RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume CXIII, Issue 33314, 27 August 1973, Page 10

RANDOM REMINDER

TOWER OF BABEL

It’s said that communication is everything these days, but did you know that there are at least 150 different languages in the global village? It seems then that even if the mesages come over loud and clear a large number of people will never understand them. But perhaps we could make a virtue of all these languages and weave them into a web of a common language. Then perhaps our stories would read like this: The Mandarin Czeched his stride as he saw the Cantonese Hausawife rise from her Achinese with a flash of bare thai. “Khmer, Sindhi.” he commanded. “Yiddish, you Swedish. Why don’t you Tagalog with me? I Kongo on through life without you as my Luba ever since I Urdu singing the Norwegian cradle song and the

Kashmiri love song in Arabic at that Byelorussian cafe in old Catalan. The songs were all Greek to me, but you, you were a Hungarian rhapsody.” She pondered. Perhaps he harboured a grand Pashto for her. “Sidomo while I have a Ganda at Ewe,” she replied, “but I warn you Mayan, don’t get too fon of me. Bhili, my Khurdish husband, is just inside the house. Hebrew the tea, but he’s really Armenian, Dinka di. If he catch you here he Kikuyu Hindi, Punjabi Ukranian, break both your Balinese, Thai you up and Finnish you off. Italian vou he’s. . “What you tellin’ him?” asked Bhili, stepping outside and smiling evilly so that they could clearly see the Tartar on his Fangs. He turned to the Mandarin. “Ibo.” he drawled. “You Rumanian here long? I Shan let you go easy.

Yoruba me of my wife, mv old Dutch, and I’ll Polish you off and Rundi out of town.” The Chinese Lao Luo. Least said soonest Mende. he thought. But his very silence seemed to Galla Bhili and he came Russian over, the very picture of an outraged Uzbek. Suddenly l.e stopped and stared in amazement at the old school Thai the Mandarin wore. “Lord Luba duck,” he exclaimed. “So you’re an old Estonian too. I Shona more anger. Come join us in a cup of Twi. It’s laced with Scotch.” The Mandarin found the drink slipped down easily after the first Swahili and soon they were singing that old Estonian boating song together. Finally the Mandarin decided to move on. Groggily he got to his feet, waved his arm and Spanished into the night. “Tulu,” they heard him call.