Opinion: Tabish Khair, Literature, And What It Means To Be A 'Bihari'

(A man walking down a street in Patna, by Abhinoor Singh Anand, via Wikimedia)

What does it mean to be a Bihari in the Indian imagination? Does it mean you are an unlettered, poverty-stricken mazdoor, trudging your way back home during a pandemic with nothing but gamcha and the weight of a skewed stereotype? Consider this media-driven image of a Bihari: the unfortunate labourers making their way out of cities like Mumbai or Chennai, or Punjab or Kashmir, their struggles splashed across newspapers. The invisible worker becomes visible only when walking barefoot on a highway. 

Or does it mean you are inherently incapable of reaching the refined heights of sophistication that a Delhiite or Mumbaikar believes he or she has so graciously attained?

Having been at the receiving end of this caricaturing myself, I have often heard the "compliment" served with a smirk: "Oh, but you are not like other Biharis." Thank you for the backhanded approval.

To be honest, this one-dimensional narrative is as outdated as an Ambassador car. Bihar has a remarkable habit of producing people who break the mould and prove that sophistication or intelligence is not about the geography of your birth, but the width of your mind. One such individual is the Bihari expat and celebrated author Tabish Khair, who lives in a small town in Denmark. Of course, Tabish hasn't been immune to parochialism. As an expat Bihari, he's faced his share of subtle digs and outright prejudice. But instead of wilting under the weight of stereotypes, he turned it into fuel for his books. His collection of poems and novels, written over 25 years both in India and Denmark, brims with the sly humour, biting observations and sharp critiques that come from seeing the world through the eyes of someone underestimated.

Born in 1966, Tabish is a renowned author, with a diverse body of work spanning novels, poetry collections, and academic studies. His notable novels include How to Fight Islamist Terror from the Missionary Position (2014), Just Another Jihadi Jane (2016/17), also published as Jihadi Jane in India, and Night of Happiness (2018). His poetry collections include Where Parallel Lines Meet (2000) and Man of Glass (2010). As an academic, he has written extensively on topics such as postcolonialism, xenophobia, and Indian English literature, with notable works including Babu Fictions, The Gothic, Postcolonialism and Otherness, and The New Xenophobia. Now he has come up with a new nonfiction work, Literature Against Fundamentalism, which is as bold as it is timely.

Why Stories Matter More Than Ever

Imagine a world where every complex question has a single, unshakable answer. No room for doubt, no space for debate and definitely no tolerance for “alternative perspectives”. That's the world of fundamentalism—a mindset that flattens life's richness into one-dimensional certainties. The interpretation of the Quran by Islamist scholars is one such example. But it is true of all other religions relying on written holy texts. But what if there was an antidote? Enter literature, the ever-rebellious, thought-provoking force that thrives on complexity and nuance. 

In Literature Against Fundamentalism, his latest nonfiction work, Tabish Khair boldly makes the case that literature is the ultimate counterweight to fundamentalist thinking. Why? Because where fundamentalism discourages dialogue, literature sparks it. Stories have always dared to wrestle with the messy, unanswerable questions of the human condition.

Many decades ago, Welsh poet William Henry Davies craved leisure, "What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare...", he wrote. He urged the industrialised and corporatised nation to stop for a bit and admire the wonders of nature rather than being consumed by the capitalist rat race. Since then, our life has become even more industrialised. Additionally, our societies are now more polarised than ever before and we have created our own little echo chambers. We live in a time when fundamentalists appear to have a firm grip over our narratives. This is where our man from Gaya enters. Tabish dares to urge us to forget the political differences and ideological clashes and find time to read literature.

Literature, Tabish goes on to argue, forces us to slow down and think. Really think. It drags us away from the quick-fix culture of memes and soundbites and demands that we engage with complexity. And in an age where our attention spans are measured in reels and shots, this deep, focused contemplation is becoming a rare and even a radical act.

Casualties Of The Digital Age

The book doesn't shy away from sounding the alarm about the digital age. I wonder if he will be listened to by the TikTok and Instagram generation, but the call to action in favour of reflective literature reading is the need of the hour. Fundamentalism thrives in this shallow soil, feeding on the same short attention spans and binary thinking that the internet often cultivates. But the author forcefully pushes the idea that literature is the counter-programming that we all desperately need.

Tabish is persuasive. He seems to suggest that reading a novel or a poem is not just an escape from the noise; it's a rebellion against it. Literature challenges us to see the world through someone else's eyes, and to hold contradictory ideas in our minds. It broadens our perspectives and sharpens our critical thinking. It builds intellectual muscles that can stand up to the oversimplifications of fundamentalist thought. 

We're All Storytellers

The opening premise—that storytelling is intrinsic to human consciousness—builds on widely accepted ideas, particularly those popularised by Israeli historian and thinker Yuval Noah Harari. However, the book departs from Harari's generalisations by emphasising the unique ways literature deploys stories.

The author's message is clear: in a time when quick answers and rigid ideologies dominate, literature is more important than ever. It's not just a cultural artefact or a leisure activity; it's a lifeline for our collective imagination. If fundamentalism reduces life to black and white, literature is the glorious spectrum in between. And that's a revolution worth reading for. According to Khair, literature is a way of thinking, with stories being one of the oldest tools humans have used to make sense of the world. What makes literature unique and essential is how it connects language (its material) with reality (its subject).

In Literature Against Fundamentalism, Khair argues that literature helps us explore reality through language and language through reality. These two are deeply connected, always evolving, and never fully graspable. Tabish describes this approach as fundamentally questioning and open-minded, pushing back against rigid, simplistic beliefs.

This is why literature, read for its own sake and not just for its aesthetic, sociological, or political value, can counter fundamentalist thinking. Tabish Khair redefines what literature means, reexamines its relationship with religion and fundamentalism, rethinks the connection between science and the humanities, and ultimately calls on literature to take up an active, transformative role in human life. By advocating for an agnostic reading, he challenges reductive interpretations and highlights literature's capacity to navigate complexity and ambiguity. 

A Scandinavian Bihari

Tabish has one weakness by the corporate world's yardstick—he never seeks attention or hankers after fame. He was already a published author in his days as a Times of India reporter in Delhi in the 1990s, but he remained unassuming. Tabish made a quiet exit from India in the mid-1990s, trading the cacophony of his hometown Gaya for the streets of Aarhus, Denmark. You would think such a transition—from the Hindi heartland to a Scandinavian city—would leave someone grappling with cultural whiplash. Thankfully, not Tabish—I call him my Scandinavian Bihari friend. He took both worlds, squeezed their essence and poured them into his novels, poetry, and academic work.

Tabish, who teaches English literature at Denmark's Aarhus University, is a cosmopolitan guy—not the kind of cosmopolitanism that flaunts a London or New York address on its Instagram bio. His definition of cosmopolitanism is refreshingly unpretentious. It's not about where you live but how you live—how you navigate vastly different worlds with grace and honour. A guy equally at home sipping tea in a Gaya chai shop or navigating the Danish academia.

So, the next time someone tries to pigeonhole Biharis, feel free to drop Khair's name. Let them know that a small-town boy from Gaya didn't just break the stereotype—he obliterated it.

(Syed Zubair Ahmed is a London-based senior Indian journalist with three decades of experience with the Western media)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author