awari (*Roebuck): 'This, says Lt. Roe-buck, is the Laskari word for ship's wake. But as so often with the usages of the lascars, it has the oddly poetical connotation of being cast adrift upon the waves.' Legend has it that some members of the family went to the movie Awara expecting a tale of shipwreck.
+ayah: Neel was contemptuous of those who identified this word with Indian nursemaids and nurseries. In his home he insisted on using its progenitors, the French 'aide' and the Portuguese 'aia'.
bachaw/bachao: This word should by rights have meant 'help!' being a direct borrowing of the common Hind. term. But Neel insisted that in English the word was only ever used ironically, as an expression of disbelief. For example: ' Puckrowed a six-foot cockup? Oh, bachaw!'
backsee (*Roebuck): This was the Laskari substitute for the English 'aback': 'Another of the many words in the Indian shipboard lexicon, where a Portuguese term was preferred over the English.'
+ baksheesh/buckshish/buxees, etc.: 'Curious indeed that for this token of generosity Sir Henry was unable to find any English equivalent ("tip" being dismissed as slang) and could only provide French, German and Italian synonyms.' Neel's optimism about the future of this word was based on the fact of its having few competitors in the English language. He would have been surprised to find that both baksheesh and its South China synonym cumshaw had been smiled upon by the Oracle.
+balty/balti: On this commonest of Indian household objects – the bucket – Neel penned several lengthy chits. Already in his time the use of these containers had become so widespread that the memory of their foreign provenance (the word being a direct borrowing of the Portuguese 'balde') had been lost. 'This much is certain, that the balde, like so much else, was introduced into our lives by lascars. Yet the object for which they used the term was a "ship's bucket", a leather container bearing no resemblance to the metal vessels that are now spoken of by that name. But the balde could not have become ubiquitous if it were not replacing some older object that was already in common use. What then was the name of the container that people used for their daily bath before the las-cars gave them their baldes? What did they use for the cleaning of floors, for drawing water from wells, for watering their gardens? What was the object, now forgotten, that once discharged these functions?' Later, on his first trip to London, Neel went to visit a lascar boarding house in the East End. He wrote afterwards: 'Living twenty to a room, in the vilest conditions, the poor budmashes have no other expedient but to cook their food in enormous baldes. Being, like so many lascars, good-hearted, hospitable fellows they invited me to partake of their simple supper and I did not hesitate to accept. The meal consisted of nothing more than rooties served with a stew that had long been bubbling in the balde: this was a gruel concocted from chicken-bones and tomatoes, and was served in a single giant tapori. It bore no resemblance to anything I had ever eaten in Hind. Yet it was not without savour and I could not forbear to ask where they had learnt to make it. They explained that it was Portuguese shipboard fare, commonly spoken of as galinha balde, which they proceeded to translate as "balti chicken". This did much, I must admit, to raise in my estimation the cuisine of Portugal.'
History has vindicated Neel's optimistic evaluation of this word's future, but it remains true that he had in no way foreseen that the word's citizenship in the English language would be based on its culinary prowess; nor would he have imagined that on finding entrance into the Oracle this humblest of Portuguese objects would come to be defined as 'a style of cooking influenced by the cuisine of northern Pakistan'.
balwar (*Roebuck): 'Too close in sound to its synonym, "barber", to have any realistic chance of survival.'
bamba (*Roebuck): 'Why would anyone continue to use this Portuguese-derived term for an object which already has a simple and economical name in English: "pump"?'
banchoot/barnshoot/bahenchod/b'henchod etc (*The Glossary): In his treatment of this expression, Neel decisively parts company with his guru, Sir Henry, who gives this cluster of words short shrift, defining them merely as 'terms of abuse which we should hesitate to print if their odious meaning were not obscure "to the general." If it were known to the Englishmen who sometimes use the words, we believe there are few who would not shrink from such brutality'. But rare indeed was the European who shrank from mouthing this word: such was its popularity that Neel came to be convinced that 'it is one of the many delightful composite terms that have been formed by the pairing of Hind. and English elements. To prove this we need only break the word into its constituent parts: the first syllable "ban"/"barn" etc, is clearly a contraction of Hind. bahin, or sister. The second, variously spelled, is, in my opinion, a cognate of the English chute, with which it shares at least one aspect of its variegated meaning. Like many such words it derives, no doubt, from some ancient Indo-European root. It is curious to note that the word chute no longer figures as a verb in English, as its cognates do in many Indian languages. But there is some evidence to suggest that it was once so used in English too: an example of this is the word chowder, clearly derived from the Hind. chodo/chodna etc. The word is said to be still widely in use in America, being employed chiefly as a noun, to refer to a kind of soup or pottage. Although I have not had the good fortune to partake of this dish, I am told that it is produced by a great deal of grinding and pounding, which would certainly be consonant with some aspects of the ancient meaning that is still preserved in the usage of this root in Hind.'
+bandanna: The coolin status of this word would have amazed Neel, who gave it little chance of survival. That 'bandanna' has a place in the Oracle is not, of course, a matter that admits of any doubt – but it is true nonetheless that this was not the fate that Neel had foretold for it. His prediction was that the Hind. word bandhna would find its way into the English language in its archaic seventeenth-century form, bandannoe. Yet it is true also that Neel never doubted this word's destiny, a belief that was founded in part in the resilience and persistence of the ancient Indo-European root from which it is derived – a word that had already, in his lifetime, been Anglicized into bando/bundo (to tie or fasten). This beautiful and useful word is, alas, now only used as it pertains to embankments, although it was once widely used by speakers of English, especially in its imperative form: bando! (Neel even made a copy of the quote that Sir Henry used in his note on this term: 'This and probably other Indian words have been naturalized in the docks on the Thames frequented by Lascar crews. I have heard a London lighter-man, in the Victoria Docks, throw a rope ashore to another Londoner, calling out, "Bando!" [M.-Gen. Keatinge]).'
Neel's faith in bando/bundo was no doubt influenced by the root's uncommon fecundity, for he foresaw that it would give birth to a whole brood of + anointed derivatives – bund ('embankment' or 'dyke', the best known example of which is now in Shanghai, widely considered to be the single most valuable piece of land in the world); cummerbund (the fate of which Neel also failed to properly predict, for it never did replace 'belt' as he had thought it would); and finally bundobast (literally 'tying up' in the sense of 'putting into order' or 'making arrangements'). The passing away of this last into the limbo of the almost-dead Neel could never have foreseen and would have mourned more, perhaps, than any other entry in the Chrestomathy. (Of this too his anonymous descendant might well have written: 'Why? Why? Why this meaningless slaughter, this egregious waste, this endless logocide. Who will put an end to it? To whom can we appeal? Does it not call upon every conscience to rise in protest?') For it is true certainly that this is a word, an idea, of which English is sadly in need. Nor did the contributions of bando/bandh end there. Neel was persuaded that band in the sense of 'head-band' or 'rubber-band' was also a child of the Hind. term. This would mean that bando/bundo did indeed achieve the distinction of being raised to the Peerage of the Verb, through such usages as 'to band together'.