You may think why I blog on such irrelevant subjects which has very little relevance whatsoever. But my dear, this has my own aspirations and desires fulfilled and unfulfilled, so let it be there.
In the beginning there was One Madrasi, One Madrasi brought another one, then another one, then a generation, generations and now stands at the gene of Mallu which is a beautification of Malayalee derived from the species of Madrasi. Ooomph! Let me take a glass of water.
Earlier the Malayalee life existed from One Onam to the next Onam. OR you can put it this way, one Nattilpokku to the next. Good number of men, married and unmarried, lived ‘ bachelors’ in rented ‘rooms’ those days, wife and kids back in Kerala. Mobile phone, not yet born STD calls very costly, the only link with the dear and near ones was the blue coloured ‘inland letter’ weekly update.
I am talking about the period before the emergence of the term ‘Mallu’. In fact, ‘Madrasi” was the term Vadakkans in Delhi used to refer to us—Malayalees. Malayalee men who could not make it to Air Force, Army and CRP in that order were flowing to Delhi for a living. They had already made their presence felt in the Jute Mills of Calcutta, The Cloth Mills of Bombay and the Auto Industry in Chennai. Women from Kerala, spread to the North and everywhere in the Health Sector. Catholic Priests and Nuns were already there with their education and health care mission.
A house made of dream
Bhaskaran Master landed in Delhi in the sixties. A under literate, Bhaskaran left Payyannur, with the sole purpose of having three full meals for himself and Vayaru Niray Bhakshnam for folks back home, then the ‘God’s most neglected country’.
Bhaskaran could find a job in a “Kerala Hotel”. A Dhaba owned and operated by another Malayalee, who put his foot at the Paharganj Side a decade or two ago. “Kerala Hotel”. was situated near the then ‘Hindustan Times Block” in the outer circle (opposite Statesman). This ensured Bhaskaran three full meals a day for a dawn to dusk job. Bhaskaran’s job in the “Hotel” and his hunt for better pastures continued side by side.
Through a regular Dosa Sambar customer, Bhaskaran got a ‘decent’ job in a Multinational company near CP. A peon in a Multinational was a lucrative job those days. Good salary and bonus, Bhaskaran used to earn over- time and conveyance as extra income from the job.
Soon, Bhaskaran bought a Bicycle and took a room on rent in Lakshmi Nagar for residence. The Cycle remain with Bhaskaran throughout his Jeevitha Yathra. There was a story going around those days about one of Bhaskaran’s adventures.
Oru Avadhikku Nattil pokan,
Bhaskaran could not get a birth in any of the south bound trains. He packed his ‘Petty’ with necessary items and bound it on the carrier behind the Bicycle, and pedalled the three thousand miles (5000 kms) through the Chambal kadukalum, Vidhya Malakalum, Kadum, Nadikalum, Kattu jevevikalum. On the28th day he reached Payyannur. By then his PL got over. The next day morning he along with his cycle boarded a train from Kerala and landed back in Delhi.
Edakkalathu Enno
Bhaskaran got married. He had four kids during his journey, all girls.
Bhaskaran’s acutely needed more space to live in. He dreamed of having a house, that would be his own, his Swapna Veedu.. Bhaskaran, managed a 100 yard plot in Lakshmi Nagar, then a catchment of Yamuna, and started his house building. He constructed a single room and kitchen, then another room and a floor above were added one by one. He built his Swapna Veedu – Dream House brick by brick. Much of the house building work was Bhaskaran’s on. He seldom depended on an outsider for white washing and painting his house. All he did himself. He loved his house as one of his daughters.
He saved on his meals and clothes. (Bhaskaran was never shy in his outfit the ‘Official Khaki’ that was the identity of a peon those days). Khaki clad Bhaskaran, his bi-cycle and the house became one in as much that each one existed for the other.
Before coming to conclude Bhaskaran saga, let me peep through another old timer Malayalee’s life.
