Naeem Ahmed, 58, stands on a stool arranging books. He focusses unusually hard on a task he has been doing for decades, something muscle memory would have carried him through.
Naeem rented a 120-or-so-square-foot space five months ago, at Lucknow’s bustling Nakhas Chauraha, to relocate his bookshop, Danish Mahal, from Aminabad. At Nakhas Chauraha, crowds, traffic, and noise overwhelm the senses, and his bookstore stands cheek by jowl with plastic buckets and synthetic suits. Aminabad was where Urdu lovers from across the city gathered, and the air was once filled with spices and the shops with chikankari embroidery.
“I am not able to generate a profit, but I want to keep my family’s love alive. The only option was shifting here,” says Naeem, adding that the rent is far lower here. Danish Mahal has been synonymous with Urdu literature and language in Lucknow, and for over 85 years was a refuge for poets, scholars, writers, and intellectuals. The bookstore moved to its new location in December 2025, but has operational since 1939.
“From the beginning our bookshop was located in Aminabad. Urdu lovers from across the city would gather to buy books and discuss them over cups of tea, but rising book costs and decreasing profit forced us to close there,” says Naeem, who graduated in Urdu Literature from Lucknow University.
Urdu is Uttar Pradesh’s second official language, but even from the 2001 Census to the 2011 count, the number of Urdu speakers who selected it as their mother tongue dropped from 12.1 million to 10.9 million. Naeem and his son themselves converse in Hindi.
Lucknow’s Avadhi traditions, built from the 18th century onwards, with the fracturing of the Mughal empire, is defined by tehzeeb, roughly translating to a culture based on the arts and refinement. ‘Pehle aap (you first),’ often parodied in movies, is the philosophy of humility embedded within everyday Urdu conversation.
Across Lucknow now, advertising in Urdu is absent, and public messaging is mostly in Hindi. The paint of the few murals with Urdu lettering are peeling. Lucknow residents say that in a post-Babri Masjid Uttar Pradesh, a narrative is being built of Urdu being associated with Muslim conquerors from a distant land.
Also read:Once the language of masses, Urdu is dying a slow death
Charbagh railway station, in Lucknow.
| Photo Credit:
Sandeep Saxena
The Urdu disconnect
“My father, Naseem Ahmed, started the shop and spent over 70 years serving Urdu lovers. He managed to make ends meet; I hope I can do the same,” Naeem says, slowly. He laments that Urdu faces challenges in now, and the immediate impact is on bookshops.
“I was paying ₹18,000 a month as rent, but over the past seven years, I have not been able to make that. How long will I suffer losses,” he asks, as if of many things: the diminishing book business, a failing family venture, and a language that is slowly being eroded. “At least five prominent Urdu book shops closed in Lucknow over the past decade. None of them were able to make a profit.”
Sensing the volatility of the market, the limited use of Urdu in daily discourse, and a government whose support of the language has been dwindling, he advised his son, Nabil Ahmed, 25, to choose another trade. “My son holds an MBA degree and is running a garment shop. I can’t ask him to enter a loss-making business,” says Naeem, whose son’s shop is next door. “
About 3 kilometres from Nakhas Chauraha is the Dargah Hazrat Abbas, built in the late 1800s. Faiz Baqir runs RB collection, a garment shop where he sells sherwanis and salwar-suits.
“I have an MA degree in Urdu from Lucknow University, but there are no jobs in the market for us. The only option is to sit for NET (National Eligibility Test) and JRF (Junior Research Fellowship),” he says. These provide entryways into an Assistant Professor job and PhD admissions in universities, respectively. “But even if we pass, there are so many applicants for a job,” says Baqir.
Before 2010, he adds, there used to be a good number of jobs of Urdu translator in multiple government departments. “It used to be a major attraction, but with modern digital methods the opportunities have diminished,” he says, adding that this has disconnected a new generation of job seekers from Urdu.
At Baqir’s shop, Asad Rizvi, in his 40s, sits on a plastic chair. A Lucknow local and freelance journalist, he says the government neglects Urdu in multiple ways. “Urdu newspapers are closing across U.P. I have seen five newspapers shut because the government stopped advertising in them or just kept advertising to the minimum,” he says, vocalising the pain of many locally-circulated newspapers dependent on government advertising, because large corporate houses choose national brands to place ads. Rizvi says it is local newspapers that are living textbooks for people, because they give both hyper-local news and an opportunity to improve language.
