Collector Sahab!

Delhi Monsoon, 2012 It was July afternoon in Delhi, and the monsoons had just started entering this part of the world. My young theatre group had begun to take shape. It had been roughly 6 months and the group had been rehearsing well. It was near the Supreme Court area, and we spoke about getting the group registered in this area. It was not a long procedure to get the name registered. The name was ‘Rang-manch’ which we wanted to go ahead with. A registration under some societies and voluntary organisation act would make it free for us to perform in any professional auditorium in the city. It would create a legal space in minds for ‘Rangmanch’. My group had majorly all young people, most of which were students. I took Sahil and Neha to roam around the courts. Sahil seemed to know some lawyer from the supreme court. Though the lawyer was a young man like me, but he had some airs about himself. Afterall, he was a young Supreme court lawyer. But thanks to Sahil’s old friendship, he did help us free of cost. We took Neha as she had a good knack of paperwork. So, on paper at least, Sahil was the secretary of the group, Neha was the treasurer of the same and I was the founder-President of this theatre group called Rang-manch! What was characteristic of the whole process was the Delhi rain. It was getting wet, but at the same time, the humidity had seeped in. A new tax which the government had proposed was the Goods and Services Tax, popularly known as GST. Though there had been a mixed response across the country, but it was here that we had to get a stamp from the Collector’s office. In that humid-wet weather we walked through offices of the famous area of the city, the Income Tax Office, which was popularly known as ITO. Thanks to Neha’s apt paperwork, we had got the major stamps, but it was just the GST collector’s signature which was needed. Amidst heavy rain, we reached the collector’s office. We just entered the office and the ambience had changed for us. The lighting seemed different to us. It was visibly the collector’s office in the national capital. Though we had successfully kept the official papers safe from the rain, but we had got drenched in the rain. Almost everyone sitting on the sofa was as wet as us. They seemed tired like us after running from various offices. Almost everyone seemed wet and dirty, but it was just this old man, who looked clean. He was wearing a white dhoti, his hair combed neatly, with a long traditional umbrella in his hand. And to top it all, he had a very clean tilak on his forehead. But what made him distinct and different was the paan in his mouth. We waited for the whole day and as our paper reached the end, the guard at the door called us and told us to come on Monday. We were dejected. We came to the same office twice and were sent back and were called for the third time. But every time I noticed this old man, with the paan in his mouth, sitting there with his hands resting on the inverted umbrella. I grew more curious. As Neha and Sahil kept chatting with the other groups, they spoke about their status, but we never spoke with this dhoti-clad man. What was also interesting was that there would be chai served to all the waiting crowd in glasses, but this man would have his chai in a white porcelain cup and saucer. As the day and the wait ended for the day, we were called the next day. As the 3 of us took a metro back home, we spoke of how this illiterate man sat there in the dhoti. What group or NGO would he have been waiting for! While the metro took us to our destination, Lajpat nagar, we just agreed that this must be an illiterate villager applying for his own theatre group. We laughed it off and reached our station. The next day we got our number. We just entered the collector’s cabin, and he seemed like an epitome of an educated collector. He looked so urban. He asked very valid questions in great English. We answered and he signed our document. He smiled at us and said, “The country needs young theatre activists like you. All the best guys.” We were very happy. As we were going down the waiting hall, I just felt curious about the dhoti-clad man. I turned around and asked him politely in Hindi, “Sir, are you also waiting for a signature for your theatre group too?” He was having chai in his porcelain cup. He took a sip and smiled, “Ye jo collector saab hain na… Hamare bete hain!” This collector you would have met right now… he is my son! He smiled. With so many questions, I left the office. It continued to rain.