No matter what country, place or religion, there is a subtle yet strong bond of culture between the coastal areas of the world. The fishing folks around the planet have incomprehensible similarities. Assuming that the spice of the lives of the fishing folk could give us just the dimension and freedom we were looking for, Arun and me set out from Malad Manori on his Enfield packed with Bisleri bottles, black and white rolls and a lust for life which tripled when we saw those gals with ‘legs’ on the launch that took us across to Manori.
I had half the mind to follow the legs and get to know them better but I said hey- that could wait. We rode through greens and grasses and tumbled down forts and stopped to click schools, churches, horses and a rocky cliff I tried to get on. Gorai served us omelettes and tadgolas. We filled Lassi and petrol at Bhayandar when the smooth ride started on this side of the highway. Stopping for occasional piss, we bamboozled into a country road on our way to Dahanu. There was a low-lit moon and fireflies and smell of warm grass in the night as we stopped to snack at a village shop. The night was lit with stars and the rustle of grass whispered to us. It was too good to be real, it took us 2 hours to reach a real restaurant where Arun guzzled his Kingfisher, and I stuck to my egg masala, being a renegade vegetarian.
That night we bunked in a local lodge besides a Sai Baba temple on the Dahanu beach. Since the next day, we were planning to go to Bordi beach.
Next day early morning, we hit the misty road passing cool windmills, cow carts, more beaches, heavy breakfast and reached Umergaon – the gate way to Gujarat, Umergaon is a cute place with broken brick houses and old, old schools that go back 1901. We could not click the school since the principal was an asshole. We struggled back through a jetty in a trawler where we literally had to hold the 300-kg bike with prayers. We reached the other side of the Dahanu creek, the smell of fish inspired my friend, and we were off searching for fried fish, which came to us at Boisar.
I stuck to my patent egg masala and Arun guzzled his Kingfisher. The road back was hot and dusty with occasional Lassi and iced towels for gratitude