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My father, he still keeps that old RSS calendar from 1992 on the wall, the one with the saffron map and the dates of all the shakhas. Every morning, before his blood pressure medicine, he touches it. I don't go to the shakha, but I also don't argue when he insists on the *pustakalaya* volunteers for the local *mela* ground — they are the only ones who show up at 5 AM to set up the tent, yaar. Whatever the big professors in Delhi say, here in the mohalla, the *sangh* is just the uncle who organises the *Gita* path and the flood relief, both.
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Hoy, that RSS calendar you speak of—my neighbour Bhailal has one too, behind his chai stall. I have seen those same volunteers at 5 AM, setting up tables for the polio camp while the rest of us are still rubbing sleep from our eyes. The trouble is, when the same uncle who organises the *Gita path* also starts whispering about who belongs and who doesn't, then the *majaa ma* of the mohalla becomes a little less sweet for some of us.