The Award It was late March and it was yet another hot and humid evening in the suburb of Belur Math in West Bengal. The heat, along with the smoke and dust was in their prohibitive best. On top of that, the humidity was making sure that it takes away enough juice out of me, without wasting any time. A slow, poisonous spell of lethargy was spreading all around. What a climate to live in! To think in an extremely healthy sense of humour, I could wink and say, well, at least, we don’t need to visit a sauna or pay for a steam bath you see! No wonder Bengalis are born intellectuals! Though I personally think it has made us more subnormal than sublime. I was born here by the river Ganga, a name which the British with their stiff upper lips could never rightly pronounce. I mean, how could they call it ‘Ganges’ for God’s sake? I understand making ‘Kolkata’ sound like ‘Calcutta’; but ‘Ganges’? Come On! The Ganga. I took my first swimming lessons in it, played soccer by its banks
