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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.)

Cinematic Genius, Tragic Life

Guru Dutt was born Gurudutt Padukone in Bangalore on 9 July 1925. His father, Shivshankar Rao Padukone, had married Vasanthi in 1923. The family, part of the Saraswat Mangalorean community, later moved to Bombay, where Dutt spent his early years in a modest Matunga flat. Shivshankar changed jobs often, and the family struggled financially. Dutt, the eldest of five, was followed by Atmaram, Lalitha, Devi, and Vijay. His name was eventually shortened to Guru Dutt.


In 1929, Vasanthi moved to Calcutta with the children; Shivshankar joined later and spent 30 years with Burma Shell. In Bhowanipur, Dutt became fond of jatra performances and soon spoke fluent Bengali. Vasanthi’s cousin, cinema-hoarding artist B.B. Benegal, also influenced the children. After school in 1940, Dutt briefly worked as a telephone operator before turning to dance. From 1942 to 1944, he trained in Oriental dance at Uday Shankar’s Almoracentre on a Rs 75 monthly scholarship but had to leave when it shut down.


His sister, Lalitha Lajmi, became one of India’s finest artists, while her daughter, Kalpana Lajmi, became a noted filmmaker. ShyamBenegal was a close family relative.


Dutt moved to Pune, then known as Poona, and joined Prabhat Studios on a three-year contract as a dance director, occasionally acting in B-grade films and assisting directors. There, he learnt the craft of filmmaking. He met Dev Anand on Hum Ek Hain (1946)—Dutt as dance director, Anand as lead—and they became lifelong friends. Returning to Bombay in 1947, Dutt remained unemployed for a year due to the post-Partition slump, later joining Gyan Mukherjee as an assistant.


Dutt debuted as a director with Baazi (1951), produced by Dev Anand’s Navketan Films. During its recording, he met singer Geeta Roy; they fell in love and married in 1953. The marriage, with three children, soon turned turbulent.


Baazi is remembered for S.D. Burman’s experimental ghazal Tadbeer Se Bigdi Hui Taqdeer Bana Le, set to Western music, and the choreography of SunoGajar Kya Gaaye. Dutt then launched his production house and made Baaz, acting opposite Geeta Bali. Jaal (1952), reportedly inspired by De Santis’s Bitter Rice (1948), broke clichés of Christians as carefree caricatures, portraying fishermen as hard-working and honest. Though framed as a thriller, it resonated as a love story with memorable songs. Its black-and-white visuals, shot by V.K. Murthy—who shot all of Dutt’s films—evoke deep nostalgia.


His first major hit was Aar Paar (1954), a stylish thriller with polished production. This was followed by Mr. & Mrs. 55 (1955), a breezy romance that hinted at women’s rights, and C.I.D. (1956), a gripping thriller that launched Waheeda Rehman’s career. His films stood out for their music, lyrical depth, and striking visuals.


Pyaasa (1957) was the first of Dutt’s tragic masterpieces, followed by KaagazKe Phool (1959) and Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam (1962). In Pyaasa, Meena and Gulab—Vijay’s former lover and a compassionate prostitute—serve as emotional contrasts, amplifying the film’s impact without weakening its core message.


KaagazKe Phool remains one of Indian cinema’s finest self-reflexive films—a tribute to the studio era of the 1930s–40s. In one scene, Suresh, the director-protagonist, watches Vidyapati (1937), a classic of the time. The films he’s shown directing are real titles from Indian archives.


India’s first CinemaScope film, featured stunning cinematography by V.K. Murthy, who captured the studio mood using lighting and shadow. He balanced the narrative with the ‘film-within-a-film’ structure, using chiaroscuro to separate illusion from realism. The sets reflected two moods—success, with bright lights and bustle, and decline, as a solitary Suresh wanders through an empty studio.


The film also bears autobiographical undertones—Dutt’s elegy to himself, conveyed through script, imagery, and rhythm. A strained relationship with a leading lady reportedly caused rifts with Geeta Dutt. Battling insomnia, he drank during shoots and suffered depression. His premature death seemed tragically foretold in the film.


With Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam (1962), Duttimmortalised a Bengali classic, drawing a landmark performance from Meena Kumari. Told in flashback, the story is framed by a decaying mansion and an ageing Bhootnath. It’s been compared to The Magnificent Ambersons and shares Viscontian qualities in its detail and quiet mourning of a lost world.


Shortly before his death, Dutt moved into a new flat, living alone with a servant. In October 1964, he died of a sleeping pill overdose, leaving behind his wife, three children, his banner, and the unfinished BahareinPhirBhiAayegi, which had to be re-shot.


His films—among the finest of the 1950s—gained international acclaim posthumously, screened at festivals in France, Italy, and the US, aired on British TV and were released in Paris. Pyaasa was also featured at a Tokyo festival. Ironically, it was death that brought Dutt the recognition he seemed to foresee in Pyaasa—that true artists are often valued only after they’re gone.


(The author is a film scholar. Views personal)

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