Fest Volunteer: Wristband Ka Jadoo

Aman Khurana ko jab pehli baar fest volunteer onboarding ka message aaya tha, usne do baar screenshot liya tha. Ek baar apne doston ko bhejne ke liye, aur ek baar bas khud ko dekhne ke liye, jaise message mein nahi, uske future mein koi special entry pass chhupa ho. North Campus ke us college mein fest ka season aate hi sab kuch thoda aur loud, thoda aur shiny, aur thoda aur fake-sachcha sa ho jaata tha. Har corridor mein posters, har canteen table par gossip, aur har student ke dimaag mein ek hi sawaal—iss baar kaun sa fest scene karega?

Aman ko scene karna aata tha. Woh waise bhi sharp tha, observant tha, aur jab bolta tha toh aise bolta tha jaise uske paas life ka behind-the-scenes access ho. Uska asli talent yeh tha ki woh kisi bhi situation mein apne aap ko important dikha deta tha. Aur honestly, usko yeh feeling bahut pasand thi. Service, volunteering, helping—yeh sab theek tha, but agar uske haath mein wristband ho, gale mein badge ho, aur log usse “bhai, idhar se aa sakte ho kya?” bol rahe ho, toh uski personality ka ek alag hi battery level aa jaata tha.

Onboarding ke din jab usse neon green wristband mila, duty badge mila, aur ek chhota sa walkie-talkie type device diya gaya, Aman ke andar jaise ek private firework phat gaya. Usne wristband ko aise dekha jaise koi royal heirloom ho. “Bro, this is not just a band,” usne apne side wale volunteer se kaha, “yeh access ka passport hai.”

Side wale ne bina expression badle bola, “Haan, aur kaam ka bhi.”

Aman ne us line ko ignore kar diya. Uske liye ab reality se zyada thrill important tha. First time jab woh backstage corridor se guzra, toh usne jaan bujhkar apne shoulders thode seedhe rakhe, walk thoda confident, aur face pe woh expression laaya jo rich log tab laate hain jab unhe pata hota hai ki unke liye duniya ruk sakti hai. Do security guards ne usko dekha, phir wristband dekha, aur ek ne casually bola, “Haan bhai, go ahead.”

Bas. Aman ko laga jaise usne college life ka hidden level unlock kar liya ho.

Backstage ka scene alag hi tha. Idhar hawa mein coffee, hairspray, cable tape, aur panic ka mix tha. Udhar stage ke piche dancers stretch kar rahe the, ek artist apne headphones mein khoya hua tha, aur ek senior volunteer kisi ko teen baar same instruction de raha tha kyunki sab log half-sun rahe the, half-panicking. Aman ko yeh sab bahut cinematic laga. Upar se ek junior volunteer ne uske haath mein cold coffee thama di aur bola, “Aman bhai, yeh le lo.”

“Aman bhai,” usne dheere se repeat kiya, aur andar hi andar smile suppress karne ki koshish ki. Bhai. Not sir. Not student. Bhai. Yeh word uske ego ko seedha seedha full charge de gaya.

Woh thoda aur aage gaya, artist corridor ki taraf. Wahan ek VIP lane thi jahan se selected guests aur coordinators hi jaa sakte the. Aman ne jab pehli baar us lane mein step rakha, toh usko laga jaise normal crowd ka sound ekdum door chala gaya ho. Ek taraf posters, doosri taraf black curtains, aur beech mein woh khud—green wristband, badge, aur unnecessary confidence ke saath. Ek do logon ne usse dekhkar raasta diya. Kisi ne “sir” bhi bol diya, shayad galti se, shayad uski body language ki wajah se. Aman ne us moment ko internally frame kar liya.

Par Meera Sethi ne usko frame hone ka mauka zyada der tak nahi diya.

Meera event coordinator thi. 22 saal ki, practical, calm, aur aisi jo aankhon se hi bata de ki patience ka stock limited hai. Uske kaan mein ek earbud tha, haath mein clipboard, aur forehead pe woh expression jo Delhi metro ki peak crowd dekhkar bhi same rehta. Aman ko pehli baar dekhte hi usne uska wristband, badge, aur pose notice kar liya. Phir usne uski aankhon mein woh glow bhi dekh liya jo sirf un logon mein hota hai jinko lagta hai ki unki entry special hai.

“Aman, right?” Meera ne bina hello ke poocha.

“Haan,” Aman ne thoda aur upright hoke bola. “Kuch urgent?”

Meera ne usko ek second dekha. “Haan. Do volunteers missing hain. Ek box artist entry pe bhejna hai. Aur please, is corridor mein pose kam, kaam zyada.”

Aman ko yeh line thodi chubhi. Lekin usne face par kuch nahi aane diya. “Done,” usne bola, aur box utha ke nikal gaya.

Problem yeh thi ki Aman ka “done” kabhi kabhi “done for the cameras” bhi hota tha. Usse kaam se zyada uska feel pasand tha. Woh har urgent task ko aise carry karta jaise koi secret agent ho. Jaldi se idhar, thoda udhar, ek pass scan, ek smile, ek nod—aur phir kabhi kabhi woh intentionally aise khada ho jaata tha jaise woh sab kuch manage kar raha ho. Meera ko yeh sab clearly dikh raha tha, but fest ka pressure itna tha ki uske paas Aman ko lecture dene ka time nahi tha.

Woh use chhote urgent kaam deti rahi. Kabhi water bottles ka crate, kabhi mic stand ke liye help, kabhi ek lost artist assistant ko sahi gate tak le jaana. Aman har baar thoda extra style mein karta, aur har baar uski fake VIP vibe aur strong hoti jaati. Phir aaya selfie line wala scene.

Kuch students, mostly media circle ke, Aman ko dekhkar uske around aa gaye. “Bhai, aap event management mein ho kya?” ek ne poocha.

Aman ne halki si smile di. “Sort of.”

“VIP area ka access milta hai na?” doosre ne poocha, aankh mein respect aur curiosity dono.

“Depends,” Aman ne bola, jaise yeh uska personal kingdom ho.