Devassy disembarked GT Express at the Paharganj side . He was a Matriculate with a “Type and Short hand” Upper Certificate(Then Type writing/short hand was a highly sought after technical qualification with Lower level and Upper level exams conducted by state authorities for a certificate). “HR” was not a familiar term those days. Various Company agents waited at the Railways station to tap the qualified, English Speaking “Madrasis” for the ‘Steno’s job. By one of such act, Deveassy could also place himself behind a “Halda” type writer in one of the many large “holes’ in CP. Devassy later on underwent a UPSC test and got a job in the North Block and become a Central Govt employee. A “Steno Typist” to be precise.
A year after, when Devassy visited village with a new status- a “Kendra Sarkar jolikkaran”- a very valued profile. His marriage happened in the village with a reasonable(?) and attractive ‘Sthree dhanam”. Devassy’s Father was kind enough to allow Devassy to utilize his dowry for a cause. So he bought a piece of land in the Western side of Delhi for 5000 rupees. Devassy took a loan and added to all his savings, started building a house. He could then move out of his Sarojini nagar sub-let one room-accommodation to the West Delhi pocket. Devassy built a reasonably big house. Years passed by and his family grew bigger by the size. He was an ardent believer, so, in spite of scarce DTC service, and the nearby Church being the Sacred Heart Cathedral, Devassy seldom commit a deadly sin missing Sunday Mass, without sufficient reason. Though very often, he failed take Thresia, his wife and children for their inability to get ready on time.
Much water has passed through Yamuna. Devassy retired and become a full time evangelist and presented himself for the Charismatic works of the Church. His children also grew up and settled in life.
A few years back Bhaskaran died. He had married off all his four daughters. They all were settled separately. its heard from a reliable source that Bhaskaran’s daughters unitedly deciced to sell off Bhaskaran’s Swapna veedu and divided the booty amongst them.
In the case of Devassy, he can not walk without the help of a stick now. His vision poor, his church activities also become difficult these days. In fact Devassy is now living with one of his children.
His children are finding the old house of no much use.
Swapna Veedu polum thakarnnu veezhan oru jeevitha kalam mathi !
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Change -Imminent
Change - imminent
It was a decision, made for better, so do I believe. The decision was painful. Almost a decade and a half we spent in the 900 sq ft area. Baby spent 24 x 7, loved it like a baby ,until Chakku’s arrival, which made all the difference. More so it was our own house, we named it our permanent home. Namely 406. I attach my savings from TATA to this house.
Baby, not at all game for a change, ultimately proposed the change, for her priority has changed to Chakku and the house, which she nurtured like her third daughter, flipped past.
We had no other alternative. It was impossible to adjust all in the 900 ft area. It was also unthinkable to leave Chakku in the care of Shanti. So for the better. Chakku will have a better environment. We all will have power cut free nights.
Change is obvious. Be it residence, attitude, approach. Progress comes through changes only.
So for my daughters, Papa makes hasty decisions, but many a times, it turns out OK. Isn’t it?
It was a decision, made for better, so do I believe. The decision was painful. Almost a decade and a half we spent in the 900 sq ft area. Baby spent 24 x 7, loved it like a baby ,until Chakku’s arrival, which made all the difference. More so it was our own house, we named it our permanent home. Namely 406. I attach my savings from TATA to this house.
Baby, not at all game for a change, ultimately proposed the change, for her priority has changed to Chakku and the house, which she nurtured like her third daughter, flipped past.
We had no other alternative. It was impossible to adjust all in the 900 ft area. It was also unthinkable to leave Chakku in the care of Shanti. So for the better. Chakku will have a better environment. We all will have power cut free nights.
Change is obvious. Be it residence, attitude, approach. Progress comes through changes only.
So for my daughters, Papa makes hasty decisions, but many a times, it turns out OK. Isn’t it?
Friday, July 8, 2011
Lost connections
I remember the day thru my Pre-degree in KE College.
We sat for lunch in the large lunch hall behind the main college building, near the loo. The hall with aroma of different variants of food packed in banana leaves and aluminiun vessels, filled the air.
Time One O clock. Stomach burning with hunger. I too opened my banana leaf roll. It opened up to white boiled rice with a spoonful of red chilli chutney. That was all I had.
