Geetanjali Krishna: Sealed ... but not closed

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Bhupinder Singh has a bluff, bumbling exterior. But it's a mere disguise for a street smart "" and what some might call a devious "" mind. He owns a printing set up in South Delhi, and when the MCD began its sealing drive, I realised his unit also risked closure.

Like most small-scale traders and manufacturers, he'd also probably be hard pressed to relocate easily and cheaply. But if I knew the old fox, he'd probably have an exit plan or two lined up. So I went across to his office where four screen printing units were operating in full steam, to ask him what options he'd worked out for himself.

The big sardar was nonchalantly talking to a buyer on the phone, promising to dispatch an order in the coming week. He shook his head sadly when I said I'd come to find out how he was faring: "These are bad days," he said, "who would have thought a day would come when we'd come to see our elected representatives as our biggest enemies? Our only option is to protect ourselves in every possible way!" I asked him how, and this is what he told me.

"I've bought a white coat for starters," he said, "and have printed myself a medical degree." The first line of defence, he said, was to protest that he was a doctor, not a printer, and that clinics were permitted in residential areas. "What about all your printing machinery?" I asked. "I'll try and pass it off as medical equipment," he said airily. Impatient at the incredulous look on my face, he cried, "but this is only my first tactic! There are many other aces up my sleeve!"

If the MCD officials weren't convinced by Dr Bhupinder Singh, his next line of defence was already in place, he said. "Can you see anything at the back of my office?" he asked me. I strained my eyes in the darkness. "All I can see are stacks of cartons. But if we had more lights on I could probably see better," I said. "I've actually had most of my bulbs removed to keep the place dark!" he replied, "behind the cartons is a door that I've locked from outside. So even if they come to seal my place, they would probably miss the back door just like you did.

And later, after they've gone, I'd still be able to effect a back door entry...." This was pretty standard stuff, he explained, everyone around was hoping that the MCD would not have time to check for hidden doors.

We walked out to see the back door, which he'd prudently disguised even from outside. The wily sardar had really thought this through, I mused. Next to his unit was an STD-PCO booth. An old man waved enthusiastically at him from there. "Telephone booth owners are lucky, for they're allowed to function here," he commented, "but this guy's not going to sit quietly and watch his next door neighbour suffer!"

This, I fathomed from the stubborn set of his jaw, was his trump card. "So if my doctor disguise fails. And they spot my hidden back door," he said, "I still won't give up "" I've arranged with my good friend, the telephone booth operator, to let me break our common wall so that I can still enter my premises!" This was really his ace of spades, I mused, thinking that if other traders and manufacturers were even half as devious as "Dr" Bhupinder Singh, MCD's sealing drive would be all sound and lots of fury ... but signifying nothing much really.