
“Koothkolli saar,” he interjects frequently pointing to the once-white plastic chairs lined up facing him. The chairs resemble oases in this small space filled floor-to-roof with typewriters and their spare parts. Of the three chairs placed in front of him, one seems permanently occupied by a silent (albeit smiling) old man of about sixty, probably the same age as Mr Gopalakrishna himself. I notice that our wisecracks have no effect on him and h…