I missed the start of the Ubud Writers & Readers Festival held from 29 October to 2 November 2025 due to impromptu plans with fellow speakers. While the crowds were moving into Taman Baka, I was watching the sunrise on the top of Mount Batur – surprisingly, even shivering in the early morning chill of Bali. And while UWRF Founder and Director Janet Deniff introduced the festivities and David Van Reybroeck took the stage as keynote speaker, I stood beneath the spouts of Pura Tirta Empul, being purified by mountain streams in a traditional Melukta ceremony. This wasn’t the start I’d planned, but in hindsight, it was an unexpectedly fitting introduction. By the time it was afternoon and I arrived at the venue on my Ozek – everyone was in their seats, already participating in sessions that focused on identity, relationships and revolution. It didn’t look like I was late; I felt as if I had come prepared – with a clean slate.
This year’s theme of the festival, Aham Brahmasmi, has created an unexpectedly elaborate framework for the week. retrieved from Brihadaranyaka UpanishadThe meaning of the Sanskrit phrase – “I am the universe” – bridges the gap between the individual and the infinite. It proposes that the creative power of the universe resides within each individual, that each individual possesses the same creative potential as the universe. This idea seemed particularly illuminating against the modern conversation surrounding Homo Deus – the notion of humans evolving into ‘gods’ through technological advancement. The devices we create change our lives, but they also have the potential to destroy us. And so Aham Brahmasmi serves as a necessary counterweight, as a reminder that no matter how advanced our intelligence becomes, we must remain constant in consciousness and interconnectedness. This year, through its richly layered programme, UWRF returned again and again to those concerns – questioning identity, storytelling and reinvention in a rapidly changing world.
One of the week’s key craft conversations took place in a session called World Building in a World Breaking, featuring Indonesian writer Dee Lestari, Korean-American writer Juhee Kim and Australian writer Bree Lee, where they explored how imagined futures are shaped by the fractures of the present. The discussion shifted to climate concerns (which form the basis of Lee’s 2025 novel, Seed), speculative fiction, which forms the setting for Kim’s latest short story collection A love story from the end of the worldAnd the moral burden of creating alternative worlds comes at a time when the real world feels increasingly unstable. In contrast, Lestari described how mythology and a sense of universal connection quietly informed her romance-imagination. Sugandh Karsa. He recalled revisiting a temple in a remote jungle after the book was published, where the temple custodian expressed surprise at his reconstruction of myths almost unknown outside the area.
Beyond the craft-focused rooms, the larger UWRF conversations often turned to Indonesia. The seats were completely filled for the session by Belgian-born author and political historian David Van Reybrouck RevolutionHis latest work of non-fiction focuses on Indonesia’s fight for independence against Dutch imperial rule, a resistance that lasted for decades. In a similar setting, sessions like Writing in the Colonizer’s Tongue and Deconstructing Colonialism sparked interesting conversations about how the world is still going through the after-effects of colonialism and what efforts we can make to step into our cultural identities.
Language – and who gets to read and tell our stories – played a key role in this year’s event. In the trials of translation, Deepa Bhasthi, International Booker Prize-winning translator heart lampEmirati writer Salha joins Obeid to discuss the challenges faced during the process of taking the nuances of one language to another. Bhasthi said that there were no real difficulties in translating Kannada into English, other than dialectical differences. What received greater attention in translating the cultural fabric of Banu Mushtaq’s stories was the way it was shaped by beliefs and practices that were distinct from those in their stories.
In Language Today: Let’s Suss It Out, one of the most recent sessions in the line-up, writers Thammika Songkeo, Wawan Kurniawan and Zech Sokai come together to explore the rapid evolution of contemporary language. Some questions brought a lot of laughter from the audience: “Should we be worried about words like ‘pookie’ being recognized by the Oxford Dictionary, or are we just becoming ‘Delulu’?”
As the session began under light drizzles of unexpected Bali rain, attendees found quiet corners to retreat and discuss the day’s ideas. Food stalls and beverage outlets provided plenty of support to a steady stream of customers who wanted to fuel themselves during the intense festivities that lasted for a long time. I found myself taking refuge in the speakers’ lounge, where, surrounded by writers from around the world, candid and surprisingly weighty conversations took place. At one point, I shared pizza with Jenny Erpenbach, winner of the 2024 International Booker Prize. kairosAs he tells me about life after the award and his next book. Being part of the program meant experiencing these unplanned moments of intimacy – visits to the bookstore, small exchanges about travel fatigue and souvenir shopping – that revealed the softer, human side of the festival.
During one such moment – an interview with Omar Al Akkad – he commented on something easy to miss amidst the hustle and bustle: Even though the audience was largely international, being in Bali people were unusually open to connecting with Indonesian stories. The country’s own storytellers were at the center of the event with Leela S Chudori celebrating the 100th reprint of her novel. Laut Burserita (translated into English the sea speaks its name), with panels on the rewriting of national history and examining the role of independent media in contemporary Indonesia. Other sessions highlighted the stories of Chinese-Indonesian women and explored supernatural myths woven into everyday life. Overall, these conversations revealed a clear intention behind the curation – a shared sense of memory, tension and imagination that invited global audiences into strongly rooted stories.
One of the most anticipated sessions was the Ladies of the Booker Prize: a gathering that readers rarely get to see. As Jenny Erpenbach took the stage with 2025 International Booker Prize-winning author-translator duo Deepa Bhasthi and Banu Mushtaq, heart lampHe met a large audience. Attendees gathered in the walkways around the venue, eager to hear from three women whose work has carved a permanent place in contemporary literature. And when Mushtaq read his stories in Kannada – without live translation – there was silence in the room, which is rare in such a large crowd. This was clear proof that the power of storytelling is not limited to language.
Now in its third decade, the Ubud Writers & Readers Festival has grown into a cool cultural movement in Southeast Asia. First organized in response to the 2002 Bali bombings – as an effort to revive tourism and, with it, the island’s economy – it has since become a sought-after event in the international literary calendar. Much of its stability comes from the team behind it, whose work is often revealed in moments when they seem invisible: while sessions run smoothly through sudden downpours, as if the crowd is easily directed, last-minute adjustments go unnoticed due to the efficiency with which they are handled. Their commitment has helped shape a festival that feels open to the world while still being based in Bali.
When I landed in Bali, I had no real sense of what to expect from UWRF. Festivals often promise inspiration and engagement, and as is often the case, you’re left with little more than a tote bag and a handful of photos and signed copies. But this week something felt different. An evening spent crawling back to my Airbnb after a ride to Ojek amidst sudden rain, a worrying number of cups of coffee, and exhausted by the island’s humidity – I still found myself returning to the festival grounds with eagerness. Drawn back by conversations that felt intimate, surprising and, at times, scandalous. I came to Ubud with a packed suitcase—and left with new friends, a long reading list, and horizons that felt changed, widened in ways I hadn’t expected.
Rutvik Bhandari is a freelance writer. He lives in Pune. You can find him talking about books on Instagram and YouTube (@themindlessmess).
