The Fall of the Urdu Empire

Urdu, the sister of the supposed national language Hindi, the pride of Delhi, a divine gift, and one of the many jewels in India’s “adabi” crown, is now relegated to unread and unpicked books gathering dust on the shelves at the Urdu Bazaar in Old Delhi. This language, which gave birth to giants like Iqbal, Faiz, Dagh, and the much-celebrated, often misunderstood Ghalib—whose poetry is far deeper and more complex than our fixation on “Aag ka dariya”—has now become a mere means of nostalgia for the Urdu aficionados, of an era that has long passed into history. The attempts to preserve it are losing their course with the untimely loss of contemporaries like Zia Mohyeddin, Munawwar Rana, and Rahat Indori, who honoured this remarkable legacy through their eloquent words and recitations.

“Urdu hai jiska naam, hum hi jaante hain Dagh  

Saare jahan mein dhoom humari zubaan ki hai.”  

– Dagh Dehlavi

Urdu breathed its first during the 12th century in North India and was parented by the languages spoken in and around Dehli (Delhi), with heavy influence from Sanskrit and from foreign languages like Arabic, Persian, and Turkish. This language, which some mistakenly consider foreign and a threat to Indian culture, owes its existence to India. As Abdul Salam Bengluri aptly said, “Jo yeh Hindustan nahi hota, toh yeh Urdu zubaan nahi hoti.” Closely related to Hindi, both are Indo-Aryan languages that evolved from various forms of Prakrit, the dialects spoken by commoners when Sanskrit was the language of the elites. The 12th century onwards we saw the arrival of Urdu influencers on Indian soil. The 18th and 19th centuries saw Urdu flourish, reaching a level of sophistication in poetry that drew from the heritage of poets like Khuda-E-Sukhan (God of Poetry) Mir Taqi Mir, Khwaja Mir Dard and Sauda. 

No zikr (remembrance) of Urdu can be complete without the remembrance of the great Persian master Amir Khusro, who is regarded as the first major folk poet to compose dohas, couplets, and riddles in the then-newly formed Hindawi. His contributions are enormous to the development of what we now know as Urdu, evolving through several names such as Gujari, Zaban-e-Urdu, and Rekhta. His genius gave us the early essence of the language. His work was truly timeless. “Sakal ban phool rahi sarson,” a popular folk song, also recently appeared in the Netflix show Heeramandi. “Zeehal-e-miskin,” the mournful blend of Hindawi and Persian, continues to haunt us. I have often heard people enjoy the lyrics and even memorise them, drawn by the peace and rush they feel, even without fully understanding the meaning. That was the magic of Amir Khusro.

Today, Urdu finds itself overshadowed by the colonial legacy and is reduced to a few couplets or lines in speeches. There’s either minimal interest in the language or no desire to learn it at all, leading to a significant decline in the meyaar (standard) of Urdu poetry. School curriculums now prioritize modern subjects, often sidelining languages, and not just Urdu.  Students and parents often feel hesitant to pursue Urdu courses, even if there’s genuine interest, because of concerns about career prospects. English, being a global language, receives significant focus as it’s considered essential for achieving aspirations in higher education—whether in India or abroad. Although Urdu is my mother tongue, my fluency is limited, and I tend to speak in English due to the constant exposure and opportunities it brings that Urdu currently doesn’t have.

 “Angrez chale gaye, Angrezi chhod gaye” (The Englishmen left but left English behind). 

Colonial influence and subsequent policies for the westernisation of education put Indian languages at risk, widely discrediting the oriental culture. Thomas Babington Macaulay, an English historian and politician declared that “a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia”. Indian institutions like Madrasas were considered a waste of finances and English was used to fix the “grave errors of the east”. (NCERT Class 8, chapter 6)

The lust to divide found its way into languages too. After the establishment of Fort William College in Calcutta (now Kolkata) during the 1800s to train Britishers in Indian languages, the institution was used as a place to dissociate Urdu and Hindi, giving birth to two distinct trends: Mir Amman’s Bagh-o-Bahar on one side and Lallu Lal’s Premsagar on the other. In 1875, Raju Shiva Prasad, in his grammar book, re-emphasised that there are no differences between the two languages with respect to the vernacular. The divide that existed and still exists is rooted in the misconception that the language belongs solely to Muslims. Pakistan made it its national language in 1973, yet India still has a larger Urdu-speaking population, which is not restricted to Mohammedans. In North India, even today, official work is conducted in both Hindi and Urdu, daughters of Mother India, separated by the Devanagari and Nastaliq scripts yet bound by the shared heritage of the Ganga-Jamuna tehzeeb.

Initiatives like Jashn-e-Rekhta, an annual event in Delhi organised mostly in December (also in Dubai), celebrate the language in what feels like its final days. Admirers from all over the country gather to celebrate the spirit of this zubaan (language) with great splendor. But can nostalgia really save the language? Maybe not, but these gatherings may be the final hope to attract young people to Delhi and a language whose loss would mark the end of an era.

But can a language so rich in history and culture truly fade away? Perhaps Urdu is not lost—just waiting to be rediscovered by those who dare to listen.

Nausheen Ali Nizami is a student pursuing Psychology from Jamia Millia Islamia 

Edited By: Sidra Aman

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this publication are those of the author. They do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of The Jamia Review or its members.