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“My mother had four siblings. They met once a year for an all-encompassing family potluck lunch at one of the siblings’ houses. Although the lunch itself and the location changed every year, one thing never changed—this was the arrangement for four types of dessert.


My oldest aunt was a woman with a spirit larger than life and a joyous primary colour personality. A sworn ally of us children in all matters against adults, she always brought jelly to the family potluck for dessert. She brought two, sometimes three, brightly coloured jellies cooled in faceted glass bowls. Flipping them was an occasion anticipated by all the cousins who would stand around the table while she carefully unmolded the jellies mirroring the bowl patterns in trembling delight to rounds of applause.

LH Journal, 1984

My mother’s trophy dessert was chocolate biscuit pudding cradling layers of Marie biscuit soaked in full cream milk and melted chocolate; it was a family treasure. One year, she experimented with an orange zest top layer and the entire family protested. “It was so perfect!” “Oh, but the classic CBP is the best.” “I wait for it all year…” “But, why?” My mother was in a strange mix of pride and annoyance that day, but we never endured the orange zest again. The chocolate biscuit pudding remained perfect for as long as we got it.

LH Journal, 1984

My uncle—a gentle botanist and a living encyclopedia of leaves, flowers, fruits, and everything trees—made a delicious peach dessert with fruits grown in his small hill estate. Peach slices in coconut sugar syrup blanched with a dash of cloves was a rare treat that made us children forget our general aversion to fruits. While we ate them, Uncle would tell us about how he took great care to grow peaches in the tropics that were so alien to the species and the difference in taste between the regular peach and the dwarf variety, getting us to guess which one he had used that year.

LH Journal, 1984

My youngest auntie hated cooking of any kind. But, her mother-in-law—a formidable matriarch, fantastic cook and baker who considered it blasphemy to attend a family lunch with no special dish—made a devastatingly good lemon meringue coconut pie for the family potluck. Each year, there would be requests around the table to repeat the recipe, although everyone already knew we would never dare to attempt it. It was the dessert that subdued the noisy household into a helpless afternoon coma in front of the TV, nodding on chairs and collapsing across every divan and sofa until some coffee arrived.

LH Journal, 1984

That was the 1980s. As the cousins dispersed one by one for higher education, jobs, new businesses, marriages and life’s other pulls, the family potluck also slowly came to an end without anyone quite noticing it. But, it remains a core memory holding place for precious conversations, expired jokes, and the close circle we grew up in. The four desserts—the bright jellies glistening merrily, subtly spiced cold peaches bringing upcountry cool to sweltering Colombo, the perfect chocolate biscuit pudding, and the crowning lemon meringue coconut pie—are the cardinals of this evergreen place I hold in my memory. Still, even the most mediocre lemon meringue pie or soulless peach in syrup can trigger longing in me. Still, seeing the giddily shaking surface of coloured jello puts a skip in my heart, momentarily returning me to the edge of the table, waiting for the jellies to be unmolded. Still, when I return home and my mother makes the ‘classic CBP’, we sit together and enjoy a bowlful together, remembering the family in those days—preserved in a technicolour filter, monumentalized at their very best, and still here to visit through taste, smell, and texture.”


Recently I spent an afternoon at a beachside restaurant; people-watching and scribbling ideas in my sketchbook. I was there to listen to a new playlist I had prepared for a client. Since they shared a space with another business they needed music that matched the vibe of both establishments while also synced to the time of day. So I made morning, afternoon, and sunset playlists. I set the criteria for each playlist according to the persona of each business and curated the music to play in sync with the different crowd vibes throughout the day.


Can you match my vibe?
Can you match my vibe?

Constraints help to identify what is appropriate; they also help us create things more efficiently. Take for instance the self-imposed constraints that made the iconic Penguin book covers so successful. By setting a framework to format each book using a designed template; they were able to maintain a fixed production price with the same quality. Templates are particularly useful for businesses with many stories. A well-designed template will offer just the right amount of rules to lower production costs, with enough flexibility to make each edition remarkable.


Freedom is an illusion; that is, until you learn to define your boundaries. - My Wife
Freedom is an illusion; that is, until you learn to define your boundaries. - My Wife

Once you’ve determined the rules or what’s important, it is easier to identify what isn’t going to be appropriate and less meaningful. Part of the success of a storyteller is determined by how well they craft a desired emotion. I find it difficult to do this without the constraints of a framework. Particularly when it comes to making decisions. My artistic eye can easily find colours to work with but selecting the most appropriate one is another task. It requires criteria to make the final decision. Where will the colour live, who will see it, what is the desired mood, are there any preferred colours, etc.? Frameworks allow me to consider and recognize emotional states and perspectives beyond my own biases.


I cannot understand you. ‘Tis because you lean over my meaning’s edge and feel a dizziness of the things I have not said. - Trumbull Stickney
I cannot understand you. ‘Tis because you lean over my meaning’s edge and feel a dizziness of the things I have not said. - Trumbull Stickney

The complexity and difficulty of understanding what others will comprehend from an idea or feeling is difficult. We are limited by language. Full comprehension can be elusive and misunderstandings can arise from the gaps between what is said, what is felt, and what is intended. The meaning of an idea can be highly subjective and often depends on the individual's perspective, experiences, and context. The multifaceted nature of ideas emphasizes the importance of identifying a framework.



Food for thought.



Create a framework; use it as a tool. We’ve written about this before; read our brand articulation framework article for more information on using this for your business.


