"Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it" ~ Rabindranath Tagore

It started on the train. When I first saw the attendant carrying the steel plate with a three-tier 'dabba' sitting prettily on it, I smiled politely, thinking he was carrying his food. And was puzzled when he placed it in front of me. Didn't they serve you in aluminum foils these days? Since when was 'boondi laddo' part of the package? The radish salad with garnishing said 'welcome to Gujarat', and set the tone for the rest of the trip.

For an early breakfast in Ahmedabad, we stopped at an open-air restaurant. What's for breakfast, we asked? Papda, he said. Which is long, fried pieces of 'besan' (chick-pea flour) served with pickle. And papdi, he added, when I said "What else?" For one delirious second I thought he was telling me the feminine equivalent.

En-route to Mandu the bus stopped at a dhaba for dinner. Walking past plastic tables and chairs, ornate lights, statues of elephants, we reached the counter and burst into astonished laughter. The mounds of papdi, and papdi were taller than us. They were so high that I could barely see the face of the man standing behind!

At Mandu, we shared our guide and jeep with two Gujarati couples and their children. They invited us to partake of their packed lunch. We refused politely. "Is it because you wouldn't like to eat our food ?", the woman asked. To disprove that, we agreed to eat a little. She served us 'bati'- cooked wheat balls, while the men disappeared to get dal, and savouries. This ought to be eaten with hot ghee; the younger woman said. "Just this morning, I gathered chillies and coriander from the garden, and the vegetables arrived from the farm - I'd made fresh chutney, but I thought why pack all that?"

That idyllic description must have brought regret to my voice. It had been ages since we saw fresh vegetables. By the time I was through with my bati, she'd repeated the tale thrice, and in the same breath told us that she'd lost three children. "This dal is no good at all", she said. "Hotel food never is". "Oh, when we are out, we eat in hotels most of the time, this is good enough", I said carelessly.

At the check post, our bus was parked some distance away from the stalls. The nearest one seemed to have only tea. Anything to eat, we enquired without much hope. "Poha", he said. He disappeared into the darkness, and thrust a packet into our hands. Devoid of any embellishments, it was utterly delicious. Poha softened by soaking, green chillies and salt. We ate the first in surprise, the second in awe, and the third in peace. For such a brief, invisible and completely satisfying dinner, I shall have to wait a long time.

And then there was Vishala, the mecca for gourmets. The lantern food-village also houses an immense utensil museum. About 500 lanterns light the mud houses, the potter who incessantly make the mud glasses and bowls that you are served in, the seductive rope cots and swings, the musicians and artists. One feels transported to a film-setting. The servers, dressed in white and red with the colorful turbans, scamper around calling out loudly to each. There is no artificial solicitude, but refreshing friendly care, genuine interest and warm hospitality. They explained the dishes, told us the right combinations - and promptly appeared with second servings of whatever we liked. They have three different kinds of chapatis, molten jaggery and almost ten varieties of salad. I had this impish server, who poured hot ghee, till the rice was swimming in it, and the others wouldn't stop laughing at my protests. Of course, there is buttermilk, followed by fruits, sweets and pan or beetel leaf.

There are other scenes, imprinted indelibly, though without incident. The numerous tea and chat stalls that dot the landscape, hot methi bhajiyas at every other corner, lassi and kulfi stalls at the corner of a street crowded with ice-cream parlors. The nicest thing is the crowds at the eateries; they induce a sense of shared delight. No wonder they have prohibition, remarked a friend. You could be high on food here!

After all, how often, after a trip, does it happen that you retain as vivid memories of the food as of the places?