My friend, Vijayan opened his lunch box which had a coconut chutney & fish peera. I could not stand the smell. I asked for a little portion of his fish peera. He was hesitant, not because he has problem in sharing, but because, he belonged to the Velan caste (DrKRN was born in that caste) which was too low a community for the Syrian Xtian, that I was, because we were taught that we have Brahminical hang over cord with which we stand above even the formidable Nairs. Let it be so, Vijayan asked me if I really have no problem sharing his food. I said NO not a bit. The Meen peera was good. Then on we shared food, to be true, Vijayan parted with his curry for me.
Vijayan’s parents wanted him to do MBBS, which he could not, owing to his not clearing PDC in the first and second attempt. Instead he joined the Homeo and become Dr. Vijayan and practiced in Kudamaloor. He was physician to my father also.
Vijayan had a love with a pretty girl which didn’t work. Problem was perhaps the same. Caste. He as every other Kudamaloor-ite was close to the liquor, both Desi and Videsi.
I have left for Delhi in 1971. Forty years over. Relationship with my childhood friends severed, Vijayan was no exception.
Yesterday, Vijayan passed away. I had planned to visit Kudamaloor yesterday, but it did not work out. Vijayan was my only connection to AKG Panicker, our common friend, and my childhood best friend, who too is lost in the sea of time. Now I have to find some ways to get Panicker connected.
We sat for lunch in the large lunch hall behind the main college building, near the loo. The hall with aroma of different variants of food packed in banana leaves and aluminiun vessels, filled the air.
Time One O clock. Stomach burning with hunger. I too opened my banana leaf roll. It opened up to white boiled rice with a spoonful of red chilli chutney. That was all I had.
My friend, Vijayan opened his lunch box which had a coconut chutney & fish peera. I could not stand the smell. I asked for a little portion of his fish peera. He was hesitant, not because he has problem in sharing, but because, he belonged to the Velan caste (DrKRN was born in that caste) which was too low a community for the Syrian Xtian, that I was, because we were taught that we have Brahminical hang over cord with which we stand above even the formidable Nairs. Let it be so, Vijayan asked me if I really have no problem sharing his food. I said NO not a bit. The Meen peera was good. Then on we shared food, to be true, Vijayan parted with his curry for me.
Vijayan’s parents wanted him to do MBBS, which he could not, owing to his not clearing PDC in the first and second attempt. Instead he joined the Homeo and become Dr. Vijayan and practiced in Kudamaloor. He was physician to my father also.
Vijayan had a love with a pretty girl which didn’t work. Problem was perhaps the same. Caste. He as every other Kudamaloor-ite was close to the liquor, both Desi and Videsi.
I have left for Delhi in 1971. Forty years over. Relationship with my childhood friends severed, Vijayan was no exception.
Yesterday, Vijayan passed away. I had planned to visit Kudamaloor yesterday, but it did not work out. Vijayan was my only connection to AKG Panicker, our common friend, and my childhood best friend, who too is lost in the sea of time. Now I have to find some ways to get Panicker connected.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Book of Genetics
Long long long ago, lived a Gentleman, Adi, with his wife Iva in the Country of Eden on Earth. Little did he know he was made the King of Eden. He lived on rare fruits from the trees of his own orchard. So plenty were the yields in the garden that he was busy trying one fruit after the other until he fell down and snoozing. This continued in Eden until…
His wife, attractive Iva, on the other hand, was conscious of her image and beauty. Busy collecting herbs and rare leaves of cosmetic and medicinal value, she was very selective in her diets and never ever ate anything and everything comes her way. More so, she was kind with other creatures in Eden. She, in fact, used to make good friends out of the other creatures of Eden. Iva, being the most beautiful of all the Edenites, used to get very flavoured fruits of rare kinds from other Orchards too. Those were special fruits which were not often found in Adi’s orchard. Adi, though, had no knowledge of this trespass and continued his careless lifestyle. Iva used to induce her appetites with the apples and berries so brought for her from other orchards by her admirers.
