The Death of Imagination

Potatoes are so ubiquitous around the world now that one frequently forgets that unless your ancestors are Andean, they were never a part of your traditional cuisine. It takes more than a little imagination to imagine Hanukkah without latkes, Thanksgiving without mashed potatoes, steak without frites, or fried fish without chips. And so it's no shame to admit that when tyrannio asked me today, "What did aloo used to refer to?" not only did I not have an answer for him, but I had to confess that the thought had never even crossed my mind before.

Actually, it's not true to say I had no answer. I am a UofC graduate, after all, and so never one to let appalling ignorance get in the way of an earnest discussion. I told him that the first place I would look for information would be Platts' Dictionary of Urdu, Classical Hindi, and English available online through the good graces of my alma mater. And, sure enough, it furnishes a solid lead:

آلو आलू ālū, आलु ālu [S. आलु], s.m. An esculent root, Arum campanulatum; potato, Solanum tuberosum

The only challenge now is tracking down what Arum campanulatum refers to. Apparently this is a disused term for Amorphophallus paeoniifolius, which goes by the lovely English common name of "elephant foot yam" and the not-so-lovely alternative "corpse flower". That last term probably gives you and idea why when Solanum tuberosum became available, the Indians dropped this root crop like a hot...

जूते चलाने वाले पत्रकार की 'पिटाई'
joote chalaane vaale patrakaar kee 'piTaaee'
"Shoe-throwing journalist's 'beating'"

Notes:

1. चलाना chalaanaa is the causative of yesterday's चलना calnaa "move, go". वाला vaalaa is a very productive derivational suffix; added to infinitives, it forms compounds that answer to both English agent nouns and participial modifiers[*]. So the sense is something like "the one who made the shoe(s) go".
2. पत्रकार patrakaar "journalist" is a compound of पत्र "paper, letter" and Persian کار "action, work", a common suffix for deriving agent nouns.[**]
3. पिटाई "beating" is derived from पिटाना piTaanaa, which is the causative of पीटना peeTnaa "beat". Hindi has a very extensive system of verbal derivation including both causatives and double causatives. पिटाना could be translated as "have someone beaten" or "have X beat Y".

[*] In some cases, the latter are more fluidly translated as relative clauses, e.g. हिंदी सीखनेवाले विद्यार्थी hiMdee seekhnevaale vidyaarthee "the students who are learning Hindi".
[**] The Urdu equivalent is the Arabic-derived صحافي sahaafee (cf. Ar. صحافي ṣihāfī "idem", صحيفة ṣahīfah "newspaper", etc.).

खिड़की / کهڙکي / ਖਿੜਕੀ khiRkee "window" (Skt. खडक्किका khaḍakkikā; cf. खण्ड kaṇḍa "piece, section")

Not much to say about this one, so in the interests of padding out the entry, I'll note the English loan विंडो viNDo used particularly in computer contexts, e.g. प्रलेख विंडो pralekh viNDo "document window". And, of course, in the name of the world's most ubiquitous software, विंडोज़ / ونڈوز / ਵਿਂਡੋਜ਼.

पुस्तकालय pustakaalay, ਪੁਸਤਕਾਲਾ pustakaalaa, کتاب گھر / ਕਿਤਾਬ ਘਰ kitaab-ghar, دارالکتب daarulkutub "library"

So far, there's been great unanimity in the vocabulary I've been presenting, but that isn't by design. It's a by-product of the fact that I've been sticking mostly to basic vocabulary, which tends to show little difference between Hindi and Urdu (and Panjabi, in most instances). But you don't have to stray very far into the realm of "higher vocabulary" before you start hitting divergences.

The word किताब / کتاب / ਕਿਤਾਬ kitaab for "book" (from Arabic via Persian) will be understood anywhere, but that doesn't mean it's always the preferred usage. Shapiro's Primer, which explicitly teaches the sort of "shuddh-Hindi" found in the Indian educational system, ignores it completely in favour of पुस्तक pustak (a direct borrowing of Sanskrit पुस्तकं). (Always a bit more practical, McGregor alternates between the terms, but with noticeable bias towards पुस्तक.)

