Paper Trail

Literally translated, lithography means writing on stone. It works on the water-oil repulsion mechanism. Theoretically, the procedure is fairly simple. A quick swipe on the illustrated stone with a water-soaked mop, another with a gum (Arabic gum crystals boiled in water), followed by a last one with an inked roller; a sheet of paper is then placed on the inked stone, topped with an old newspaper and tin sheet to prevent air from seeping in; finally, the mounted structure goes under the heavy lever-operated press.

‘‘I started my career on this machine. My wife and I rolled out hundreds of wedding posters and that’s how I built the Sahar press,’’ says 71-year-old Jalgavi.

Now it’s time for my practical. As Jalgavi’s son Zulfekar scoops out the ink paste on to a flat base (the ink-roller is run over it), I examine a few of the lithography tools he’s brought along. There are several French lithographic crayons, drawing instruments with special nibs, baru (litho-pens) and ink crystals in a small Belgian glass pot. ‘‘Careful,’’ says Jalgavi, as he readies the stone, ‘‘these crayons are not available in the market anymore.’’

Moving away from the endangered objects, I pick up the ink-roller and run it over the base. This is easy. I swipe the water-soaked mop on the stone and run the inked-roller over it several times. Next the gum swipe which, I’m told, also prevents the stone from getting oxidised. After adding the tin sheet and newspaper, we roll out the first print of a glistening red Maharaja of Mysore illustration. The Maharaja looks majestic, and I’m pleased.

But our shutterbug needs another shot (as does the kid in me). Jalgavi suggests I pick a crayon and write my name. I repeat the procedure with my initials beside the Maharaja, but the result is a pale reflection. ‘‘The stone needs to be polished for a better print,’’ Jalgavi reassures. After he polishes it with a litho-stone, I again go through the grind of writing, inking, gumming and running the press. ‘‘This will bring out only one colour. For each multi-coloured print, the process has to be repeated, and the print has to be placed with precision to avoid bleeding of colours,’’ he explains.

And that’s when I begin to fathom how painstaking and arduous the whole process of printing in stages—one ink at a time—would have been. ‘‘Beti, in pre-Independence times, all our freedom fighters printed newspapers and pamphlets on litho-presses. But now lithography is history, offset has completely taken over,’’ says the nostalgic printer.

Living in the microcosm of a techno-savvy world in which the click of a mouse can produce a 300 dpi colour printout, you rarely consider the effort that went into the first edition of Gitanjali or prints of the Kesari. My work is finally out, my pale initials beside a radiant Maharaja. It’s not too bad for a 21st century repeat performance.