top of page

By:

Uday Jogalekar

13 May 2026 at 3:25:14 pm

From Pracharak to Minister: My Memories of Dilipda

Long before he became a minister, Dilipda had already earned our respect through his simplicity, discipline, and warmth. In 2007, my job brought me to Kolkata. Once there, I began attending the local RSS shakha and gradually became involved in Sangh work. I first met Dilipda during a visit to a swayamsevak’s home. Coincidentally, that same year, he had been appointed to our division. As everyone introduced themselves, Dilipda casually asked me in Marathi, “How are you finding Bengal?” Hearing...

From Pracharak to Minister: My Memories of Dilipda

Long before he became a minister, Dilipda had already earned our respect through his simplicity, discipline, and warmth. In 2007, my job brought me to Kolkata. Once there, I began attending the local RSS shakha and gradually became involved in Sangh work. I first met Dilipda during a visit to a swayamsevak’s home. Coincidentally, that same year, he had been appointed to our division. As everyone introduced themselves, Dilipda casually asked me in Marathi, “How are you finding Bengal?” Hearing a Bengali pracharak — a full-time RSS worker devoted to organisational work — speak fluent Marathi came as a pleasant surprise to me. From that moment onwards, my interactions with Dilipda increased, and I gradually began to understand the many dimensions of his seemingly simple personality. Coming from Maharashtra, where Sangh work generally faced non-violent opposition, adapting to Bengal — where the opposition was often violent — was not easy. In that atmosphere, I learnt from Dilipda how to remain enthusiastic while also keeping fellow workers motivated and active. I often accompanied Dilipda during his visits to our area. He had a remarkable ability to blend effortlessly into any household, warmly enquire about every family member, and make everyone feel as though he were one of their own. Before being appointed to Kolkata, Dilipda had served as an RSS pracharak in the remote Andaman Islands from around 1999–2000 until 2007. Based in Port Blair, he worked under difficult conditions despite limited travel and communication facilities, diverse tribes speaking different languages, and a local mindset that often kept outsiders at a distance. He would often share positive experiences from his years in the Andamans but never once spoke about the hardships he endured. Despite working in such difficult conditions, he never mentioned his personal discomforts. This ability to remain free of complaints despite adversity is a hallmark of a pracharak, and Dilipda embodied it completely. He possessed the rare gift of finding positivity even in challenging situations. Excellent Cook In Bengal during 2007, Sangh work had not yet expanded to the scale it has reached today. At times, pracharaks had to cook their own meals, and this had made Dilipda an excellent cook. Whenever he returned to the city from his travels, our group would eagerly gather to enjoy his khichdi. Our area, Bidhannagar, was located in Salt Lake, a relatively prosperous locality. Adjacent to it were a few underprivileged settlements, and we would occasionally visit the nearby market. To reach the market from Salt Lake, one had to cross a wooden bridge, where the toll was 25 paise for pedestrians and one rupee for bicycles. Observing the difficulties faced by people in those settlements, Dilipda once suggested starting some sewa (service) activity there. That eventually led to the establishment of a homoeopathic clinic in the locality. While setting up the clinic, Dilipda effortlessly guided us through every stage of planning — what arrangements were needed, how the process should be structured, and what challenges might arise. It felt as though the entire plan was already mapped out in his mind. As the clinic became operational, we began noticing the educational difficulties faced by the local children. English, science, and mathematics were particularly challenging subjects for them, which eventually led to the start of a study centre. The idea of involving engineers from Salt Lake’s IT companies also came from Dilipda. Later, by bringing together IT professionals, an “IT Milan” initiative was started, and many of them eventually became swayamsevaks actively involved in Sangh work. Remarkable Ability At the time, the CPM government was in power in Bengal, and there were many obstacles to conducting shakha activities. Dilipda constantly guided us on overcoming these challenges. He had a remarkable ability to identify work that could bring meaningful change, plan it carefully, and execute it with determination and effectiveness. Whether it was service activities, daily shakha work, or handling sensitive cases related to “Love Jihad", Dilipda consistently displayed dedication, clarity of thought, a fighting spirit, and an unwavering readiness to work tirelessly toward the objective. What amazes me even today is that a pracharak like Dilipda — someone far ahead of us in age, experience, and accomplishments — would interact so casually and warmly with ordinary swayamsevaks like us, placing a hand on our shoulders and speaking as though he were a close friend. In 2009, I was transferred back to Mumbai, bringing my Kolkata chapter to an end. Later, in 2014, I learned that Dilipda had been given responsibility in the BJP. And now, in 2026, the BJP forming a government on its own strength speaks volumes about its contribution and leadership. Today, Dilipda has become a minister, and many titles and honours will naturally be associated with him. But to us, he will always remain simply "Dilipda". (The writer is an entrepreneur based in Kalwa, Thane.)