Adi, though was to take care of Iva, seldom cared for her. He was trying on various fruits from the Orchard and had nothing else, but to sleep after filling his belly. What to say, his life was an interval between filling and emptying and refilling belly.
Eve, was often getting tired in the Kings Villa, that she had to be on her heals alone, many a time. What to say, after all, she was also made of flesh and blood. Her despair was growing day by day.
Then on one such day…
On one of her stroll in the back yards, she happened to come across, Serpan, a handsome young adult with long arms, dark blue eyes and wily grin on his lips. He was holding a very beautiful bunch of purple berry. With bubbling mouth Iva could not beat her tempt which eventually set upon the man and the berry.
Iva ate the berries. That day and days after.
She sensed pukish and pleasant uneasiness in her under belly. Never mind she had had a fine feeling inside. Her flat leaf-like under belly was growing……that it has become as big as a jack fruit found in her Orchard.
Tired and exhausted, one day while sleeping, Iva heard a voice. It was from the Watchman of the Orchard, who knew what had happened inside the Orchard.
The watchman pronounced, Iva ate the fruit which was prohibited in the Eden, and for that matter, she was no more eligible to be in Eden. She was asked to leave, no matter where, as that was the order of the owner of the Orchard. She held Adi’s hands, who was still asleep, and walked out of the gate of Eden.
The door was shut behind them.
When Adi woke up to his senses, he found himself out of the Orchard and in a dry land where he could not lay hands on his favourite fruits. He could not stand that and became angry. He beat Iva in anger that she was put on breathtaking pain in her belly. Not knowing what was happening Iva cried cried until she was parted with her burden. Beside her laid the twosome – later named Cai and Aai- both boys.
Slowly and steadily thereafter ….
Iva forgot all the pain of the beating she got from Adi. After all, she cheated on him by having those berries from that Wily Serpan. Otherwise they would still be in Eden and their beautiful Orchard. Never mind, Iva felt more happy as she has something to do here now. She was busy in nursing her two sons, Cai and Aai and fetching and cooking meat for Adi.
Adi seldom spoke after that, he, in anger, got hold of a sharp object and started tilling the land. From sun rise to sun set.
There was rain, and soon there were grains along the tilled lines. Adi plucked the wheats and ate. He found it good.
He gave some grains to Iva and the twosome. They ate and found it good too.
Then, cai and Aai had many of their brothers and sisters and lived in that place and that was named after Cai, the first born, Canai….
The story does not end here…
His wife, attractive Iva, on the other hand, was conscious of her image and beauty. Busy collecting herbs and rare leaves of cosmetic and medicinal value, she was very selective in her diets and never ever ate anything and everything comes her way. More so, she was kind with other creatures in Eden. She, in fact, used to make good friends out of the other creatures of Eden. Iva, being the most beautiful of all the Edenites, used to get very flavoured fruits of rare kinds from other Orchards too. Those were special fruits which were not often found in Adi’s orchard. Adi, though, had no knowledge of this trespass and continued his careless lifestyle. Iva used to induce her appetites with the apples and berries so brought for her from other orchards by her admirers.
Adi, though was to take care of Iva, seldom cared for her. He was trying on various fruits from the Orchard and had nothing else, but to sleep after filling his belly. What to say, his life was an interval between filling and emptying and refilling belly.
Eve, was often getting tired in the Kings Villa, that she had to be on her heals alone, many a time. What to say, after all, she was also made of flesh and blood. Her despair was growing day by day.
Then on one such day…
On one of her stroll in the back yards, she happened to come across, Serpan, a handsome young adult with long arms, dark blue eyes and wily grin on his lips. He was holding a very beautiful bunch of purple berry. With bubbling mouth Iva could not beat her tempt which eventually set upon the man and the berry.
Iva ate the berries. That day and days after.
She sensed pukish and pleasant uneasiness in her under belly. Never mind she had had a fine feeling inside. Her flat leaf-like under belly was growing……that it has become as big as a jack fruit found in her Orchard.
Tired and exhausted, one day while sleeping, Iva heard a voice. It was from the Watchman of the Orchard, who knew what had happened inside the Orchard.
