On
the road with their typewriters, this group of men make a living
by typing affidavits and petitions
Rain or shine they hammer on
By Laila Nasry
Wednesday,
11.30 a.m. Dam Street in Hulftsdorp is a hive of activity. The blazing
sun is unsympathetic; the heavy vehicles plying the road are generous
in their dose of pollutants. In every possible patch of shade conspicuous
on either pavement are men hunched over makeshift tables furiously
banging away at their typewriters. A small crowd of people stand
around them. A banner hanging nearby reading "Sinhala Engirisi
parivarthana saha typing" explains their occupation.
Here
is a different brand of men. Exposed to the elements but determined
to make an honest living. Perfect cases of when the going gets tough
the tough get going. For 20 years, Raju Vethuvel has sat on the
sidewalks of Dam Street eking out a living. His shaky wooden table
and chair, and a rusting typewriter well past its prime bear silent
testimony to his dedication. At 62 years when most people are happy
to retire, Vethuvel continues more out of a sense of duty rather
than necessity. He explains, "I was unable to provide sufficiently
for my three daughters. Although they are married now I never left
a bank account or any income. So with whatever I earn now I'm trying
to make up for it."
Having
completed his schooling, Vethuvel had first started out as a labourer
doing odd jobs and learning Sinhala and English in his free time.
With the passing of time, when he gained proficiency in the languages,
he switched from brawn to brain opting to give tuition to schoolchildren
in the primary grades.
However
it was his stint as a clerk in a lawyer's chamber that set the foundation
for his current job. Working with Mr. S. Kanagarajah, he had access
to a vast array of books which helped develop his knowledge of legal
writing and court documents. Currently he remains the only person
on Dam Street who can draft both public as well as court petitions.
"After
Mr. Kanagarajah's death I started out on my own." He recalls
his first outdoor office being on the pavement opposite Mr. Kanagarajah's
chamber. "But it proved to be an obstruction so I shifted to
Dam Street." At that time he was not the first, there being
a number of others who provided the same services. However today
he remains the only veteran, many having fallen by the wayside,
inflicted with diabetes or age-related diseases.
Vethuvel
confesses it's a hard life. Living in Wolfendhal Street he says
although it is a fifteen-minute walk to Dam Street, carrying his
portable table, chair and typewriter can be tiring. However he will
not have it any other way. "I don't trust the nearby boutiques
to keep them safe for me. Besides they also charge a fee."
Setting up office at 8.30 a.m. Vethuvel works continuously, having
a steady flow of clients. Lunch is a few fruits from a nearby boutique.
What really keeps him going is the much looked forward to daily
bottle of stout he has in the evening, he smiles.
With
a number of repeat clients patronising him, Vethuvel says, "You
must do an honest job. People trust you to do a good draft, and
I'm popular because they know my work is good." Apart from
typing petitions and affidavits, Vethuvel is an authorised translator
having just translated a letter of a teacher to Minister Rauff Hakeem
protesting against a transfer from a Colombo school to one on the
east coast. His services earn him a minimum of Rs. 500 per day.
Exposed
to the elements he states he is used to the dust and grime from
the passing vehicles and the blazing sun. "It all depends how
you adapt," he says, adding that on a rainy day he runs for
cover to a nearby post office. "They let me operate from there
so I don't lose much."
Tuan
Abdeen Gafoor is a newcomer to the sidewalks having set up 'office'
only six months ago. A former stenographer who served in the Police
Department for fifteen years and later at the Sri Lankan Embassy
in Saudi Arabia, the transition from indoors to outdoors is one
he has had to adjust to. "These days one job is not enough
to earn a living," states this father of two, matter of factly.
In the afternoons he works with a lawyer in his chambers.
Having
years of experience as a stenographer, it was his brother-in-law
who suggested he put it to good use. His brother-in-law being a
clerk with a lawyer and well versed in legal matters, had suggested
typing out affidavits and general correspondence.
"Since
I do nothing in the mornings I thought I might as well come here
and try to earn a living." Armed with standard formats of affidavits
and other documents, his task is simplified to the extent of customising
the documents by merely changing names. "I record the person's
details in long hand and then type it out."
A
typical day starts at nine in the morning. "Whoever comes to
me I do their job." By one in the afternoon having served around
eight to ten customers, he packs up and leaves. His belongings are
left in the custody of a nearby boutique. Ready with an 'iti redde'
in case of rain, he says that except for the noise from the passing
vehicles which he is fast getting used to he has no grievances.
Further
down the road seated behind a clattering Olympus typewriter M.S.
Thajmahan is busy at work. A client sits patiently on a plastic
stool next to him while he busily types a document affirming that
the name on the identity card corresponds with that on the birth
certificate. In no time the affidavit is ready.
Also
a Justice of Peace, Thajmahan fishes out a seal and endorses the
document, filling the blank "before me" and the client
leaves satisfied. For the past three years this has been his sole
avenue of income. Married with five children, the eldest awaiting
university entry he states, "I'm here on this street trying
to earn a decent living in order to support my family." Commenting
on the fact that he is in view of the public and quite susceptible
to being the subject of "spreading stories", he states
"ladjjawak nehe. Ladjawak thiyenne horakam karoth withrai.
Api daruwa gene balanna one" (I am not ashamed. One should
be ashamed only of stealing. We must look after our children).
In
his current job he has finally found his niche. Having tried his
hand at running a foreign employment agency which did not prove
to be lucrative and then turning to politics, contesting the 11th
Parliamentary elections in 2000 from the Vanni district, that too
unsuccessfully, he states that typing affidavits, bio-datas and
birth certificates has generated a steady income of approximately
Rs. 300 per day. "At times people come with no money, then
I do it free for them."
Expressing
similar sentiments as the others he states that his work is far
from demanding. "Generally it's a case of changing the names
and re typing the same thing." Therefore, he easily survives
on a basic knowledge he has with regard to these matters.
Not
having learned typing or shorthand, he makes do with the knowledge
gathered by reading books. "At times I look to other affidavits
for assistance." Although there are a number of them on the
road, he is quick to add that there is no competition or rivalry
among them although they are offering the same services. If one
person is busy, the client moves to the other. "We generally
charge similar rates but it really depends on the work we are doing.
But there has not been any undercutting.”
While
we speak, his eldest son rides up on a pushbike clutching a neatly
packed brown paper parcel in hand; his lunch. We leave him to it.
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