It was not-too-distant past when the government offices resonated with the staccato rhythm of typewriters. The distinctive click-clack symphony that emanated from these machines seemed to define an era.
But as time flows onward, their once-undeniable charm slowly waned. In the past couple of decades, a shift has occurred, as individuals have chosen the sleek efficiency of computers for tasks like drafting and composition. The convenience of digital accessibility and the fluidity of editing have consigned typewriters to oblivion.
Yet, amid this technological transformation, remnants of the typewriter era can still be found.
On the narrow alley behind Old Dhaka's Court House, a handful of typewriters still soldier on. These vintage relics can be spotted within the Dhaka District Judge’s Court and Dhaka Chief Metropolitan Magistrate’s Court. A few endure outside Annapurna Hotel and Dhaka Bar Association, their numbers dwindling.
Md Mohsin, a septuagenarian from Banaripara of Barishal, diligently plies his trade behind Annapurna Hotel and Restaurant. For two decades, his fingers danced on the keys of a typewriter, an artistry that once flourished. But now, those who share this craft are mostly over fifty years old.
As the allure of typewriters fades, so too has their income diminished. Mohsin reflects on a time when he could earn Tk 2,000-3,000 a day. Now he struggles to earn Tk 200 a day charging Tk 30 to Tk 40 per page, adjusted for word count. Sometimes people pay Tk 400 for composing an old stamp, a task demanding painstaking patience.
Mohsin's son, who embraces the digital world with a computer beside him, helps him to support the family. As their income dwindles, the challenge of sustaining their household deepens. "I remain here due to necessity. Rent and provisions swell relentlessly. The cost of living spirals upward," Mohsin laments.
The Covid-19 impacts cast an even more sombre pall over Mohsin's prospects. The pandemic halted his already dwindling workflow, and his resilience wears thin. "I shall endure for another month. If the tides do not turn, I may have to retreat to my home," he contemplates.
Mohsin's history intertwines with a road accident in 2013, which robbed him of his typing agility. He fondly remembers the days of clocking sixty words per minute. Even with the intricacies of Bangla typing, he surpassed forty words per minute.
The saga of typists continues further up the street, where individuals like Ranjit Sarkar offer their services to the court's clientele.
Hailing from Meradia in the city’s Khilgaon area, Ranjit's foray into typing was born of practicality. In a world where typists could outearn traditional jobholders, he embarked on this path. A Japanese Munier-Optima typewriter bought at Tk 10,000 marked his initiation.
Now, Ranjit laments the dwindling prospects of his profession. "The horizon is bleak, work eludes us through the day. Those who practice this craft face an uncertain fate," he said in a frustrated tone.
When queried about the shift to computers, Ranjit's response underscores generational gaps and financial constraints. "I have advanced in age. The glare of a computer screen does not appeal. Moreover, the investment required for a computer and printer is substantial."
Ranjit's income hinges on the documents he meticulously composes – summonses, case summaries, rent challans, and more.
He wistfully recollects a time when manually filling forms was a lucrative pursuit. Now, digital forms have taken over, and the workload has withered. "We find ourselves battling a formidable opponent – the computer. Can we truly compete?" Ranjit muses.
It's not a fair contest. Mistakes in the digital realm can be rectified with a few keystrokes, whereas on the typewriter, errors are indelible. "Official documents accept no amendments through white ink. Precision is paramount," Ranjit clarifies.
He holds a steadfast belief that typewriters won't vanish entirely. Certain legal documents, due to their nature, resist the transition to digital composition.
Md Ramzan Ali, another typist, shifted to computers six to eight years ago. Ramzan's journey into the digital realm was catalysed by the arrival of computers in Bangladesh in the late 1990s. He recognised the impending transformation and embraced it.
"My fascination with computers led me to seek them out. I acquired my first computer through a skilled technician, investing Tk 14,000," he recounts.
As a typist-turned-computer-operator, Ramzan extols the virtues of digital convenience. The once-ubiquitous jamming of typewriter keys is a distant memory. "Typing on a computer is seamless. The threat of jams and the hassle of ribbon replacements are absent," he points out.
The prevailing narrative revolves around an industry in transition. Government support, which waned after the pandemic, forced some to abandon their craft for other endeavours. Others adapted, shifting from typewriters to computers. They engage in tasks spanning rental agreements, vehicle sales documents, affidavits, and a plethora of official forms and documents.
Reflecting on the history of typewriters in Bangladesh, one is transported to the post-independence era when E Remington and Sons introduced Bengali Typewriters. The Munier Optima Typewriter, meticulously aligned with Munier Chowdhury's keyboard layout, reigned supreme.
Today, these once-prevalent machines linger only within the hallowed halls of Bangladeshi courts.
Munier keyboards are artefacts of a bygone era, as the Bijoy layout takes centre stage. Ramzan and his fellows find themselves navigating this shift.
"I am not alone; countless typists once used the Munier layout," says Ramzan, a sentiment shared by many.
This metamorphosis has significantly impacted employment prospects. Government roles once populated by typists have dwindled in demand. Yet, a flicker of resistance persists. Some individuals, captivated by typewriters' aesthetic allure, cost-effectiveness, and independence from Wi-Fi and electricity, continue to opt for this mode.
As the typists age and their numbers dwindle, an inevitable truth looms – the eventual fading of this profession from the tapestry of time.
