The streets of Lahore have never been defined only by stone and structure; they have also lived through names—names that once carried memory, culture, and coexistence. Now, a recent proposal from Pakistan’s Punjab province has reopened an old debate: should a city reclaim the names it once lost, and in doing so, its layered past?
According to reports, the Punjab government has approved a proposal aimed at restoring several historical names of localities, roads, and squares in Lahore. Under this initiative, Islampura is set to regain its former identity as “Krishna Nagar,” while Mustafabad may once again be called “Dharmapura.” The government describes the move as an attempt to revive Lahore’s pre-partition cultural heritage and acknowledge its multi-religious historical fabric.
The decision, taken during a Punjab cabinet meeting chaired by Maryam Nawaz, is reportedly part of a broader cultural restoration programme. Officials have clarified that this is not merely about renaming places, but also about preserving and restoring historical buildings, parks, and heritage sites. The initiative is being implemented under the “Lahore Authority for Heritage Revival.”
Yet the issue goes far beyond administration. It touches memory, identity, and history itself. When a city’s names change, is it only signage that is replaced—or does something deeper shift in collective memory?
Before Partition, Lahore was a shared cultural space shaped by Hindu, Sikh, Muslim, and colonial influences. Its neighbourhoods reflected this diversity not only in architecture and daily life, but also in their names. Krishna Nagar, Dharmapura, and Jain Mandir Chowk were not just labels—they were markers of a plural past.
After Partition, many of these names were changed as part of a broader effort to redefine identity in a newly formed nation. Krishna Nagar became Islampura, Dharmapura turned into Mustafabad, and Jain Mandir Chowk was renamed Babri Masjid Chowk. These changes reflected the political and social realities of the time, when the priority was to build a new identity, often at the cost of older memories.
Now, the proposal to restore these historical names raises a different question: is this an act of cultural recovery, or a re-entry into contested history? Supporters may see it as a step toward acknowledging plural heritage and historical balance, while critics may interpret it through the lens of identity politics.
In cities with deeply layered histories like Lahore, such decisions are never merely symbolic. They carry emotional weight and can reopen unresolved debates about belonging, memory, and historical ownership.
Ultimately, the move forces a broader reflection: can history be accepted in its full complexity, or is it always reshaped according to present needs? A city’s identity is never built only in the present—it is also shaped by how honestly it chooses to remember its past.