It happened sometime in the early 1960s. One evening, I was, as usual, engrossed in typing out some story (news report) sitting in the reporters’ room. With the deadline for filing the story approaching, I could not afford any disturbance and distraction.

As I was staring into nothingness, searching for some appropriate expression, I found the office peon Sultani coming towards me. Finding me in a pensive mood, he paused for a while standing in front of me and then said softly, “Sahib, Bade Sahib (Editor) aapko salaam bhejen hai.” Literally translated, it meant, “Sir, the boss has sent his salutation to you.” The words simply foxed me — the Editor conveying his salutation to his subordinate, a newcomer in the newspaper organisation! As I was trying to figure out what exactly he meant, Sultani had gone out of the room.

A few minutes later, he came back and repeated the same sentence. I told him I had not been able to understand what exactly he was trying to convey to me. He gave a sheepish smile at my predicament and then said: “Sahib, the boss wants you to see him.”

“My gosh, why could not you say it in simple words?” I asked him.

His reply, “Saab, everybody here knows what it means”.

Then it dawned on me that I was not in Delhi from where I had come to join the Pioneer newspaper. Now I was in Lucknow. My move had marked a big transition from the predominantly cold and coarse lingo and social atmosphere in Delhi to the soft and velvety dialect of Lucknow. It is this typical characterstic that gives the Awadh region (around Lucknow), once ruled by the legendary nawabs, altogether a unique and distinctive identity.

I immediately rushed to meet the Editor who lived on the floor above the editorial department. He told me he only wanted me to brief him about the developments that I was going to write about. That was the first taste I had of the universally acclaimed Lucknawi (Lucknowite) culture. And without any doubt, Sultani truly epitomised Lucknow’s famed mannerisms. I found that the manner of talking of an original Lucknowite was (and continues to be) dipped in such sweetness and a flavour that it leaves a lasting impression on the listener.

He cherishes it forever. Some regale on recalling interesting anecdotes.

The beauty of the Awadhi dialect and manner of conversation lies in it having a balmy effect. The softness of expression sobers down the angry person in front of you. Such is the magical effect of the Lucknawi mannerism that is closely knit with what is known as Ganga-Jamuni Tehzeeb (culture of the Ganga-Jamuna rivers’ basin).

The Awadhi tehzeeb (mannerism) is manifest in all walks of life and places in the region. It has been adequately highlighted in Bollywood movies, mainly some classics, couched in tasteful Urdu-Persian-Arabic mix.

My next encounter with Lucknawi tehzeeb took place at a press conference addressed by the vice-chancellor of Lucknow University sometime in July-August 1960. After the conference and tea, somebody brought a tray in which several special ‘paan’ (betel leaf) were spiked in an arrow-shaped needle made of silver. I had covered several press conferences in Delhi, but for the first time I saw ‘paan’ being served in style to newsmen. Seeing me surprised, the person holding the tray gently reminded me, “Janaab (Sir), this is Lucknow”. I smiled back and picked up one.

A few days later, I met the university’s deputy registrar, an elderly gentleman known as Rai Sahib Shiv Shankar. After a formal introduction he also sprang a surprise. He took out a small silver box from his pocket, opened it and asked me to pick up a paan. My plea for being excused as I was not used to it did not click.

“This is just not possible. You can’t refuse this from chacha (uncle) Shiv Shankar.” His boisterous yet affectionate ‘command’ floored me. I reminded myself that I was in Lucknow, not in Delhi where the paan-chewing habit is frowned upon by most people. I picked up one piece.

So far, I have been talking about Lucknow as it was in 1960 and thereafter. During the last more than half a century, much water has flown down the Gomti river that bifurcates the city. Today, the constantly expanding city wears a new look. With the influx of people from the neighbouring areas, Lucknow’s original language and mannerisms are slowly giving way to other dialects. Mercifully, one can still relish them in pockets of old Lucknow, inhabited predominantly by Muslims.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.