Last year Dick & Garlick had a couple of posts about what sounds like a delightful dictionary. Dipping into Fallon’s Dictionary begins:
S W Fallon’s A New Hindustani-English Dictionary (1879) is regarded as one of the most remarkable works of Indian lexicography. With its illustrations from folklore, proverbs, songs, and literature, it is a lot more than a mere dictionary: like that other great glossary of the colonial era, Hobson-Jobson, it carves up an entire culture and serves it up in tasty, chewable bits. Fallon took up the language of north India in the late 19th century as his field of study, the common colloquial speech which was then being thrust out of sight in official use as well as literature by an artificial written language of ‘stiff pompous words, strange Arabic sounds which have no meaning for the people, and the dull cold clay of Sanskrit forms’. As Ambarish Satwik writes in his column, to open Fallon is to ‘see the invisible stream that flows all around us, full of things we have left unsaid’:
On its pages is found the sap and wit of the north Indian vernacular: the common stock of allusions that once played in the minds and memories of its speakers and disseminators. Language that is both ordinary and heightened, rank and sweet, and lingers in the mind. To borrow from Kenneth Burke, language that brings out the thisness of that or the thatness of this.
In an article in Dawn, Rauf Parekh writes that Fallon knew the value of field research in lexicography. With the help of his native informants, he recorded the words and idioms used by women, and interviewed ordinary people to understand usage and pronunciation. In an aside, Parekh notes that this led Fallon to use lewd or taboo words ‘and he sort of developed a taste for such expressions’.
Fallon’s lack of prudery and his emphasis on descriptive rather than prescriptive lexicography is what sets him apart from most Hindi/Urdu lexicographers. It also makes his dictionary a great read. Satwik recommends a weekly dip into its pages, which I think is a most excellent idea. So here’s a first dubki into Fallon’s ocean of words […]
I’ll leave you to discover the delights of Ardor urinae at the link; the following week’s post was Dipping into Fallon – 2, where he cites the entry for “خايه/ khā’yā, n. m. 1. Membrum virile. […] 2. Testicles.” Lexicography can be a lot of fun.
OK, no one seems to be eager to dip into Fallon (or maybe those who done the dipping are yet to return) so I decided to give it a try. The example for membrum virilie (anyone besides me have watched Rake?) is this
Ūṅchā makān jiskā hai pach-khanā so āyā,
Ūpar kā khan ṭapak-kar jab pānī nīche āyā,
Us ne to apne ghar meṅ hai shor o gul machāyā,
Muflis pukārte haiṅ jāne hamārā khāyā! Nazīr.
Clear? Not for me. Google translate doesn’t have a clue either, but as a good student doesn’t admit it and thinks that spewing nonsense is a suitable substitution. Anyway, it determines the language – Hawaiian and gives the following rendition
If you want to have a pach-khanā soāiā,
If you do not have a khan ṭapak-kar jab,
Us is to apne just like a shor of gul machāyā,
Muflis is a guitar guitar guitar guitar!
Which I interpret thusly
If you want to have sex,
But cannot get an erection,
Do not use the Blue pill,
Just keep playing guitar.
Sounds good to me!
Ūṅchā makān jiskā hai pach-khanā so āyā,
Ūpar kā khan ṭapak-kar jab pānī nīche āyā,
Us ne to apne ghar meṅ hai shor o gul machāyā,
Muflis pukārte haiṅ jāne hamārā khāyā! Nazīr.
This is IAST and needs to be converted to Devanagari for translation. An automated online tool gave me
ūṅच्ā मक्āन जिस्क्ā है पच्-खन्ā सो āय्ā,
ūपर क्ā खन ṭअपक्-कर जब प्āन्ī न्īछे āय्ā,
उस ने तो अप्ने घर मेṅ है शोर ओ गुल मच्āय्ā,
मुफ्लिस पुक्āर्ते हैṅ ज्āने हम्āर्ā ख्āय्ā! णज्īर ।
Some of the characters need to be replaced by hand
ā = आ
ū = ऊ
ī = ई
ṅ = ङ
ṭ = ङ
The emended Devanagari is
ऊङच्आ मक्आन जिस्क्आ है पच्-खन्आ सो आय्आ,
ऊपर क्आ खन ङअपक्-कर जब प्आन्ई न्īछे आय्आ,
उस ने तो अप्ने घर मेङ है शोर ओ गुल मच्आय्आ,
मुफ्लिस पुक्आर्ते हैङ ज्आने ख्आय्आ ख्आय्आ! णज्īर ।
Using Google translate, you get this:
—
The one with the high house has come to eat five times, When he got up and ate, he didn’t know what to eat, He created a commotion in his house, The bankrupt is crying out, “Eat, eat, eat!” Look!