The watchman pronounced, Iva ate the fruit which was prohibited in the Eden, and for that matter, she was no more eligible to be in Eden. She was asked to leave, no matter where, as that was the order of the owner of the Orchard. She held Adi’s hands, who was still asleep, and walked out of the gate of Eden.
The door was shut behind them.
When Adi woke up to his senses, he found himself out of the Orchard and in a dry land where he could not lay hands on his favourite fruits. He could not stand that and became angry. He beat Iva in anger that she was put on breathtaking pain in her belly. Not knowing what was happening Iva cried cried until she was parted with her burden. Beside her laid the twosome – later named Cai and Aai- both boys.
Slowly and steadily thereafter ….
Iva forgot all the pain of the beating she got from Adi. After all, she cheated on him by having those berries from that Wily Serpan. Otherwise they would still be in Eden and their beautiful Orchard. Never mind, Iva felt more happy as she has something to do here now. She was busy in nursing her two sons, Cai and Aai and fetching and cooking meat for Adi.
Adi seldom spoke after that, he, in anger, got hold of a sharp object and started tilling the land. From sun rise to sun set.
There was rain, and soon there were grains along the tilled lines. Adi plucked the wheats and ate. He found it good.
He gave some grains to Iva and the twosome. They ate and found it good too.
Then, cai and Aai had many of their brothers and sisters and lived in that place and that was named after Cai, the first born, Canai….
The story does not end here…
Monday, May 23, 2011
A sunday movie Outing
Sunday has, for long, been a day for reading columns of HT, matri-ad for Swap in MM & TOI, fishing at Seemapuri, eating, dozing and normally ends with Sunday marketing (buying vegetables for the week). This being the routine for all Sundays, we took a different course on 22nd May 2011. After trying seeing-off Latha and Premkumar at Nizam-Uddin (trying means only Baby could see them off as I was the watchman for the two cars- lack of parking space at both sides of Nizam Uddin – a sad story). We, Baby and me, took a break at TERI Library, had coffee and headed for a stroll at INA. Bought some more nappies for Gundappu, had meals at ‘Kerala Hotel’ , a Dhaba at INA. After that unpleasant meal we came back to IHC to watch Pranchiyettan and the Saint.
Pranchiyettan and the Saint- a beginning to end absolute entertainer with strong mind stirring message. The story in a nutshell is : Pranchi-(y)-ettan, a typical Trichur Nazrani, a rice trader by profession, with bags of money in his kitty, but gets little respect in society. (The Trichur Nazranis conveniently abbreviate names like Pranchi, Prunchu, Porinchu, Pinchoo etc from Francis – Varuthu, Vareethu, Varu etc from Varghese – Chacku, Chakkunni, Chakkappi out of Jacob). A straight forward, rich but uneducated Pranchi earned an adjective to his name Ari- Pranchi( u can interpret it in English as Rice Francis)from his school days.
Francis Cheramal’ (his baptized family name) who is Ari- Pranchi for the town, struggle to attain some name worth his financial status (nilayum vilayum). He tried various means to get his name included in the list of ‘Padmashree awardees’. His liaison manager, hilariously enliven by veteran Shree Innocent, even offered to get him a ‘Chevalier’ a French knighthood. Pranchiyettan, as a true Trichur catholic businessman , sees his baits soon. He realizes, the only respect he gets from the market is the yettan added to Pranchi, which he is aware, even Trichurites will call Jesus- if given a chance – Yesu-(v)-ettan.
Pranchiyettan, a staunch believer in Church and its saints, calls on his favourite Punyalan (Punyalan is Saint in Malayalam) and his namesake St. Francis of Assissi. St. Francis started his sermon in French, which stunned Pranchi for he believed that the prayers he made all this while in Malayalam went absolutely waste as the Saint could not understand a bit. But the Saint, took note of Pranchiyettan’s agony and thenceforth conversed in staunch Trichur slang.
