In memory of an old typewriter

Long back.... Just out of college and roaming around in my village, which was yet to become a small town, in uncertainty, I too decided to learn typewriting. A typewriting institute was the window open to the horizons of a career in big cities, I had heard from my neighbours who worked in big cities like Madras and Bombay, which were yet to transform into Chennai and Mumbai.

It was at 40 words per minute that Malayalees and Tamilians conquered Delhi and Bombay, a friend of mine used to say thus further provoking me to give a direction to my career planning.

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So, with great difficulty I, along with two other friends, went to the typewriting institute on the first floor of an old building, which also had a photo studio in the same room. Fifteen rupees a month was a huge amount then, especially for the one who did not have the luxury of pocket money (Frankly speaking, my father was not very keen about me learning typing, which was bit to feminine, according to him!). In that situation, I had to raise the money on my own.

Thus, with the money I earned by giving private tuitions, I decided to make the first career leap. The moment I entered the classroom, I was welcomed by the monotonous sound of the hitting on the keyboard.. Woodpeckers in search of worms beneath the tree barks... asdfg; lkjh... asdfg; lkjh... asdfg; lkjh...

Yes, my father was right! Most of the ambitious students were girls and the MCP in me could not digest it. So were my friends. Without thinking much about the fifteen rupees paid in advance, we left the place. A career move failed before it took off!

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