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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.)

Marriage, Midlife, and a Marathi Play

My personal take on Adwait Dadarkar’s Eka Lagnachi Pudhchi Goshta — a Marathi play that held up a mirror to my marriage.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the idea of boredom in a marriage. Memories of the dreadful lockdown have come rushing back. I’ve finally admitted to myself that the pandemic didn’t just upend our careers, health, and daily routines — it also brought a seismic shift in our relationships.

 

That’s when I came across the play Eka Lagnachi Pudhchi Gosht listed at the NMACC (Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre). I booked a ticket without hesitation, hoping it might offer some clarity about the changes in my marriage — changes that, while seemingly natural, still left me searching for understanding. I wanted to see others in similar situations and, perhaps, find some validation for what I was feeling.

 

Now, let’s get the elephant in the room out of the way. I am a Gujarati girl born in Surat and bred in Mumbai, erstwhile Bombay. I am ‘quite fluent’ in Marathi, thanks to my shejaris (neighbours) who fed me garam-garam aamti bhaat in my favourite 4-compartment steel plate almost every afternoon while my mother was dutifully caring for a paralysed relative. My uncle had been bedridden for eight years after he was in an accident. During this difficult time, my paternal grandmother and mum took turns to look after him, whereas I spent a significant part of the first six years of my life frolicking in and out of our neighbours’ house.

 

It is there that my ability to speak Marathi and my immense love for aamti bhaat were born. That was before I tasted the Malwani kombdi wade and was completely blown away, but let’s save that topic for another day. The point is, I give the credit for my Marathi-speaking skills to my Maharashtrian neighbours and not the Marathi manus I am married to. I honestly feel my husband even looks a bit like Manoj (...only better) - played by Prashant Damle. 

 

You don’t have to see the famous ‘Eka Lagnachi Gosht’ to make sense of the sequel. Even in isolation, this play is a complete story. Manoj and Manisha (Kavita Lad-Medhekar) are nearing their 20th wedding anniversary, not without turbulence. The story is told from Manisha’s point of view, who is left to figure out alone how to ‘service’ their marriage, like they service their car. Her resilience to keep her marriage alive in the face of her husband’s complete emotional absence is tested as she struggles to resign herself to the loss of her own youth. Even then, she fortifies herself emotionally to tolerate her husband’s bickering, which has become quite a second nature to him. Manisha does not want to leave her husband. Period. There is no question about it. He is the man she adores, the wonderful human being she married. She never loses sight of all the reasons to stay with him, even though he stops seeing her. She becomes invisible to him while their son still remains the apple of his eye.

 

As much as she is struggling to come to terms with her own mid-life crisis, she is hurt by the double standards of her husband. How come the son comes soaring above even as tempers fly with other people? Manisha spells out this deeply disturbing question, even though it is not easy for a woman to say it out loud. Never mind the barrage of jokes and the roars of laughter in the theatre, if you are a woman seeking rebalance in her marriage, there is no way you will forget this line because it strikes such a deep chord.

 

It is the son who comes to his mother’s rescue. He hatches a plan to end Manisha’s misery using psychological tricks. Manisha follows it to the T, not without repeated warnings to the audience that this method is specific to her situation and is dangerous to replicate. 

 

These days, after every story I’ve read to my toddler, he asks me, ‘What is the moral of the story?’. Of course, I would not tell him this story for many more years to come, but when I do, I will tell him that, like your vehicle, your marriage also requires regular servicing. How you maintain it is your prerogative. The bottom line is - find your own way to solve a problem that is so common to all marriages. Also, all the members of a family won’t necessarily love each other in equal measure. That shouldn’t be a reason for hurt. Why put a number on love as long as you always have each other’s back.

 

(The writer is a journalist based in Mumbai.)

 

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