India vs. Australia 2014/15 - The summary

Australia must have been unwelcoming to the early settlers. Gritty people who must have overcome tremendous challenges from nature to survive and thrive there. Generally speaking, every visiting team today is a group of settlers who will have to show they are made of a tougher fiber to overcome the challenges of a cricketing talent of a different order, unforgiving weather and a sense of occasion. I’m sure cricketing captains of any stripe will admit that a test win in the Antipodes is special and is savored more than any. As a cricket fan, a test win against Australia will secure bragging rights, better productivity at work and more joy in the family. At least for a few days. 

The final score line of 2-0 hardly conveys how well fought this series was. Or how it should have been 1-0 to India or at least 1-1. Anything but 2-0. But it will be so. As an Indian fan picking through the debris, here are my takes from the series.

Watching cricket in Australia is always a pleasant experience. Big grounds with imposing stands, longer boundaries and all-run-fours, sea gulls in the outfield parting for the scorching cover drive, wooden trimmed scorecards on channel 9, the crisp crunch of the bowler's shoes as the ball is delivered and the sound of ball against wood - bat or the stumps and of course, the brilliance of Sachin and VVS. Call me a romantic, but all these made for exiting watching, sitting in a living room thousands of miles away. The 1992 edition of the World Cup was easily the most pleasant for a TV fan and I look forward to the 2015 edition.

The Indian bowling was an embarrassment. In every single test. I would trade this entire attack in a heartbeat for Z.Khan, J. Srinath, Agarkar and Kumble. Yes, Agarkar. Granted, this series was a run feast and batters made a habit of hitting centuries. All things considered, being outplayed, ironically, by a spinner in the one test that we should really have won, was the low for me. Ashwin is not a match winner. Definitely not with the ball. And Karn Singh who? If our bowling pipeline is really that dry, I’m glad that there aren’t any away tours on the horizon. The sight of Anil Kumble bowling in tandem with Harbhajan Singh is now strictly for serving nostalgic needs via youtube.

The finds: M Vijay and KL Rahul as an opening combination could be a long term plan. It may not provide fiery starts like Warner but I would rather take 60-0 at lunch rather than 100-2 any day. Che Pu, Kohli and Rahane could be a middle order that bats as good as it looks on paper. Throw in Saha as the keeper, our batting order looks solid. And none of them is pushing retirement any time soon. S Dhawan and Raina should not be in any test XI on general principles.

Limits of what is humanly possible is often tested in sport. Imagine playing to save a test that is all but lost on day five. Unless you have previous experience, it is difficult to simulate a bruised and battered body with sagging spirits. Or the ability to extract that extra ounce of strength and concentration to change the course of a match. Skipping the Ranji Trophy grind in the international off-season and opting for two-day games where you “retire hurt” upon reaching a fifty as practice is not going to help. But are practice and preparation alone enough?

Which brings us to my next complaint: temperament. Batting for time is an art honed over extended sessions with patience and intent. Barring Vijay, Kohli and Rahane, I found that missing among their colleagues. I find it difficult to rationalize the shot selection of Saha on the final day of the first test in Adelaide. Or of KL Rahul in the 2^nd innings of the Melbourne test. Attack may be a better form of defence. But Rahul Dravid, who has stonewalled his way past many formidable attacks across the world, would perhaps agree that defending one’s wicket as a skill is being grossly undervalued. Is the T20 game influencing the thinking of the modern cricketer?

Finally aggression. When he finally hangs up his boots, Kohli, could well be regarded as Ganguly 2.0. But at the moment, I don’t like the brand of aggression he is pursuing. Send offs, banter and blowing kisses don’t quite go well when the score line reads 0-2. Ask any fan chewing his nails out at an ungodly hour if you don’t believe me. We’ll take a quiet 100, a dignified five-for and no send offs. I'm not advocating meekness or turning the other cheek here but aggression is more powerful if conveyed through cricketing actions rather than comical behavior. I’m talking about the difference between a comeback ripper from Ambrose and the antics of a certain Sreesanth. The difference between a disdainful pull shot by a gum-chewing Richards and the bat swinging antcis of, bear with me, a Sreesanth. 

India vs. Australia 4th Test at the SCG

The series was settled. The trophy had already been prized out of our hands. India had only pride to play for. Which perhaps explains the large scale changes made to the line up. Dropping Pujara was a baffling decision, given that he was looking increasingly assured with every outing. But you can slice up the batting order any different way but it is merely lipstick on a pig as long as the bowling line up reads Yadav, Shami and Buvi.

Welcome to another episode of the Aussie openers accepting the largesse of the Indian trundlers. An hour into the first morning, Kohli was perhaps thinking of spreading out the field or turning to his part timers. Not an easy thing for any test captain within the first session. Especially if you have an aggressive image to maintain. Watching Warner bat, I realize how it must have been for opposition teams/fans when Sehwag was in full slow. Melbourne 2003? Multan 2004? And mind you, he was facing far more potent attacks than Warner and Rogers have faced in this series. With the average defying Smith helping himself to yet another century, it looked that Australia might only need to bat once.

Thankfully, for once, towards the fag end of the series, the Indian tail showed up. Up in the order, Rahul shook off his debut nerves and compiled a neat century. One could understand when he simply collapsed on Kohli's shoulders after reaching the century. I liked his defence and showed that he may possess the temperament required of a test opener. By the looks of it, India may well have stumbled upon a working opening combination. However, India will miss the services of Sehwag who played without fear, took the fight to the opposition, kept the scoreboard ticking and in the process, provided belief and confidence to the rest of the team. The tail put up over a 100 runs and more importantly spent time in the middle. And on day 5, hung by the nails, dug their heels in and refused to be rolled over.

