My world of small print
illustration by N.Senthilkumaran
Apologetic note: At the age of 60 I realised that I was developing cataracts. Until then “cataracts”, to me, meant “waterfalls”!
It is not funny to be visually impaired and I should know that, but there is much fun to be extracted when one starts to become visually impaired. I hope that readers will understand…….
When I retired six years ago and in Britain, one of the first things that I noticed was that newspapers had started using a different font as well as a smaller font size from the type I was used to 50 years ago.
I generally read “The Times”, the London-based original one, and so I immediately phoned their office. The pleasant-sounding girl immediately became unpleasant-sounding when I told her about their problem in their typesetting department.They still use Times Roman, she informed me curtly. I was only trying to be helpful.
I decided not to write a letter to The Times, as a letter critical of their typo idiots was unlikely to be published in their own organ.
In any case I realised that there was something wrong with my computer and I couldn’t type a letter. It was to do with font size and that was probably due to the idiots at Microsoft.
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When I got back to the Old Republic of Sri Lanka I got a statement from mylocal bank. There was a problem with the balance. I couldn’t see the decimal point, let alone the zeros. Bad printing. Needed to complain personally.
Walked into bank. Pleasant girl wrote out the balance in large-size font on a large piece of A3 paper with a broad felt-tipped pen.
She held it very close to my face. She smiled in Sri Lankan fashion. So did the other staff. Covered their mouths with their hands. Nice bank! Other customers smiled politely.
A little girl said something and giggled. Her parents hush-hushed her. Nice girl. Patted her on the head. It was not a girl. Turned out to be a boy.
BaliyMibbon
On my way back home I asked for a copy of the Daily Mirror from a way-side stand and to my surprise found that the newspaper was now being printed in Cyrillic script. I couldn’t believe it.
It also said “BaliyMibbon” on the mast head. Must be Serbo-Croat for Daily Mirror. I then picked up a Sinhalese newspaper and shock horror, it was now being printed in Lao script. Nice and cursive but I couldn’t read a single word.
I walked home shaking my head. I collided with a lamp-post on the way. It was not there before.
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“Uncle! I am going to bake you an awesome, awesome cake” shouted my lovely-but-loudmouthed niece Samanmalee, 30+, also known as The Sam. “Can you get me a pack of castor sugar from the super market?”
This was her subtle way of getting me to do all the leg-work for her. Nice girl. I Okay-Darling-ed her, walked down to a bright, red and big supermarket, avoiding the now doubled lamp-posts and found the sugar.
The package was printed in Cyrillic, Lao and Armenian script. Something was not right here in the Old Republic.
I got home. Gave the sugar to Sam. Sam started laughing hysterically showing all of her 42 teeth. “What’s funny Darling?” I asked somewhat peeved.
“Taste this, Uncle!” she commanded and offered me a spoonful of the contents of the pack. It was salt. I looked at the pack. Something odd was happening in the Old Republic!
They were now using Cyrillic, Lao and Armenian script instead of the traditional English-Sinhalese-Tamil script on packs of castor sugar, or rather, table salt.
BebsiOola
I was annoyed. I needed a drink. I selected a can of 8.8% beer from the fridge; you know the type that comes in a bright red can? The printing on it was now in Cyrillic.
It said “BebsiOola”. The familiar Lion image was also not there. Must be a new type of beer. I had one gulp of it straight out of the can and spat it out. It was a carbonated soft drink.
Turned out to be Pepsi Cola. Sam laughed like a hyena. I have never met a hyena but I took an instant dislike to them and their parents.
“Here you are Old Uncle!” said the cheerful Sam getting me another beer and sidling up to me. Good girl!
I was suspicious but this time it certainly was beer even though the label said “LlCM SIAONC ALG BB%”.I usually drink “LION STRONG ALC 8.8%”.
Must be Latvian Cyrillic. What is wrong with this country? They now have to import beer from The Baltics? Still, the beer tasted good! Ahhhhh! I forgot about the State of the Republic, lampposts in the middle of the street and Cyrillic script.
That evening and in a tranquil moment, I spotted a white and long-tailed, Paradise Flycatcher bird in the Mango tree. I pointed it out to Sam.
“Pish!” said Sam, climbed up nimbly and yanked the poor bird off the tree violently and shoved it in my face. Turned out to be the remains of a kite. All tissue paper and bamboo with string.
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I then grudgingly admitted that there was something wrong somewhere but not with me. Under not-so-subtle persuasion from the womenfolk I went to the opticians.
There must be a shortage of Sri Lankan opticians. This guy was Mongolian! All his eye check reading charts were in Mongolian script. A brief argument ensued. I leant against a shelf which was not there when I entered.
Some O-O like objects fell off the shelf. The Mongolian optician shouted, probably in Mongolian but sounded familiarly like Sinhalese. I stalked off stepping on crunchy objects on the way out. Probably migrating red crabs from Easter Island.
Feeling rather despondent that evening and sitting in the veranda fighting off the invisible mosquitos, my lovely sister Babs manifested herself silently and placed an object on my nose.
Closer inspection revealed it to be a pair of spectacles. Must be magic glasses. Everything was now different and clearer. I asked her where she got them from. Never mind said Babs. I want to know, I said firmly. From a pavement hawker, said Babs.
Dear old Babs!
Thanks to Babs I can now read Armenian, Lao, Latvian and several other funny scripts. One day I might be able to write in Armenian, Lao….
Thanks Babs! Much appreciated.
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