The Mazhar-e-Alam Library: Dying a Slow Death

Urdu in India is fighting a battle for its existence. The language, which holds historical significance and was once a language of resistance and revolution against the British, is now labelled as alien. Being tightly knitted to India’s past and spoken by a large percentage of Indians, Urdu is impossible to discard from India and Indian blood entirely, yet is fighting another battle for its existence in the libraries and cultural centres.

When speaking of literature, the name “Lucknow” is inescapable, for some of the finest exemplars of Urdu literature were born and flourished in this city, including Mir Anees, renowned for his epic elegiac poetry; Safi Lakhnavi, a prominent ghazal writer of his time; Hasrat Mohani, both a revolutionary poet and freedom fighter; and Majaz Lucknawi, celebrated for his romantic and progressive verses, among many others. As Majaz Lucknawi (1911–1955) once wrote, capturing the contemplative soul of the city:

har samt ek hujum-e-nigaran-e-lucknow
aur main ki ek shoḳh-ġhazal-ḳhvan-e-lucknow 

on every side a crowd of anxious beauties of Lucknow
and I am a mischievous ghazal-singer of Lucknow

Since literature and culture are two inseparable components that shaped Lucknow’s literary soul, libraries have also played an important role in keeping its literary heritage alive. One such library is the Mazhar-e-Alam Library, established in 1938 by Sayyid Ijaz Hussain and named after his son, Alam. “Mazhar-e-Alam” translates to “Manifestation of the World,” a fitting name given the library’s rich and diverse collection.

I grew up in Lucknow but had never heard of the Mazhar-e-Alam Library until recently. I came across an article by David Boyk, where he described his visit to the library a decade ago and called it an incredible spot for Urdu literature. Reading about it sparked my curiosity, so I decided it was finally time to explore this hidden gem for myself.

In the bustling lanes of Nakhas, Lucknow—where the aroma of kebabs mingles with the calls of traders hawking their wares—I discovered the unassuming doorway to a treasure trove of history and culture. Tucked behind a general store and nearly invisible from the outside, the library now stands as a shadow of its former self. Arshi, the son of Alam, is currently looking after it and laments the fading of a once-vibrant literary legacy. On a chilly afternoon, I climbed the narrow staircase to meet Arshi, the present custodian of this literary sanctuary, who shared with me the library’s struggles, its enduring hopes, and its aspirations.

A Library in Need

The library’s condition bears the marks of years of neglect—crumbling walls, sagging shelves, and fading manuscripts silently recount the story of a once-vibrant hub now fighting to keep its doors open. Its collection includes nearly 10,000 books, many of them rare and long out of print. Among its treasures are Gulistan-e-Saadi, Nairangi Khail Laho, and vintage editions of Shama, Huma, and Sabrang magazines. These volumes stand as a testament to the library’s historical and cultural significance. Yet today, its very existence hangs by a thread.

Alam is no longer able to manage the library. His health has declined due to multiple ailments, and he now remains at home, spending his days reading Urdu newspapers. His son, Arshi, has taken up the mantle, but the struggle to keep the library alive weighs heavily on him. “No one visits the library now,” Arshi said with quiet resignation. “Once, Lucknow was a literary hub, with many such libraries in the area—but one by one, they disappeared. This library has survived by the grace of God, but it’s on the brink of extinction.”

Hopes and Aspirations

Arshi’s voice held both weariness and a flicker of hope as he spoke about the hurdles he faces. “Technology has led the library to die. No one reads Urdu now. Those who do, read on their mobile phones and laptops. I wish people would return to books—if they did, they’d come to the library. We have a good collection for anyone who truly loves Urdu.”

He dreams of digitizing the rare gems tucked away in the library’s aging collection. “There are treasures here,” he said wistfully. “I wish I could restore my father’s library to its former glory. But funding is a problem. I don’t earn enough to sustain the library, and it brings in no income of its own.”

Despite the many obstacles, Arshi’s commitment to his vision remains unwavering. He sees the library not just as a storehouse of books but as a vibrant cultural space—one that fosters community, dialogue, and intellectual renewal. He hopes to draw in a new generation of readers and reignite a citywide love for Urdu literature.

Reflections and a Call to Action

My visit to the Mazhar-e-Alam Library left me with a complicated mix of emotions—grief for all that has been lost, and deep respect for those like Arshi who continue to fight for what remains. This library’s story is not merely about shelves of paper and ink; it is a story of resilience, cultural identity, memory, and a profound love for literature. As I stepped out into the narrow street that day, Arshi’s words stayed with me. “We can’t let this place die,” he said. “It’s not just my dream; it’s the dream of our forefathers who built this collection and believed in the immortality of Urdu literature.”

The Mazhar-e-Alam Library stands as both a fragile relic and a fierce symbol. It’s a call to action—to notice, to nurture, and to protect such spaces, so that the stories they shelter are not silenced, but carried forward into the hands and hearts of future generations.

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