Rizvi holds forth on how Urdu journalism played a part in India’s struggle for independence. Maulvi Muhammad Baqir, who founded and edited the Delhi Urdu Akhbar in the 1850s, was one of the pioneers of Urdu journalism. “His newspaper reported on the events in Delhi in 1857 (during the first war of Independence). The British saw it as being sympathetic to the rebels. After the British recaptured Delhi, he was arrested,” says Rizvi, a raconteur. “On September 16 that year, he was executed by a firing squad on the orders of a British officer. He is remembered as the first journalist in India to be executed for his journalism,” Rizvi ends, with a flourish.
Education suffers
Anees Ashfaq, a former head of Urdu Department in Lucknow University, sits surrounded by many Urdu books in his library at home. He says the beauty of Urdu is in its syncretism. Urdu evolved in the Gangetic plains during the eras of the Delhi Sultanate and the Mughal Empire, between the 12th and 19th centuries. It is a linguistic amalgamation of local dialects derived from Prakrit, such as Khari Boli and Braj Bhasha, incorporating Persian, Arabic, and Turkic vocabulary. “Uttar Pradesh played a pivotal role in shaping its grammar, enhancing its literature, and establishing its cultural institutions,” says Ashfaq.
Constructed on an Indic grammatical foundation, it is infused with Perso-Arabic vocabulary, he says. The spoken variants were initially known as Hindvi, Hindustani, or Rekhta, before evolving into the standardized form of Urdu. The daily exchanges between local communities and administrative courts in northern India solidified its status as the prevalent lingua franca.
Lucknow University is experiencing a decline in student enrolment within its Urdu Department. For MA Urdu in the current academic session, 2026-27, there are only 65 students in a course where 120 seats are available. This is a steep drop from previous decades when the university had to increase seats to meet high demand.
A 20-minute auto ride from Dargah Hazrat Abbas leads to Uttar Pradesh Urdu Akademi. Set up in 1972 to promote Urdu, the academy now chooses not to speak — in any language. The Secretary did not take calls, respond to messages, or answer an e-mail.
There has been no Executive Committee for almost three years now, says local Hindi media. Lucknow residents says some of the academy’s regular activities, like book publishing, library operations, and Urdu coaching, are still on-going, though not in the robust way they were once conducted.
Some major initiatives, like annually honouring Urdu writers, poets, and journalists have been suspended. Staff shortages have also become a major problem. While the Academy previously employed 54 employees, this number has now dwindled to just 18. Most employees have retired, and new recruitment is not happening.
“The Executive Committee has the authority to recommend staff requirements to the State government,” says Mumtaz Ahmed, an accountant of the Urdu Akademi. Until a committee is formed, the recruitment process cannot begin. The minority welfare department is in charge of appointing the committee.
Naeem, from Danish Mahal bookstore says the academy, which used to purchase books regularly from the shop, has not placed any order for almost a decade now.
Booksellers say about a decade ago, they stocked Urdu books from Pakistani writers, but they stopped sourcing these fearing that any contact with people from across the border would bring them trouble.
Structural and elementary issue
Urdu language proponents and Lucknow residents claim the crisis of Urdu is structural, as the language is not utilised as a medium of instruction in mainstream schools. However, it is on both the Central Board of Secondary Education’s list of first languages, as well as on the Uttar Pradesh education board.
“Urdu is often regarded as a secondary language due to the lack of trained teachers. In urban and elite education institutions, English prevails, while rural and government schools emphasise Hindi along with English,” says Tariq Qamar, 51, who writes Urdu poetry and participates in literary events around the country.
Urdu is both spoken and taught in Madrasas, but over 7,000 recognised madrasas in U.P. have not received funds from the government for over six years. The government has also not paid the honorarium to teachers, some of whom impart Urdu education.
“Those teaching modern subjects also give education to pupils on Islamic subjects and Urdu. Many of these Madrasas survived for years on these grants/salaries paid to teachers, now with no grant, these teachers are not motivated to impart quality education ultimately harming Urdu and other traditional languages like Arabic,” said Shahid Ali, a teacher who teaches Social Science along with Urdu and Arabic.
On August 5, 2026, Uttar Pradesh Deputy CM Keshav Prasad Maurya linked madrasas with terrorism. Rizvi links the crisis of Urdu with identity-based marginalisation of Muslims: “Sadly Urdu is connected with the religious and ethnic identity of Muslims, which has led to its marginalisation in India.” He adds that as the English becomes more prevalent, Urdu literature and the cultural experiences that go with it, such as mushaira performances, are increasingly losing relevance for the youth.
Urdu enthusiasts say literature and language education must adapt to connect with the youth if Urdu is to maintain its significance. “In the absence of structural government support, young people have little motivation to learn or engage with Urdu,” Baqir says. He feels the language must adapt to include science, technology, environment, and social sciences. Otherwise, it will simply die out.
