A media storm erupted briefly over reports that Hefazat-e-Islam chief Muhibbullah Babunagari had called Bangladesh Khelafat Majlis Amir Maulana Mamunul Haque "Kuttar Bachcha" (son of a bitch). When the viral affair was brought to Babunagari's attention, he was bewildered. "I did not say those words to him. He is as dear to me as my own son," the ageing leader declared, according to a report in the Daily Times of Bangladesh.

Importantly, the publication cited Babunagari's personal assistant, Maulana Abdul Khaleque, as offering a linguistic defence that reframed the political narrative by highlighting the cultural differences created by a regional dialect. "In the distinct regional flavour of Chattogram, the assistant explained, the phrase carries a vastly different weight than it does in standard Bangla or formal discourse. Depending on the context, what sounds like a harsh insult to outsiders can function as a casual colloquialism or even a peculiar term of endearment, occasionally used affectionately when addressing children."

In that spirit, the Hefazat camp "sharply criticised social media commentators for weaponising a regional turn of phrase, accusing online critics of lifting words entirely out of their cultural context to manufacture a personal attack where none exists".

Very well put. The incident is a reminder of how idiom frames language and hence culture through tone, relationship and context. Consider the word "bastard". It is treated as a bad word almost universally but not in Australia, where it is a good word, an affectionate term that could be equivalent to even "mate" in national cultural value.

But that depends on the situational context. In one account of Australian English usage, "bastard" functions as "a multi-purpose slang word ranging from a term of endearment to an insult or expression of sympathy".

Thus, for an Australian to describe himself as "a bit of a bastard" is self-deprecation or cheekiness. In the same spirit, "G'day, you old bastard" functions as a "warm greeting or friendly tease" among close male friends and displays mateship. Then, when someone says "Poor bastard lost his job", he is expressing sympathy or pity over someone else's misfortune. Applied to a tool or annoying object or situation, the expression signifies difficulty, as in "I can't fix this bastard of a thing!" However, "You stupid bastard!" or "You bastard!", when spoken angrily or sharply, is an expletive. In effect, what matters is to whom the word is directed. "Using it with close mates is a sign of camaraderie, whereas directing it at a stranger will usually be taken as a serious provocation or start a fight."

Of course. It is always a pleasure to hear of Bangladeshis who have been accepted into Australian society sufficiently to call others bastard or be addressed likewise. But no Bangladeshi - or anyone else for that matter - in his right mind would land at Sydney airport and say to the immigration officer: "G'day, you bastard!"

Context matters. Relationships matter. Tone matters. Most of all, situations matter. Language is never neutral.

I have had personal experience of this. Growing up in Kolkata, I had a friend, Potol, who lived in a slum next to the building in which I lived. One day, Potol came to me, gave me two rupees and said of my mother, whom he, too, called Amma: "Ammar kachey thuia gelam". ("I am entrusting this to Amma's care.") In standard Bangla, he should have said: "Ammar kachey rekhe gelam." To me, "thuiya" sounded like a derivative of "thuthu" - spit. I was incensed: Was Potol spitting on my mother and leaving two rupees to add monetary insult to filial injury? I wanted to hit him, but held back. When my mother returned home, I began to scream. She quietened me down and explained that he wanted her to take care of the money. My friendship with Potol remained intact.

Potol's family was originally from Medinipur, if I remember correctly. His and my ways parted when I left for Singapore many years later. I heard in the years to come that he had died of cirrhosis of the liver. I sighed.

"Haramjada Potol, tui Medinipurke thuiye geli amar modhye. Nijekeo rekhe geli, shala." "Bastard Potol, you left the language of Medinipur in me. And yourself as well."

Potol left me behind, a better Bangali than I could have been in purely Santipuri Bangla.

Never underestimate the linguistic possibilities of regional idiom. Never.

The writer is Principal Research Fellow of the Cosmos Foundation. He may be reached at epaaropaar@gmail.com