When Anura Kumara Dissanayake was elected President of Sri Lanka in 2024, an uproar arose among the English-speaking people—particularly the Colombo elite—over his speaking only in Sinhala, supported by translators for Tamil and English. Many in the English-speaking urban upper class perceived this as a lack of sophistication and an inability to navigate global diplomacy. Social media buzzed with ridicule, labelling it a sign of provinciality. I found this critique exposing deep-seated identity insecurities in our postcolonial society and oversimplifying the interplay between language, identity, and influence. The choice of language, whether by a head of state or a business, influences the ‘brand’ of the country or the company. In the new Sri Lankan President’s case, his language choice creates room for a reassertion of identity and even suggests a recalibration of social classes. Similarly, in the case of a business, language choices create room to reach specific audiences and assert origins, backgrounds, and even values. Let’s look at how the politics of language reflects power dynamics, fosters identity, and shapes business narratives, especially in multilingual societies and markets.


Language is not just a medium of communication; it’s a vessel of identity and a tool of influence


Among Sinhala speakers, the English language is informally referred to as ‘kaduwa’, meaning sword. It reflects how English is seen as a language that can easily lend an advantage, or even a weapon that can silence an opponent.


Postcolonial societies like Sri Lanka have inherited the hierarchy of colonial language systems with some becoming synonymous with opportunity, and sadly, ‘class’. English, in particular, often serves as a marker of education and privilege, creating a rift between urban elites and rural populations.


Similar dynamics can be seen in many multilingual societies around the world. In such cases, considering what a language signals beyond its words becomes especially important for businesses. When we start working with a business, our process captures the nuances of a business’ language through an initial questionnaire where the level of formality and placement in terms of local and international, insider, and outsider perspectives are explored.

The use of a native language can project authenticity and signal a strong identity. The use of a lingua franca like English can enhance global accessibility, and cross-cultural communication, and signal a readiness to engage internationally.


Using local languages with a lingua franca

Incorporating vernacular idioms or cultural references in stories enhances connection and loyalty. Tourism businesses notably rely on English to appeal to international audiences. However, to position themselves as ‘insiders,’ they can incorporate local languages quite effectively. This approach works specifically well for appealing to travellers looking for authentic, non-touristy experiences.


We connected with Sri Lankan comic art legend Bandula Harischandra to recreate some of his frames containing interesting Sinhala phrases and words as screen-printed stories. These visual stories became instantly popular with hotels and resorts that wanted to emphasize their ‘insider nature’ to travellers. While these businesses exclusively communicated in English considering their international audience, peppering in these visual stories within rooms, bathrooms, bars and restaurants allowed them to signify how they’re connected to local culture. Several years later, these stories remain among the most popular purchases by hospitality businesses. Their strength is the ability to portray glimpses into local languages and culture only through the colloquial phrases and everyday sound expressions contained in these stories.


The use of local languages with a bridge language like English can also create a strong case for representation and respect. In 2024, when a party was promoted in a popular tourist town saying ‘Face control: whites only’ it caused a major uproar. The party was cancelled due to the severe backlash and the organizers hopefully learnt an important lesson in inclusivity and respect. The most positive outcome, in my view, was that the incident triggered wider conversations on what it means for travellers to respect local communities. Against this backdrop, the Spice Trail boutique hotel commissioned us to create a story that stresses the significance of respecting local surfers. We fine-tuned their idea into a story that came to life as a T-shirt distributed to local surfers. The story took this message of respecting locals to crowded surf breaks, where visitors often overlooked the role of resident surfers in regulating and maintaining Sri Lanka’s popular surf destinations. The story was designed predominantly in English while we relied on Sinhala and Tamil to signify how this message stems from local culture.



When monolingual narratives can do the job

Sometimes, the nature of the business restricts the language. For one of our clients developing a crypto token, English was the only choice given the market, and because standardized terminology for this relatively new sector was only available in that language.

Export-driven businesses often prioritize global languages like English or the languages of their target markets for obvious reasons. Even in these cases, consider if the company’s choice of language reflects its values. A business emphasizing authenticity to origins or local heritage can integrate the languages of origin places to reinforce such ethos.


For businesses with global ambitions like startups operating with international investors and consultants with clients from multiple countries, English is a natural choice. For a client who serves as a consultant with audiences as diverse as designers in the Netherlands and Sri Lanka, we recommended using only English despite her strong local roots in terms of origin and education.



When multilingual narratives are essential

For businesses catering to broad markets—like fast-moving consumer goods (FMCG) companies, for example—embracing all major languages is non-negotiable.

Even when targeting niche markets, multilingual communication is essential when equality is a key organizational value. For instance, when a typographic collective promoting local type commissioned us to help tell their story with a manifesto, we first created the story in the bridge language English, knowing that it would be translated to Sinhala and Tamil. The tri-lingual story reinforced the brand’s values and helped to build credibility among local and international audiences.



Businesses that are community-focused, such as cooperative markets, local NGOs, or rural banking services, must engage in the languages of the region. Here, communicating in local languages isn’t just a positioning choice; it’s a necessity for trust and relatability.

Businesses catering to aspirational consumers can bank on the cultural cachet of a language. However, using languages that have little to no connection with the business will come across as inauthentic and gimmicky, to say the least. This means that if your bakery has nothing to do with France beyond making croissants, using French phrases is just a missed opportunity to share the real stories and origins of your business.


The politics of language is a play between identity, power, and connection. Whether in governance or commerce, language is a tool that can unite, divide, include or alienate. When businesses ‘read the room’ and respond to the linguistic and cultural realities of their audiences while staying true to their own, their stories will resonate better.


At the end of the day, words are not just shapes that construct meaning, but also identity, a sense of place, and even beliefs; use them well.

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