A TypeWriter -By Keya Dutta

Two years of marriage,  many changes in Niraj’s behaviour punched the clock. He is highly ambitious of wealth, pompous, opulent to compete with the comrades. Niraj has been working as a finance consultant holding many rewards & awards, certificate from top business school. While, Adhira, only kept following her passion as a writer, despite a her higher degree and good job experience in a reputed farm.

She knew it would had to happen someday! A mere divorce paper couldn’t able to tremble her firm mind. She signed the divorce paper with just a thought that how her creativity once been admired and love by Niraj, today, it became an encumbrance. She had to choose between a facile, flaky, superficial relationship and a typewriter. And, she choosed the later.

7 months ago :

“You are such a grandmother!”, Niraj was satirical.

Adhira was still observing every movements of him, while she was still typing. She started writing another book lately in the last month. Her other books were always been uncanny and astounding, still not been recognised by big publishers due to her inconspicuous name. But, she is ridiculously passionate about story telling and those who knew her writing for a decade, await for a another queer.

“Well, haven’t you heard the saying, there’s no place like home except Grandma’s?”, Adhira replied in a light hearted way. She smiled.

“You know what is your problem Adhira?  You live in dreams, in a shell, impractical, dumb, irrational! Your degrees, your job experience could helped us living a better lifestyle. You rejected the best opportunity to be in a top position of learning and development. But, you and your never ending write ups, that too also writing in this tortuous, damn old typewriter. Who else in this generation of e-book, writes up in typewriter like a sloth? Don’t you think we could have afforded more luxuries than this?”, Niraj was highly hostile.

“Don’t you think it’s luxurious itself, when you do the things that you love?”, Adhira looked for an answer.

“This is not just about you and your crazy dreams”, Niraj was croaky.

She was aphonic for a moment.

“That why I am different, am I not?”, Adhira replied again with a smile. “Three years ago, these were the qualities for which you adored me to be into this marriage.”

“That was a different from now. I had a good support of my family. Today,  I could be the director of my Dad’s oil and lubricant farm.” Niraj’s juvenile was uncovered clearly.  Finally he announced about the divorce he wanted from her.

3 years ago :

He fell in love with Adhira on their first meeting at a mountain trekking camp at Solan valley. Her simplicity and concordance drawn him towards her. Her observant mind, capturing every tiny particles, which would have been ignored by any other normal person made her most unique amongst the group.

“Many secreats are tresureed in your diary, isn’t it?”, Adhira was appalled by Niraj’s voice from the back.

“Every twist has it’s greatest secreat. Don’t you have any twists in your life yet not twisted? Well, I am sure you have many twists and turns in your body.”, and both of them laughed at their own jest.

After several months of their courtship,  Niraj finally proposed her to marry him. The marriage was followed by simple ceremony in the presence of both of theirs friends, as Niraj’s parent’s were against this marriage because of Ahira’s identity crisis; being from a broken family.

15 years later :

Adhira Goswami is at her 50’s. Wrinkles around her face and neck, losing her eyesight gradually, bit shaky while writing on her typewriter. But, still not shaky of her passion, for which she lived in 15 years of isolation without grumbling. Neighbours call her crazy old typewriter lady. Kids from the nearby apartment knocks at her door and disappear to tease her, to annoy her. Old Adhira pretented to be annoyed by the kids and shouts, “hey you, all monkeys”. They giggle and do the act repeatedly. Secreatly,  she enjoys this activities by the kids. At least by doing this,  she finds some companies from the children. She deliberately keeps the door open for sometime and few kids enter into her room and touch her clothes, sit in the half torned out sofa, touch the books around the room and giggle. She pretends as if she is not aware of it and suddenly comes in front of them and they run away immediately. This became a daily fun for both the kids and Adhira. Only time she gets seriously annoyed was, when they try to touch her typewriter. She immediately closes the door if they try to touch it. She has been protecting this typewriter, for more than 30 years now.

Sometimes,  she makes the newspaper delivery boy Zafar, to sit for a while,  makes tea for him and asks about his studies. Whenever he comes with a news of her article publishing in the newspaper,  she makes special feast for him. Sometimes,  pudding, or cake, or kheer, or gajar halwa. Zafar, a calm boy, in his 7th standard, belongs to a poor Muslim family who is very fond of Adhira Goswami Aunty, not just because of her pudding and cake but also they have the similiar passion for writing. Zafar often comes to study at her place after his school.

Few months later :

A knock at the door in the early hour of morning. Adhira was little surprised. Thought, how come the kids came to bully her at the dawn!

“Oh Zafar! What happened?”,  Zafar was with a man, must be around 40 yeas of age.

“Mrs. Adhira Goswami! My name is Anirban Dè! I came to know from Zafar about your writing. I am in a search of rare typewriting literature from India, which is for collection of “Literature of Innocence and Experience” in Stockholm library of manuscripts and illustrations. Would you mind….”, before Mr. Anirban Dè finishes,  Adhira tells both of them to sit and make themselves comfortable.

She makes tea for all of them. In the meantime,  Anirban comes near her writing area,  the space full of her thousands of writings. It is flurry! He is in shock.

“How could a woman dedicated her whole life in her writing and protected her typewriter like her own child? And, how could people abandoned her for following her passion?

“You have to keep your passport ready to travel to Stockholm library soon ma’am! Thank you Zafar!”, Anirban stands still for while, with a intensed face.

“Well Zafar will follow the same passion after me. Never lose the hope my boy! Your passion may be your luxury itself. And, after me, you will take care of the typewriter, Zafar!”,  both Zafar and Anirban kept looking her poised and calm pains pouring through the teapot.

Today,  Adhira Goswami’s writings are considered one amongst the rare collections of typewriting books and manuscripts worldwide as an Indian author. Zafar, still visits her old room which has still the same fresh smells of the papers, ink refills and echoes of the typewriter.

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