ਪੁਸਤਕ pustak is also the first translation listed in the Mahan Kosh Panajbi lexicon and enters into more compounds and collocations in the Singh Brothers dictionary than ਕਿਤਾਬ. But the latter is the only term used by Shackleton in his basic Panjabi grammar; it also beats out its Sanskritic rival 44,700 Ghits to 8,820. Perhaps needless to say, but Teach Yourself Urdu recognises only كتابيں kitaabeM and not *پستكيں pustakeM.

Since all the common terms for "library" basically equate to "book house", it's not surprising to find divergent NIA equivalents. The second element in the Hindi word listed above is Sanskritic आलय aalay "abode" (as in हिमालय Himaalay "abode of snow"), which has the Panjabi form ਆਲਾ aalaa. Panjabi ਪੁਸਤਕਾਲਾ gets about ten times the hits of ਕਿਤਾਬ ਘਰ kitaab-ghar which is literally a "book house", but I suspect that's because only Indian Panjabis commonly use Gurmukhi. Pakistani Panjabis rarely write their language and, when they do, many words are indistinguishable from their Urdu cognates. (کتاب گھر kitaab-ghar is, naturally, good Urdu as well.)

It's impossible to determine easily the relative frequency of کتاب گھر and دارالکتب in Urdu because the latter is lifted wholesale from Arabic. Literally, it is a "dwelling place (daar) of books (kutub)". If you're wondering about the different spelling here, it's because this word incorporates an Arabic "broken plural", a usage typical of higher registers of Urdu, Persian, and other Arabic-influenced languages.

And if this terminological richness weren't enough, there is also the recent English loan लाइब्रेरी / لايبريري / ਲਾਇਬਰੇਰੀ laaeebreree. I'm not sure exactly what niche it fills in the respective languages' ecologies, but certainly the related borrowing लाइब्रेरियन / ਲਾਇਬਰੇਰੀਅਨ laaeebrerian seems to be giving native coinages like पुस्तकाघ्यक्ष pustakaadhyaksh ("book supervisor") and ਪੁਸਤਕ ਪਾਲ pustak-paaL ("book protector") a run for their money. (I have to confess, I was kind of hoping for "library-wallah" myself.)

बोटी / بوٿي / ਬੋਟੀ boTee (cf. Sanskrit वटक vaṭaka "small lump") "small piece of flesh"

The inspiration for today's word came from yesterday's lunch. So why didn't I post it yesterday? Because I had a more ambitious post planned that would discuss the systematic use of feminine gender to derive diminutives in NIA. Maybe next time. For now, all you need to know is that बोटी has a big brother बोटा boTaa which does not seem to be in common use nowadays, but which is more likely to be a direct descendant of वटक.

Another common morphological process in NIA is reduplication, as seen in the Panjabi expression ਬੋਟੀ ਬੋਟੀ ਕਰਣਾ boTee boTee karNaa "cut to pieces". Hindi equivalents include बोटियाँ काटना (काटना kaaTnaa "cut"), बोटियाँ उड़ाना (उड़ाना uRhaanaa "blow"), and टिक्का-बोटी करना tikkaa boTee karnaa where टिक्का is a near-synonym borrowed from Persian (تكه). (By the way, टिक्का tikkaa / تكه tikka provides a rare instance of a true morphological divergence between Hindi and Urdu. In Hindi, the common Persian suffix -ah is treated as -aa, whereas in Urdu, it is pronounced short.) Another less grisly verbal expression is बोटी चढ़ना boTee charRhnaa "become fat or plump".