The Punyalan opened Ari Pranchi’s eyes, though late, to the hollowness of Nilayum Vilayum and the futile efforts people make to please the Punyalans with bribes (offerings)to reach their goals and their finding solace in a bottle of water(holy water) or a blessed rosary. I suggest a Catholic should watch Pranchiyettan and the Saint- filmy melodrama aparts- for a change.
Pranchiyettan and the Saint- a beginning to end absolute entertainer with strong mind stirring message. The story in a nutshell is : Pranchi-(y)-ettan, a typical Trichur Nazrani, a rice trader by profession, with bags of money in his kitty, but gets little respect in society. (The Trichur Nazranis conveniently abbreviate names like Pranchi, Prunchu, Porinchu, Pinchoo etc from Francis – Varuthu, Vareethu, Varu etc from Varghese – Chacku, Chakkunni, Chakkappi out of Jacob). A straight forward, rich but uneducated Pranchi earned an adjective to his name Ari- Pranchi( u can interpret it in English as Rice Francis)from his school days.
Francis Cheramal’ (his baptized family name) who is Ari- Pranchi for the town, struggle to attain some name worth his financial status (nilayum vilayum). He tried various means to get his name included in the list of ‘Padmashree awardees’. His liaison manager, hilariously enliven by veteran Shree Innocent, even offered to get him a ‘Chevalier’ a French knighthood. Pranchiyettan, as a true Trichur catholic businessman , sees his baits soon. He realizes, the only respect he gets from the market is the yettan added to Pranchi, which he is aware, even Trichurites will call Jesus- if given a chance – Yesu-(v)-ettan.
Pranchiyettan, a staunch believer in Church and its saints, calls on his favourite Punyalan (Punyalan is Saint in Malayalam) and his namesake St. Francis of Assissi. St. Francis started his sermon in French, which stunned Pranchi for he believed that the prayers he made all this while in Malayalam went absolutely waste as the Saint could not understand a bit. But the Saint, took note of Pranchiyettan’s agony and thenceforth conversed in staunch Trichur slang.
The Punyalan opened Ari Pranchi’s eyes, though late, to the hollowness of Nilayum Vilayum and the futile efforts people make to please the Punyalans with bribes (offerings)to reach their goals and their finding solace in a bottle of water(holy water) or a blessed rosary. I suggest a Catholic should watch Pranchiyettan and the Saint- filmy melodrama aparts- for a change.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Chotu, Badu and Gundappu
It used to be still dark, the bus will arrive on time as always, the mornings were too busy. Baby has already taken her position, where else- the kitchen, to ready b/f and tiffin. Before that she ensured a tea for warming up my nerves.
I usually take upon me the responsibility of waking the two up, usually with a sprinkler therapy, then the usual things, dress, feed b/f and the journey to school. While we did all these things, these two baboons were half sleep. However, the most important part of readying was doing the hair. Badoo’s Saibaba bunch with which I struggled to make plaits to make her look Gentle. Chottu’s was long straight, easy to experiment. I have tried umpteen times, but could never master this art of plait making. Baby appear, (with a curt look at me for my good for nothingness), at the right time and in no time, my twosomes turn out smart for the ride. Then comes the run for the school bus. Never cared, I confess, I had deliberately delayed myself to skip the bus to enjoy the scooter ride with Chotu in the front and Badu as pillion. The ride would be a cool ten kilo metres, watching the morning birds, making fun of every one men and animals, giggling, sniggering and laughing all the way.
Now all have become past… Chotu and Badu are no more so Gundappu arrived amongst us and I must tell you, Baby (Now Ammachi & Me Appachan) and all of us now have only one job to do. Dancing to Gundappu’s trumpet calls, no matter what time of the day, Gundappu whistles and in no time all of us are on our toes. -ATTENTION!. He may call for a change of nappy, for his quota of feed or a bottom clean up. Whatsoever, we all are on our toes. Tomorrow Gundappu will have his formal name. But we will keep calling him Gundappu until we realize the need for change or Gundappy make us change.
