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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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