ot all criticism levelled by Awadh Punch against the two Urdu dictionaries – Noor-ul-Lughat and Jame’-ul-Lughat – was unfounded. In fact, the series of critical articles published in the Lucknow-based periodical offered valuable insights into the Urdu lexicon. However, the ad hominem attacks that pervade these pieces, ridiculing the lexicographers, ultimately undermine the very purpose of criticism, reducing the discourse to mere slander.

Those familiar with Urdu humour are likely aware of Awadh Punch, a satirical periodical published in Lucknow during the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. The publication was at the forefront of several literary controversies, leading campaigns against writers and books that conflicted with the ethos of Lucknavi literature – most notably, Maulana Hali and his Muqaddama.

Between 1933 and 1936, Awadh Punch published a series of scathing articles against two Urdu dictionaries released in the 1930s. One of those was Noor-ul-Lughat (hereafter referred to as Noor), compiled by Noor-ul Hasan Nayyar Kakorvi, a lawyer and linguist who was the son of the renowned na’at poet Mohsin Kakorvi. As his surname suggests, he hailed from Kakori, a town near Lucknow. However, since Kakori was not part of Lucknow, Awadh Punch was relentless in its criticism, frequently attributing what it perceived as faults in Noor to its compiler’s origins.

The second dictionary under attack was Jame’-ul-Lughat (hereafter referred to as Jame’), compiled by Khwaja Abdul Majeed. At the time, Jame’ was regarded as the largest Urdu dictionary. However, its heavy reliance on Noor – with numerous entries taken verbatim – became a major point of contention for Awadh Punch’s critic. Majeed’s Punjabi ethnicity was also a recurring target, with his background repeatedly blamed for perceived shortcomings in the dictionary.

When linguist and researcher Dr Rauf Parekh was appointed to the Urdu Lughat Board in 2003, he undertook the task of compiling all the articles published in Awadh Punch that criticised the two Urdu dictionaries. As he explained in the foreword to his work, this was no easy task, as there was no single location in either Pakistan or India where he could access all issues of Awadh Punch. He consulted multiple libraries and sources to gather as many issues as possible and was ultimately able to compile a majority of the critical articles. These were published by Idara Farogh-i-Qaumi Zabaan in 2018 as the sixth volume in the book series Kutub-i-Lughat Ka Tehqeeqi Aur Lisani Jaiza, which reviews Urdu dictionaries.

Dr Parekh’s research also dispelled a common misconception that Awadh Punch had ceased publication in 1936 as he was able to locate issues from 1937. Additionally, while it was previously believed that Awadh Punch had published around 40 articles criticising the two dictionaries, Dr Parekh was able to retrieve over 100 such articles.

Awadh Punch never revealed the name of the writer who critiqued the dictionaries. In the earlier articles, the author used the sobriquet Idbar-ul-Lughat (literally “downfall of dictionaries.”) In later articles, instead of a pseudonym, the writer signed off with a Persian couplet, presenting himself with humility, stating that he was neither a researcher nor a learned man.

However, based on various clues, Dr Rauf Parekh has made an informed guess that the writer behind Idbar-ul-Lughat was none other than Awadh Punch’s editor Hakeem Mumtaz Hussain Usmani. This inference is supported by a humorous piece published in Awadh Punch, in which a deceased literary scholar, writing from the heavens, mocks Noor while praising Usmani’s linguistic expertise. Furthermore, after Usmani’s death, the Idbar-ul-Lughat pseudonym disappeared. It was replaced by the Persian couplet and the critique began focusing more on Urdu words borrowed from the English language.

The use of Baraz-ul-Lughat further reflects Awadh Punch‘s tendency toward scatological and coarse humour, a trait evident in its interpretation of certain Urdu proverbs.

In his footnotes, Dr Rauf Parekh makes a meticulous assessment whether or not each criticism made by Awadh Punch was valid. In most cases, particularly in the earlier articles, he finds the periodical making baseless claims against the two dictionaries—such as asserting that certain words included in thsoe were not used by Urdu speakers.

Dr Parekh repeatedly points out instances where Noor and Jame’ recorded meanings that had already been documented in earlier dictionaries, including Syed Ahmed Dehlvi’s Farhang-i-Asifiya, John T Platts’s A Dictionary of Urdu, Classical Hindi and English, and SW Fallon’s A New Hindustani-English Dictionary. Yet, Awadh Punch confidently dismissed these words or their meanings as non-existent in Urdu, reflecting the critic’s overconfidence and failure to consult other lexicons before attacking Noor and Jame’.

What shocks Dr Parekh the most is that Awadh Punch did not even reference Ameer Minai’s Ameer-ul-Lughat, despite Minai being from Lucknow. Given that the periodical considered only the Lucknow and Delhi dialects as the standard registers of Urdu, its failure to consult a dictionary by a Lucknow-based scholar exposes a significant failure.

Dr Parekh strongly criticises the notion of excluding words from dictionaries simply because they are not commonly used in Lucknow or Delhi. He rightly argues that a dictionary should aim to document all words in a language, including those spoken by uneducated people or by residents of regions far from linguistic centres like Lucknow and Delhi in the case of Urdu.

In its attempt to discredit the two dictionaries, Awadh Punch frequently crossed the line of decency. Noor was mockingly referred to by derogatory names such as Zamzam-ul-Lughat and Phateechar-ul-Lughat. The most offensive title used repeatedly was Baraz-ul-Lughat (literally meaning “the stool of dictionaries.”) This not only highlights the extremes to which Awadh Punch would go in the name of humour but also reveals the periodical’s inclination towards crude and vulgar satire.

The use of Baraz-ul-Lughat further reflects Awadh Punch‘s tendency toward scatological and coarse humour, a trait evident in its interpretations of certain Urdu proverbs.

In its initial articles, Awadh Punch criticised Noor and Jame’ for including Urdu proverbs without explaining their origins. This criticism was largely unfounded, as dictionaries are not meant to provide anecdotal backgrounds for proverbs. However, Awadh Punch repeatedly raised this point and attempted to ‘correct’ the omission by offering explanations – often incorporating stories with sexual or scatological content.

Interestingly, the later critiques, particularly those concerning words of English origin, hold more validity. It appears that both Noor and Jame’ handled English loanwords rather carelessly, leading to vague, incomplete or incorrect definitions. For instance, in its entry for Sinkona (from the English Cinchona), Noor erroneously stated that it was a type of quinine. Awadh Punch rightly pointed out that cinchona is not a type of quinine but the plant from which quinine is extracted.

Similarly, in defining Roman or Roman Character, Noor inaccurately stated that it referred to writing Urdu using English alphabet. While this explanation might seem acceptable to a schoolchild unfamiliar with script and linguistic structure, a reputable dictionary should not present such imprecise definitions.

The meaning of ward as stated by Noor is a minor for whom a court appoints a guardian to manage their personal or financial affairs. While this definition is correct, the critic rightly pointed out that the English word ward is also widely used by Urdu speakers in other contexts, such as a hospital ward or a municipal ward, yet these meanings were not included.

The reviewer may be reached at bilal89ahmed@gmail.com