I took out the old battered hand-drawn map again and set out again to explore what a flood had forbidden me to.
A herd of goats it was, that had gotten on the habit of invading and sabotaging our garden during afternoon siestas.
When finally the door was opened, the room was peppered all over with goat-shit pellets. Finally, we realized it was a losing proposition after all, to hold the mischievous goat captive.
It was on the day of ‘Maha-Shiva-Ratri’ , the night of Shiva the hermit, that I left with a group in the morning, to scale the fort of Sinhagarh, translated as ‘fort
of the lion’, which was inhabited years ago by the Chatra-pati Shivaji Maharaj Bhosle.
As we sat watching , one night , a mouse called Stuart driving a car on the screen of the television , the T.V. went phut suddenly , all blank – kaput!
The March Hare by now had taught me the art of getting a faulty remote controller to work py pressing the buttons harder.
as a legend has it , Milo died when his hand got trapped in a crevice in the trunk of a tree while trying to rip it apart into two , and a pack of wolves devoured the helpless Milo.
It was a patch of clover , five bushels sweet and four bushels sour , growing near a pothole lid behind a room in the corner of the playground. We munched on it like cows
Round and round we went along the road which curled around the hill like a coiled serpent.The water was a dark green when the sun shone over it and the color of lapis lazuli when clouds took over the sun.
The early bird catches the worm , but the night owl , well, he simply doesn’t care about worms , and at times ends up devouring the early bird itself.
The revelation was startling, though , that a nail grown white could be cut out from the body without hurting any more than the burst of a chewing-gum bubble.