The Vagbhatananda Library occupies a cramped, old and unassuming space, approximately the size of a one-car garage. Located 90 kilometers inland from the coast of Kozhikode, the library’s exterior offers little indication of the treasures within. Albert Camus’s books are placed on a dusty shelf, his existential reflections sharing space with the revolutionary rhetorical writings of Simón Bolívar. One finds JD Bernal’s volumes about science and society alongside works by Fidel Castro, Arundhati Roy and Gandhi, as if in a spirited debate. Above them all, Karl Marx’s volumes stand sentinel. It is spaces such as these that embody Kozhikode’s recently earned UNESCO City of Literature tag, revealing the city’s quiet devotion to words, books and the stories they tell.
The First Words
Kozhikode’s literary journey began in the fifteenth century with Revathi Pattathanam, an annual gathering of scholars under royal patronage. They engaged in debates on poetry and scriptures in a Sanskrit-influenced language, a tradition that endures even today. The Pathinettara Kavikal, or the “Eighteen and a Half Poets” emerged from these scholarly gatherings. Among them, Punam Nambuthiri was particularly notable, earning the title of “half poet” due to his pioneering use of ancient Malayalam, breaking away from the dominance of Sanskrit. Such voices marked the dawn of Malayalam poetry as a distinct art form. This period also saw the birth of Krishnanattam, which preceded Kathakali.
The city’s cultural tapestry was enriched by the arrival of Arab, Chinese and Portuguese maritime traders, who brought with them not just spices but new gods and languages too. They left an indelible mark on the region—for instance, Arabic traders introduced Arabi-Malayalam, a script blending Arabic and Malayalam. Later, the advent of printing presses disseminated ideas as fast as merchant ships unloaded their cargo.
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By the British era, Kozhikode had become a hub of print media—notable publications included Kerala Patrika, one of the state’s first vernacular dailies; Annie Besant’s New India Press, which promoted nationalist ideologies; and the Basel Mission Press, founded by German missionaries, specialising in educational publications. In 1923, as a counter to the proliferation of the British Raj-serving media, K.P. Kesava Menon, along with a group of spirited nationalists, established Mathrubhumi. Around the same period, Al-Ameen, under the leadership of Abdur Rahman Sahib, emerged as a platform for voicing Muslim perspectives. Mithavadi, founded by C. Krishnan, championed social reform. Kozhikode also produced Swanthra Bharatam, a clandestine publication that mobilised freedom fighters during the Quit India Movement. Situated in Malabar under British administration, the city offered a measure of freedom from the scrutiny of local rulers in central and southern Kerala. This autonomy attracted many rebels, who, fleeing the oppressive regimes in their native regions, settled south of Thrissur, where the boundaries closed. In a short span of time, the city transformed into the hub for those eager to write or publish the voices of Malayalis as they negotiated their identity in a country on the verge of Independence. Around the same time, the earliest Malayalam novels were published—Appu Nedungadi’s Kundalatha, with its romantic idealism, and Chandu Menon’s Indulekha, a sharp critique of societal norms, resonated deeply with Kozhikode’s readership.
Beyond Words
In post-Independence Kozhikode, literature transcended the confines of bookshelves and libraries, permeating the streets, cafes and bars. All India Radio’s arrival in 1950 provided a platform for writers like Uroob, P. Bhaskaran and Akkitham. A chain of libraries sprang up, doubling as spaces for music, sports and exchange of ideas. The Deshaposhini Public Library, for instance, went beyond lending books—hosting clubs, debates and theatrical performances. It was a creative hotbed, from whose small halls emerged talents such as Kuthiravattom Pappu, a legend of Malayalam cinema. Thus, these libraries and other public spaces became the beating heart of a city discovering itself. Before long, the city became synonymous with giants of literature, theatre and cinema.
All India Radio. (Picture credits: Joseph Rahul)
Playwright K.T. Muhammad dreamed up his dramas in Puthiyangadi. S.K. Pottekkatt, the celebrated travel writer, divided his time between penning bestselling books set in Kozhikode and exploring remote villages in Kenya and Uganda. Key locations—Pottekkatt’s office in Puthiyara, the Current Books showroom on Mavoor Road, the Mathrubhumi newspaper office on K.P. Kesava Menon Road, the Deshabhimani newspaper office on Convent Road—became popular meeting points for the intellectuals in the city, the regulars including Pottekkatt, Uroob and M.T. Vasudevan Nair.
Beach Hotel. (Picture credits: Joseph Rahul)
Statue of K.T. Muhammad. (Picture credits: Joseph Rahul)
Meanwhile, Kozhikode’s bar hotels—ranging from the iconic seaside Beach Hotel to the stylish Maharani Hotel and the cozy Alakapuri—served as unofficial salons for writers and thinkers. On the other hand, the city’s beach, although shunned by families for being unsuitable, held a special allure for thinkers and writers. Vaikkom Muhammad Basheer, known as the ‘Sultan of Beypore’, frequented the place, sometimes with a song, sometimes with a story.
One particularly significant event occurred in 1956, when Kozhikode erupted in celebration following the unification of Kerala. According to legend, in a rally led by writers on this occasion, K.P. Kesava Menon, N.V. Krishna Warrier and Kuttikrishna Marar—the most senior and esteemed among the group—danced through Mittai Theruvu, the city’s bustling market street.