—
It is possible that the bankrupt is crying out “rude word that is homophonous with eat” or “[Why don’t you eat] rude word”. It is also possible I made a transcription error or GT made a translation error, or even that the cited IAST romanised text is corrupted
That’s ā, followed by syllable-coda m with the vowel-killer mark, followed by ā again as if there’s a word boundary. Find how write mā and use that to replace य्आ. Likewise for the ā and the ī in प्आन्ई.
Following DM comment,
Try different tool; output is
ऊङ्छा मकान् जिस्का है पछ्-खना सो आया। ऊपर् का खन् टपक्-कर् जब् पानी नीछे आया। उस् ने तो अप्ने घर् मेङ् है स्होर् ओ गुल् मछाया। मुfलिस् पुकार्ते हैङ् जाने हमारा खाया! नzीर्॥
This tool only has a problem with the last word, emend with
z = ज्
ऊङ्छा मकान् जिस्का है पछ्-खना सो आया। ऊपर् का खन् टपक्-कर् जब् पानी नीछे आया। उस् ने तो अप्ने घर् मेङ् है स्होर् ओ गुल् मछाया। मुfलिस् पुकार्ते हैङ् जाने हमारा खाया! णज्ईर॥
The translation is now:
The tall house which has a rear is here. The water from above started dripping and came down. He has created noise in his house. The poor call out, let us eat! Nazir॥
Previous comments apply, note transcription could still be incorrect.
Is that the clap (membrum virile dripping), accompanied by a fart?
Google translate doesn’t have a clue either, but as a good student doesn’t admit it and thinks that spewing nonsense is a suitable substitution. Anyway, it determines the language
Marshallese now, apparently.
Here’s what it now thinks this means:
High-quality food is like back-food,
When the top drops, the collision-car drops water,
He shouts in his house,
The muffle pulling hit us hard! Nazir.
Looks like it had gotten “better” at not including undigested words from the original in the “translation”, at least.
[EDIT: and the translation doesn’t look too far off, as well! Either it’s some kind of attractor in the output, or the “detect language” engine does somehow recognize that it’s actually not Marshallese.]
Is still incorrect, but, as far as I can tell*, only within Nazīr where you have z and ī separate again.
* It’s not like I can actually read Devanāgarī.
Some quick notes to obviate the need to reconstitute the text in Devanagari from the romanization in Fallon…
This quatrain is from a long poem by Nazir Akbarabadi describing the scenes of the rainy season. Each stanza consists of a quatrain followed by a refrain. The full text on the Rekhta site is here:
The text from Rekhta differs in some details from that in Fallon. The obscene word خایه khāyā appears to have been omitted by the Rekhta site, but it is required by the rhyme, and I have restored it in boldface. Another difficult point is the word at the end of the first line سوایا. Fallon divides it, as سو آیا.so āyā ‘he came’ (‘One who has a high house came’?), it looks like to me. But the text from Rekhta does not divide it: سوایا. I am not sure how to interpret this reading. It looks like savāyā ‘with a quarter more’. Maybe:
‘Who knows about our dick!?!’ (jāne hamārā khāyā) could perhaps be translated more idiomatically ‘Nobody cares about our ass!’, ‘Nobody gives a rat’s ass about us!’, or something like that, I suppose. Presumably the roofs of the poor drip far more that the rich man’s, and they have no lower rooms to escape to, or their houses have even been flooded and washed away, if they even had any shelter to begin with.
My lunch break is over now and there are other things I must do. Maybe more later. Corrections and clarifications appreciated! Good luck!
Many thanks!
Yes, thanks. I had found the poem on rekhta and located the similar lines:
ūñchā makān jis kā hai pach khanā sivāyā
uupar kā khan Tapak kar jab paanī nīche aayā
us ne to apne ghar meñ hai shor-ġhul machāyā
muflis pukārte haiñ jaane hamārā
kyā kyā machī haiñ yaaro barsāt kī bahāreñ
sabzoñ pe biir bhūTī Tīloñ upar dhatūrē
pissū se machchharoñ se ro.e koī basore
bichchhū kisī ko kaaTe kiiḌā kisī ko ghūre
āñgan meñ kansalā.ī konoñ meñ khankhajūre
kyā kyā machī haiñ yaaro barsāt kī bahāreñ
ūñchā makān jis kā hai pach khanā sivāyā
uupar kā khan Tapak kar jab paanī nīche aayā
But I was unable to obtain an Urdu or Devanagari transcription which gave a translation in English I could be happy with😒
-e rhymes with -eñ. Huh. A little more understandable if the latter is pronouned [ẽ].
this all puts me in mind of the unofficial anthem of Mercy of Kalr, as related by ann leckie:
oh tree, eat the fish
this granite folds a peach
oh tree! oh tree! where’s my ass?