some with no financial reward, or with smaller or tokenistic ones. There aren’t many of any kind, however, and in the context of the widespread undervaluing of literature itself, it’s no surprise that more are folding up. The Shakti Bhatt Prize will be discontinued from this year, for instance.
Prizes do matter, and not only because they inject fuel into public discourse or forge new readerships. Feel-good prizes do that. High-stake prizes matter for reasons of sustenance. The myth that those who make art should be above material needs is a cruel one that only serves those who already possess capital.
But high-stake prizes are inherently problematic in the sense that only one or two people (a writer and a translator, or two authors in a joint win) stand to benefit each time.
What we also need — more than prizes that very few individuals will receive — are more consistent, widely distributed and accessible forms of support for the arts in general. How do we imagine such possibilities when neither the state nor private entities are entirely reliable or capable? I dream of well-funded writer-in-residence and fellowship positions in all kinds of spaces, for instance. (Almost) no one makes a living from writing or translating books in English in India, and an entirely different infrastructure is required to sustain the field.