The Hindu Business Line : Typewriters in their glory days

Two days ago, one saw a typewriter sitting on a table in the bank, which looks after my funds. A summer afternoon quiet hung inside the office of the nationalised bank, as it does in every government bank. Private banks (new and old) have an unnatural buzz about them.

As one waited for the teller clerk behind the glass partition to finish his mobile chat before doling out cash, one spotted a young lady gracefully typing out a letter with only her fingers skipping over the keyboard. In my bank, most do not have computer screens; they prefer scribbling on muscular files, which sepoys lug around. "Abhi bhi mere office mein typewriter hai (Even now our office has a typewriter)," remarked my friend with pride.

There exists a typewriter in my office, which my good friend Usha Nair uses when the computer systems shut down, as they mostly do. Nowadays, one does not see the typewriter. It took me to the time when newspaper offices had Underwood, Godrej and Remington typewriters worn out by the fingers of journalists over years. Rarely, did one see a new typewriter being bought in a newspaper office.

Every month, a gentleman with a wooden box would come to dust the machines with a thick brush and change the ribbons. In the offices where one has worked, there were more journalists than typewriters leading to a regular scramble; some waited to type their message to the public on a particular machine in the belief that it helped their reports to hit the front pages with a byline. With carbons inserted, reporters had to file five copies of a report. It made the reporter to do a clean copy at the first attempt; otherwise, he had to re-insert white paper and carbon for the second attempt. A bell tinkled when the bar of the machine moved from end to end.

Late nights in empty newspaper offices, the typewriter took on the visage of a piano with the click-clack notes of the keys belling the air. On important days like the Union Budget, the credit policy or exim policy, the typerwriters were under extreme strain. There was no jazz to these critical events, which most forgot the day after. One still remembers the evenings when banking correspondents (they were all seniors of 50 and above) would wait testily for the credit policy from the RBI. That was no time to go near them as they would growl. Only seniors handled banking and the beat had an aura, which the seniors flaunted.

By about 8.30 p.m. a tipsy sepoy (there was a small joint near the old RBI office which this writer has visited for a quick one) from the RBI would shakily walk in to present a cover and take one's autograph on a notebook, which he carried in his huge pockets. The cover had the text of the slack or busy season credit policy and made no difference to the sepoy who was happier with a drink.

My seniors would rip open the cover, read the policy for about five minutes and bang out a detailed report on the typewriter in about 30 minutes. They called each other on ancient, temperamental phones to check out their intros.

Murthy (my boss in Business Standard), Murali Kumar, Kamath and Varam were some of the well-known banking journalists of those times; bankers still talk of them.

The following day, editors will elaborate on the credit policy in languid edits for bankers to pour over. They struggled more over their edits than the RBI governors on framing the policy. The show ended. In that era, RBI governors were invisible. They acted without being seen and most of them had a dash of arrogance; some of them did stand up against the might of New Delhi.

There were no press conferences or one-on-ones (as an interview is called) like in modern times. One has never understood the need for one-on-ones after a prolonged televised conference with officials and journalists stridently competing for a spot on the TV screen. Equally mysterious is the presence of a support cast of a team of officials when the RBI governor has one-on-ones today with journalists. Maybe, the RBI governor has scant confidence in journalists, which if true, is well-deserved. The habit has spread to corporate chiefs.

Sure enough, the typewriters gave way to computers and journalists are happy as reports are easy to write and delete. With that was born the PR and marketing era. One may not be able to put a certain date to the beginning of the new era where journalists are second to PR and marketing men in Indian journalism. The PR era was born in the times of reforms. Till at least the late 80s, it was common practice for journalists to cultivate contacts in the corporate, banking and commodity fields by directly dialling them; except for the PAs (Personal Assistants) none came in between. Most corporates and banks were manned by an army of Tamil and Malayali PAs promising easy access to their bosses for journalists from the south.

In turn, the journalists would give them the annual SSC results a few hours in advance. A week ahead of the results, the PAs would hand over a few numbers from their relatives and friends. On the important day, the journalists would be busy feeding them with the marks. That afternoon the phones in banks and corporate offices worked.

Now the PRs fix appointments, journalists plant stories and nothing is for free. There are some PRs who write out the stories for the reporters to carry with a byline. Facts are not sacred, comment is not free. Not anymore.

P. Devarajan