I usually take upon me the responsibility of waking the two up, usually with a sprinkler therapy, then the usual things, dress, feed b/f and the journey to school. While we did all these things, these two baboons were half sleep. However, the most important part of readying was doing the hair. Badoo’s Saibaba bunch with which I struggled to make plaits to make her look Gentle. Chottu’s was long straight, easy to experiment. I have tried umpteen times, but could never master this art of plait making. Baby appear, (with a curt look at me for my good for nothingness), at the right time and in no time, my twosomes turn out smart for the ride. Then comes the run for the school bus. Never cared, I confess, I had deliberately delayed myself to skip the bus to enjoy the scooter ride with Chotu in the front and Badu as pillion. The ride would be a cool ten kilo metres, watching the morning birds, making fun of every one men and animals, giggling, sniggering and laughing all the way.
Now all have become past… Chotu and Badu are no more so Gundappu arrived amongst us and I must tell you, Baby (Now Ammachi & Me Appachan) and all of us now have only one job to do. Dancing to Gundappu’s trumpet calls, no matter what time of the day, Gundappu whistles and in no time all of us are on our toes. -ATTENTION!. He may call for a change of nappy, for his quota of feed or a bottom clean up. Whatsoever, we all are on our toes. Tomorrow Gundappu will have his formal name. But we will keep calling him Gundappu until we realize the need for change or Gundappy make us change.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Farewell to Type Writer
The curve between my index and thump has developed a blackish rough skin. Eight hours of association with the mouse has caused this. The ‘mouse’ which caused my curve blackish is not the cat & mouse, many men, my age, understand, It is the master monitor of the computer.
Oldies ‘Halda’, ‘Remington’ and Godrej, my archaic companions of bygone time, have now made a slow fade from my mind, so also from the world of letters. Nostalgia, pulls me through the by-lanes of the past.
Thak, Thak, Thak, some at 40 wpm, 60 wpm and a few at above that. The thak, thak were the sound of music produced by the supersonic strikes with ten fingers of the typist on the multiple keys of the typewriter. Many still hold the doubt about the name, which one is for the machine and which one for the man. I will now say, both names fit in for both of them, as the man and the machine were one at 9.30 am till 5.30 p.m.
I walk through my memory lane and stops at the Royal Commercial Institute, Kottayam near the Raj Mahal Theatre, one of the two Cenema Theatres of Kottayam, the other being ;Star’, both do not exist now. At ‘Royal’ I learned to place my ten fingers rest on the ‘key board’ of a ‘Halda’ fetching “asdfjkl;” creating “a quick brown fox jumps over a lazy little dog”. It took 45 minutes to complete four lines on the first day of my training. The year 1970.
Type writers are no more, so are telex, cyclostyle machine, tele-printer, Dialer phone, cigarette cases, lighters (these were once part of office) ink pots, pens, pencils, fans, coolers…… and the old pan chewing Manager….. .
Oldies ‘Halda’, ‘Remington’ and Godrej, my archaic companions of bygone time, have now made a slow fade from my mind, so also from the world of letters. Nostalgia, pulls me through the by-lanes of the past.
Thak, Thak, Thak, some at 40 wpm, 60 wpm and a few at above that. The thak, thak were the sound of music produced by the supersonic strikes with ten fingers of the typist on the multiple keys of the typewriter. Many still hold the doubt about the name, which one is for the machine and which one for the man. I will now say, both names fit in for both of them, as the man and the machine were one at 9.30 am till 5.30 p.m.
I walk through my memory lane and stops at the Royal Commercial Institute, Kottayam near the Raj Mahal Theatre, one of the two Cenema Theatres of Kottayam, the other being ;Star’, both do not exist now. At ‘Royal’ I learned to place my ten fingers rest on the ‘key board’ of a ‘Halda’ fetching “asdfjkl;” creating “a quick brown fox jumps over a lazy little dog”. It took 45 minutes to complete four lines on the first day of my training. The year 1970.
Type writers are no more, so are telex, cyclostyle machine, tele-printer, Dialer phone, cigarette cases, lighters (these were once part of office) ink pots, pens, pencils, fans, coolers…… and the old pan chewing Manager….. .
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