प्याज़ / پياز / ਪਿਆਜ਼ pyaaz "onion"

A quick one today, inspired by wwidsith. Not much to say about this term, since it's a straightforward loan from Persian. It does however spawn the nisbah adjective प्याज़ी / پيازي / प्याज़ी pyaazee which in addition to meaning "oniony" has the extended meaning "of reddish colour". (For Hindi, Platts gives "crimson" whereas my Panjabi sources agree on "pinkish". Anyone have an opinion on how to describe the hue of Indian onions?)

Another term (which may well be more common in Panjabi) is गण्डा gaNDaa / ਗੰਢਾ gaMDhaa, which looks tadbhava, but I'm unsure of the exact origin. The Panjabi diminutive ਗੰਢੀ gaMDhee has among its meanings "clove [of garlic]" (i.e. ਥੋਮ ਦੀ ਗੰਢੀ). Garlic also has an assortment of names in NIA--so many in fact, they're probably best explored in another post.

चाबी / چابي / ਚਾਬੀ chaabee "key"
कुंजी / کنجی / ਕੁੰਜੀ kuMjee "key"

Again, I'm left with intriguing questions about distribution of variants and no obvious place to seek answers. My dictionaries all list both words, but my grammar books list only one each--चाबी / چابي chaabee for Hindi/Urdu and ਕੁੰਜੀ kuMjee for Panjabi--so I can only assume from this that these are the more common variants in each language.

When I learned चाबी, my first reaction was That looks suspiciously like Portuguese, so I was quite chuffed to see that Platts agrees with me in deriving it from chave. That derivation would also explain the earlier Hindustani variant चाभी chaabhee, as I can't think of any other word that shows this sort of variation in medials.

Since, as mentioned before, Panjabi preserved the inherited contrast between /v/ and /b/, this would indicate that ਚਾਬੀ must be a borrowing from Hindustani. Still, that doesn't stop it from entering into a number of idioms. ਚਾਬੀ ਘੁਮਾਉਣਾ caabee ghumaauuNaa "turn[*] the key" means "tutor" and ਚਾਬੀ ਦੇਣਾ "give key" is to wind a watch or clock. (In Hindi, the latter is चाबी भरना chaabee bharnaa "fill key".)

Panjabi ਕੁੰਜੀ has the extended sense of "note, annotation" whereas its Hindi counterpart कुंजी is mapped to English "key" in its computer terminological uses, e.g. कुंजीपटल kuMjeepaTal "keyboard"[**] (with पटल "covering" apparently used as a kind of collective suffix) or आंकड़ा गूढ़लेखन कुंजी aaMkRaa guRhalekhan kuMjee "data encryption key". Again, if Platts is to be believed, the ultimate etymological root is the surprising कुञ्च kuñja "elephant tusk". I suppose we have a working hypothesis on what early Indian keys are made from!

[*] Causative of ਘੁੰਮਣਾ ghuMNaa "rotate".
[**] Beside borrwed कीबोर्ड keeborD, of course.

चेला / چيلا / ਚੇਲਾ chelaa "disciple" (Sanskrit चेटकः ćeṭakah "slave, servant")

As a name for followers of a guru, this word has found its way into English-language New Age usage. There's a rhotic variant in Indo-Aryan, चेरा / چيرا / ਚੇਰਾ cheraa which retains the original meaning of "servant".

Another Sanskrit word for "slave" or "servant" is दास dāsa, which survives in the daughter languages nearly unchanged (i.e. दास / داس / ਦਾਸ daas). The original meaning is uncertain, but it seems to have been applied to various hostile peoples in contact with the early Aryans; as these people were subjugated, it acquired the meaning of "slave".

