lapping at its innards

The meaning of the living words that come out of the experiences of great hearts can never be exhausted by any one system of logical interpretation. They have to be endlessly explained by the commentaries of individual lives, and they gain an added mystery in each new revelation. To me the verses of the Upanishads and the teachings of Buddha have ever been things of the spirit, and therefore endowed with boundless vital growth; and I have used them, both in my own life and in my preaching, as being instinct with individual meaning for me, as for others, and awaiting for their confirmation, my own special testimony, which must have its value because of its individuality
Tagore, Sadhana: The Realisation of Life

If Delhi is the political capital of India and Mumbai (Bombay) the commercial centre, Bengalis across the subcontinent will rally behind their mother city’s claim as the intellectual capital of a people and a country. Whether this is right or wrong is beside the point. What you need to know is that no other Indian city can ever hope to evoke such passion, such absolute blind faith and loyalty. Indeed, it would almost seem, as you walk through this great and poor place, that if it wasn’t for Bengali pride and ego, the entire metropolis – all the stray dogs and homeless rickshaw pullers and Durga Puja festival grounds, the dinosaur-like Ambassador taxis and traffic policemen in off-white and trams that look like time-machines – all of this life, teetering on the brink of failure, would sink into the grey Hooghly that laps against its innards and forever be lost.

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