In hindsight, the samosas in Goa are as good as, and at times better than the ones one gets in North India, mostly because the stuffing is more interesting: vegetables appear out of thin air, sometimes even tomatoes turn up.
A pond or two, a hazardous step or two and a wearisome series of stone steps finally brought us to the summit where is situated an old temple dedicated to the deity Shiva.
What strikes you about Diu distinctly is the fact that it seems so untouched by the masses that one doesn’t feel like tampering with the picturesque painting that it is in itself. All pristine, the water is a hue of blue ink dropped in a glass tumbler.
I took out the old battered hand-drawn map again and set out again to explore what a flood had forbidden me to.
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.
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.
Tickets were bought instantly and then , as if by satanic providence , a computerized voice announced a two-hour delay!
Through the windshield , the bastard was clearly visible – the dead frog.
Nonetheless , the following night , a pack of six foolhardy youths sneaked out of their college periphery (owing to lack of permission) and set out to set the Thames on fire ! or the Arabian sea , or… hell! the Gulf of Cambay on fire !!!
After a rousing speech by the Antiblack , we embarked on a second attempt to conquer the bats and their cave. Well , better the devil you know , than the devil you don’t!