दास has also made it into religious use, acquiring more positive connotations in the process. In some traditions, it may even be used as a title for a sat guru or pure teacher, as this is a "servant" of the true god. Likewise, it has been incorporated into various theophoric names. For instance, the ancient Sanskrit author कालिदास Kālidāsa was literally a "servant of Kali". Mahatma Gandhi's given name, महात्मा Mohandaas, indicates devotion to Krishna; he had brothers named रामदास Raamdaas (also a Marathi saint) and देवदास Devdaas (the protagonist of an eponymous Bengali novel--and now a hit movie starring Shahrukh Khan!). Panjabi singing star ਗੁਰਦਾਸ ਮਾਨ Gurdaas Maan has a given name which memoralises devotion to the Sikh Gurus, two of whom (ਅਮਰ ਦਾਸ Amar Dass and ਰਾਮ ਦਾਸ Raam Daas) had the same element as a surname.

Despite my best intentions, I'm stalled in Hindi at the moment. I was working my way concurrently through two different textbooks and have hit the chapter on numbers in both of them. True to its memorisation-heavy ethos, the McGregor is like, "Here's the list; learn 'em all." Now, for most languages, this would be a trivial exercise. But when it comes to numbers, Hindi is not most languages.

Two things that virtually all languages have in common when it comes to number systems (Pirahã, please leave the room you total freak): They all have a certain base (most commonly decimal, though other systems are attested and often there is some mixing) and the names of the number are compositional. That is, the names for larger numbers are created by combining the names of smaller ones in a predictable fashion. A few languages are, for all intents and purposes, 100% compositional. Chinese is a good example of such a language. "21" is expressed as "two tens one" (二十一). Where this isn't the case, the exceptions tend to come early. Most Western European languages, for instance, are non-compositional in the ones up until some point in the teens and in the tens up until 100. (I haven't met a language yet that was non-compositional in its hundreds, but I'm sure one exists.)

For instance, Spanish numbers are non-compositional up through quince "15"; dieciseis is nothing more than a respelling of diez y seis "ten and six". Catalan, on the other hand, has setze and then continues on with semi-compositional disset, divuit, dinou (cf. deu "ten"). Whether English is compositional in the teens or not depends on how much leeway you allow. If you're willing to call "teen" just a variant of "ten", then "fifteen" is also the last irregular number; otherwise, they're non-compositional up through 20.

Hindi is unlike every other language I have learned in that every number below 100 is completely non-compositional. That is, knowing the words for "20" (बीस bees) and "1" (एक ek) will not, in any straightforward manner, give you the name of "21" (इक्कीस ikkees). Sure there are patterns--e.g. all the twenties end in -ीस ees, but then so do all the thirties and forties as well (e.g. इकतीस ikatees "31", इकतालीस iktaalees "41", etc.)--but there are so many irregularities, they're of limited use in remembering any particular number.

What happened here? Well, essentially the same thing which happened in languages like English, only on a larger scale. Our numbers were apparently once 100% compositional as well (or at least closer to it than they are now). The "-teen" of "thirteen" and the "-ty" of "thirty", for instance, are both cognates of Proto-Germanic *teXan which owe their different outcomes to difference in stress and inflection in earlier times, and the "thir-" element is simply a metathesised and shortened variant of "three".

Similarly, the Sanskrit teens are transparent compounds of the first nine numbers with daśa "ten", i.e. ekādaśa, dvādaśa, trayodaśa, caturdaśa, etc. (Although there is already a bit of variance here due to the rules of ablaut, e.g. the independent form of "4" is catvāraḥ.) However, later sound change has regularly turned the /d/ of daśa to /r/ between vowels and aspirated the /ś/, yielding the opaque modern forms ग्यारह gyaarah, बारह baarah, तेरह terah, चौदह chaudah.

The only real difference between the two systems is that in the Indo-Aryan languages (Panjabi is the same), these changes took place not just in the teens but in every single number up to 100. Language change is constant struggle between the forces of regular sound change (which seek to generalise phonological rules to all situations in which they could possibly apply) and those of analogy (which seek to preserve existing patterns of inflexion and derivation). Sometimes analogy wins out and we end up saying "twenty-one", "thirty-one", "forty-one" instead of *"twentiun", *"thirtiun", *"fortiun". But other times it loses, and you have no choice but to memorise ikkees, ikatees, iktaalees.