Bigyan Thakur is breathless. He has just lugged his Remington Superwriter out of one of those buildings across the street and barely placed it on a wooden contraption, when his mobile phone starts ringing. He hollers into it, " Hyan aami eshe gechhi. Aapni aashun panchtar moddhye... I am here. You try and make it by five."
It is 10.30am. We are on Esplanade Row West, the street adjoining the high court in central Calcutta. As is common in most court paras (neighbourhoods) of India, the place is dotted with typists. In this one, there must be 40 of them, all scattered. Most work off the pavement propped against the ancient buildings. Some are sitting on plastic sheets; others, on low stools. Nearly everyone has these yellow and blue tarpaulin covers rigged to a window here and a shaft there - to keep out the sun, of course.
All their work hours have been tailored to suit court timings - 10am to 5.30pm. During court holidays and vacations they melt away, as do their incomes.
Thakur, who takes the Circular Railway services from Barasat in North 24-Parganas to Eden Gardens and walks thereafter, is running late today. He opens the top few buttons of his shirt, fans himself a bit with a hideous pink Chinese thing between gulping down fistfuls of puffed rice and starts working on an affidavit. "This machine is all iron. Weighs about 10 kilos. It is not possible to carry it home and back every day. We leave it there for a monthly fee," he gasps as he points to one of the olden buildings.
Hovering around him are two young men. Raghu Kumar has come all the way from Sonarpur in South 24-Parganas and his friend, Bhola Dash, has recently moved to Calcutta from Bhubaneswar, Odisha. Kumar is changing his name and has to do the needful; Dash wants to get a rent agreement done.
Thakur and his ilk will have you believe that this fast friendship of court and typewriter is a technical dependence. "There are some official and legal papers of the statutory bodies that can be typed only on typewriters and not on computers," says Sujit Kumar Pyne. The signage above his head reads - Law Clerk and Freelancer. But if you spend some time around here, another, more solid reason, becomes apparent. Like chemists, who know just how to decode illegible prescriptions and can make an informed medical suggestion or two, these typists, from years of practice, have a hang of legalese. They don't just type, they also make suggestions along the way.
Clack, clack, clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety... The September morning is filled with the frantic chatter of keys. Everyone here uses American Remingtons, most of them second-hand. We are told a seasoned typist can tell the make of the machine from the sound produced by the type bars. "The Olivetti [of Italian make] sounds like the ticking of an antique clock," says Pyne.
Pyne says "Olivetti" as if he is uttering some sacred word, the deference in his voice more than apparent. Sham-sher Ali Mallick, better know as Mallick Babu, who is the go-to person for every typist in the area, decodes that one for us. "Olivetti is a very beautiful, very expensive machine. Very high-maintenance too," he says.
Mallick Babu used to be a supervisor with American typewriter manufacturers Underwoods - they had an office in Calcutta. After the company shut shop, he took up a job as a typist somewhere, next he set up a typewriter shop himself - it stocked Facets, Remingtons, Olympias, Godrejs. In his current avatar - he is in his seventies - he has turned repairman.
He weaves in and out of the by-lanes around the high court area every alternate day, carrying a bottle of water and a box. The box is full of rare spare parts. He opens it and starts pointing at each and naming them - platen, ribbon, roller, lever... "It is easy to get the parts for Remingtons. But not for the Halda, Royal, Hermes," he adds.
You learn from him that for a long time there were a lot of shops here that stocked typewriter parts, but after Remington and Godrej shut down their factories in the early 2000s, these went out of business. Mallick Babu claims he is familiar with and can repair all kinds of typewriters.
Does he know of anyone around who uses an Olivetti? You know, just to be able to tell it from the Remington. Mallick Babu has heard of someone at Waterloo Street who does. A couple of misdirections and some wrong turns later we arrive at the place, but there is no one here except a man selling tea. Does he know of this typist? He nods. " Tha. Lekin ab nahin hai... There used to be one. But not anymore."
But that's the story of the typewriter too. No?