Belgrade, Interrupted

As protests swept through the Serbian capital, Belgrade’s warmth became the only route home.

Our journey through the Balkans was winding to a close, and Serbia’s capital, Belgrade, was our final destination. Of all the cities we visited during two months of travel, Belgrade stood apart. It was vivid, layered and inexplicably welcoming. Its blend of history and modernity was magnetic; its people were unfailingly warm.


But even as we settled into its rhythms, the city was shifting beneath us. In the weeks leading up to our arrival, protests had erupted across Serbia as citizens took to the streets to demand justice, reforms and resignations. We were told not to worry; the demonstrations were mostly peaceful and unlikely to interfere with daily life. That assurance proved overly optimistic.


Our first week in Belgrade was spent deciphering its public transport, not because of the usual cultural hurdles (new language, unfamiliar scripts) but because much of the city centre had been cordoned off. Protesters had pitched tents around the Parliament Square and other government buildings, blocking routes and forcing buses to take endless detours. We missed our walking tour twice, not due to tardiness but because buses simply stopped showing up. Even the locals were confused, hopping off at random stops, trying to guess their way home.


Yet, in a way only Belgrade could make charming, these detours became a form of sightseeing. By the end of week one, we had inadvertently discovered far more streets than a guidebook would ever suggest. And over the next fortnight, the city slowly unfolded itself. We found joy in the small things – the friendly café owners, sunset walks by the Danube and conversations that bridged cultural divides. Our earlier transport woes had transformed us into reluctant but competent public transit veterans.


Then came June 28. Over 140,000 people flooded the streets in what was one of the largest protests in recent Serbian memory. This time, we heeded the warnings and stayed in. The next morning, Belgrade appeared calm again - almost deceptively so.


That evening, eager to enjoy one final night with our Serbian friends before departing for Germany, we arranged to meet in Zemun, a charming suburb with cobbled streets and fairy-tale architecture. What would normally be a 40-minute bus ride turned into a 90-minute odyssey. New road blockades had appeared, protesting arrests from the previous day. After switching between three buses and navigating near-constant detours, we finally arrived. But the city had more chaos in store.


At around 10 pm, reports surfaced that major roads including bridges connecting Zemun to the rest of Belgrade were being closed. The buses had stopped running. The cab-hailing apps returned nothing. For a while, the streets fell into an eerie stillness. Zemun, usually filled with laughter and promenade-strolling families, had emptied out. Police stood stiffly in position. Protesters, blowing whistles and waving flags, marched with resolve.


We were not the only ones stranded. A young man approached us, asking if he could share a cab. Unfortunately, we were headed in opposite directions. He shrugged and prepared for a two-hour walk. We were luckier, if only by virtue of friendship. Our Serbian companions refused to leave us behind. For an hour, the six of us tried every means to secure transport. When nothing materialised, they took us in for the night.


On the walk back to their apartment, we passed through a city that had cleaved into three groups: citizens desperate to return home; demonstrators seeking justice; and police tasked with preventing collapse. Whistles, slogans, and chants echoed through the narrow lanes. We did not understand the words, but we felt their urgency.


By morning, the tents remained, but the crowds had dispersed. Bus service had resumed. We reached our apartment only to find, soon after, that Zemun had been sealed off again. Our friends texted us photos of the streets we had walked now brimming once more with protestors.


As we made our way to the Belgrade bus station the next day, a wave of emotion overtook me. For three weeks, the city had given us not only beauty and hospitality, but a glimpse of its pain and persistence. Its streets had carried our confusion and our awe, our joy and our worry. As we left its city limits, I made a private vow: to return someday not as a passing visitor, but to a place that, somewhere along the way, had become home.


(The writer is a foreign language tutor and an inveterate wanderlust.)

Comments

bottom of page