Street art dedicated to Vaikom Muhammad Basheer. (Picture credits: Joseph Rahul)
Mural depicting characters from S.K. Pottekkatt's 'Oru Theruvinte Katha' (The Story of a Street), published in 1960. (Picture credits: Joseph Rahul)
In the years that followed, the city became a muse for countless works. M.T. Vasudevan Nair, for instance, captured its essence in novels like Naalukettu, weaving stories of familial conflict and tradition. Punathil Kunjabdulla’s epic Smarakashilakal brought a different texture to the region’s literary landscape, while K.T. Muhammad continued to inspire the youth with his rehearsals, which drew crowds from across the state. Thikkodiyan’s humour and warmth immortalised Kozhikode’s quirks and spirit. Kozhikode’s nights, too, had a distinct rhythm. In Kuttichira, where a fourteenth-century mosque built by a Hindu ruler remains as an ode to the land’s pluralism, the hospitality extended to art and artists stretched late into the night. Musician Baburaj’s harmonium filled the air with melodies steeped in longing, providing the soundtrack to a city that did not sleep.
In later years, writers such as P.M. Taj recalled the vibrant gatherings at the office of Psycho magazine by Kozhikode beach, led by Chelavoor Venu, a film and literature fanatic. Venu not only fostered artistic circles but also played a pivotal role in the city’s film society movement. He, along with auteurs such as Adoor Gopalakrishnan, brought Kerala’s first international film festival to Kozhikode’s Tagore Theatre. The ticketed event, inaugurated by luminaries of the time, sparked a movement that would later evolve into the prestigious International Film Festival of Kerala (IFFK) in Thiruvananthapuram. The film society movement spread across the city in subsequent years, with notable institutions—from colleges to private clubs such as the Bankmen’s Club—hosting film clubs. Many titans of Malayalam cinema spent significant time in Kozhikode, often favouring it over their hometowns. Unsurprisingly, industry greats such as Padmarajan, John Abraham and Narendra Prasad spent their final years in this city.
A City of Collectors
In Chevayur, Dr S. Nagesh, a retired English professor, when designing the house in 1998, believed the upper floor would be enough to house all the books he had collected over the decades. However, 30,000 volumes later, books overflowed into the bedroom, lounge and kitchen, turning his house into a sanctuary for literature. Kozhikode is home to many such collectors—eccentric, obsessive and utterly devoted.
Ideal Books, one of the oldest functioning bookstalls in Kozhikode city. (Picture credits: Joseph Rahul)
At ‘Souparnika’, the residence of Dr Mithun Siddharthan, a psychiatrist in Kuttikkattoor, books occupy every room. Similarly, Dr E. Sreejith, the head of the History Department at Government College, has a remarkable home library filled with rare and irreplaceable books. His collection includes early Malayalam textbooks such as Gundert’s Pāṭhārambham (1845) and Pāṭhamāla (1860), Kaanā Ramanezhuthachan’s temple mathematics text (1857), and Bījagaṇitam (1862). It also features Vidya Sangraham (1864–66), edited by Richard Collins, and Kerala Varma’s Thiruvithamkur Pāṭhāvalis (1867–1890). Other treasures include works by Frone Meyer, Pāchumūthathu, and dictionaries by Bailey and Peet. The library also houses Kalidasa’s rare printed editions, making it a unique repository of Malayalam’s literary and scientific heritage.
The City of Literature and Unfinished Stories
Today, Kozhikode is home to nearly 70 publishers and over 500 libraries. It hosts around half a dozen major literary festivals, including the Kerala Literature Festival, organised by DC Books, which is recognised as one of Asia’s largest literature festivals, attracting over half a million attendees. This is the kind of numbers and stature that earned Kozhikode the UNESCO City of Literature designation in 2023. However, the achievement wasn’t just a result of numbers; it was the culmination of a relentless and often Herculean effort to place Kozhikode on the literary map. Leading the charge was Mayor Beena Philip—a retired teacher, passionate reader and wife of Victor Antony, the owner of another notable private book collection in the city. A year after receiving the recognition, however, libraries remain the domain of the elderly, many struggling to attract younger members. Private groups continue their literary activities with shoestring budgets. While some publishers, like the religious presses, continue to thrive, others—especially small, independent ones—have disappeared entirely.
People reading newspapers at the Kozhikode Public Library & Research Centre. (Picture credits: Joseph Rahul)
Yet, the city’s bookshelves tell a different story. There has been a boom in sales—though not necessarily of the kind one might expect. On one end is the success story of Ram C/O Anandhi by Akhil P. Dharmajan—a romantic, coming-of-age novel that became a sensation on social media, with reels and memes propelling it to one million sales. The book, a story of youth and love, has captured readers across all ages and social divides. On the other end of the spectrum is the popularity of a six-volume collector’s edition of Sahityavaraphalam, a series of literary columns by the late M. Krishnan Nair, priced at ₹7,500, proving that nostalgia sells. These were the columns that introduced an entire generation to world literature—authors such as Marquez, Kafka and Hemingway. The contrast is striking. A young writer’s record-breaking debut novel and a posthumous collection of a literary critic’s musings on global literature. Both are thriving, yet they exist in a literary ecosystem that still appears fractured. In the middle are the established voices: Subhash Chandran, S. Hareesh, K.R. Meera, Bennyamin and others.
Clearly, books are being written, sold and read. This is not the issue at hand. Rather, it is the silence surrounding these activities—the lack of fanfare, of celebration. Kozhikode wears its City of Literature designation quietly, almost with reluctance. For a city with so much history and literary tradition, it seems as though the spotlight has dimmed when it should be burning brightest. Yet, in places such as the Vagbhatananda Library, the essence of the city remains unchanged. The world outside may have shifted—quieter streets, fewer gatherings and a different rhythm—but within these walls, the love for stories and the reverence for words endure. Some things, fortunately, never fade.