If the first innings bowling made one grimace, watching the Indian bowlers being taken to the cleaners in Australia's second innings was beyond words. Embarrassing doesn't even begin to describe it. What was the plan? What was the field? And what were they doing? I find it difficult to believe that this is the best talent available. I'm not sure what was happening between overs  - as I was watching the Indian TV feed that believes that an ad should come on when the bowler completes his follow through on the sixth legal delivery - but I could hardly see any discussion or chat going on between the captain and his bowlers or amongst the bowlers themselves. A word of encouragement or a pat on the shoulder was never seen and the bowlers appeared to be merely going through the motions. Although, in all honesty, there is not much that can be coaxed out of a bowling unit that has steadfastly refused to bowl to a set field throughout the series. Or even land balls in a good area consistently.

The prospect of India batting last on a deteriorating Sydney wicket will always evoke memories of 2008. Of close in fielders, high stakes, emotional battles, close calls and at the end of it all, another Indian defeat. With a 300 plus target this time, an Aussie win or a tense draw was on the cards in that order. After the Adelaide chase, there is now enough doubt in the Aussie camp that Smith preferred to ensure safety first rather than a bold declaration in both Melbourne and Sydney. Steve Waugh or Ponting, I'm sure, would have had a go at the Indians for a few overs on day four. Batting for a draw calls for special reserves of concentration, gumption and a better reading of the match. And it was pleasing to see the Indians tackle everything that the Aussies threw at them and ensured that the final scorecard didn't worsen than 2-0.

On the evidence of this series, the current Indian bowling cannot contain set batsmen on flat wickets. This group cannot clean up the tail quickly or cheaply either. The batting riches is really heartening to see and may bode well for the future. But with the profligacy of the bowlers, the big scores are becoming less useful. And as cliched as it may sound, no matter how deep we can bat, 20 opposotion wickets win test matches.

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After a long hiatus from blogging - more due to laziness than anything else - I'm pleased at this effort of four posts. Let me see if I can do one more on the entire series from an Indian fan perspective. I wish to keep posting something often. Let me see if the Blogging Gods are kind enough :)

India vs. Australia 3rd Test at the MCG

Boxing day. Summer in the southern hemisphere. The occasion can be overwhelming. It is after all being played at the MCG. Few grounds around the world can be counted as a member of the squad. A twelfth man playing a hand in the proceedings. The Eden Gardens with 100,000 electrified Bengalis for instance. Kingsmead, Durban: a cauldron with a green mamba in the middle. And the MCG. Australia vs. India is a contest worthy of the venue. And here's a fantastic piece on the "G". I haven't read a better summation of a cricket ground and what it embodies.

5-216 to 10-530. When the dust settles on this series, one of the crucial differences between the teams would be the contribution of the bowlers. With the bat. In a fast evolving world, the role of the tail end batsman has been recast. No more prodding. No more heaving. No more blind swings. Ever since Gillespie made 201, the tail. is expected to wag. And put a price on wickets 7 trough 10. With some style too. And when an attack as potent as ours with a penchant for giving career lifelines to weak batsmen is in operation, the last four can make merry.What looked like an even first day made way for a very one-sided second with Smith and co. piling on the runs while the Indians looked rather resigned, waiting for things to happen. If bowlers are paid by the hour, our fast men can retire already.

Day 3 would have been a treat to watch for any Indian fan. After a sedate start, Kohli and Rahane ran the Aussie attack ragged. Calling it mere domination wouldn't be accurate. The passage of play when the two of them were toying with Johnson was a pleasure that we are rarely afforded when abroad. We have had individual shows. We have seen dogged partnerships. But the sight of two batsmen in India caps pulling and hooking at will while keeping the score ticking at a fast clip? Delectable.

The bowling gave a slightly better account of themselves in the second innings and was actually able to keep things quiet for an extended period. Although the wickets column doesn't back this up, Ishant was the better bowler in both the innings, managing to hold things up at one end. He is good but the attack as a whole is not good enough.

In the end, it was India's batting show at Adelaide that almost took us home that weighed on Australia's mind in delaying the declaration till the fifth morning. That helped us save this test eventually. Smith admitted to not wanting to give India even a sniff. That was a first that went against the win at all cost attitude we are used to. So was the curious declaration with four overs to go and a scrappy Dhoni and Ashwin at the crease. I suspect whether a Steve Waugh or a Ponting or even Clarke would have shook hands in that situation.

Fact of life: Test cricket is not a slowed down version of T20. Skills being a given, it takes a certain temperament and a mindset to succeed in this format. The ability to read a situation with a long term view and adapt accordingly is something team India will need to focus on.

Quick note on India's new found aggression. Being aggressive is OK. Standing up is great. But being annoying is not. Let the bat do the talking. Let the ball ask the tough questions. They are louder. They are convincing, Sledging, banter and mind games are not required for bringing out the competitive face of any cricketer. "Sledging within limits" - a concept that is being bandied about by both teams - is an idiocy. Where is the line? Who draws it? And why is there a code of conduct then?  This team would be better off if they tone down their current flavor of on field aggression which seems to border on the comic.

India vs. Australia 2nd Test at the Gabba

Thud!

The sound of disappointment. The sound of dreams quashed. Sound of nostalgia. Of persistent traits from the past. I write this after what should have been the morning after the close of the 2nd test. But instead I write after spending what turned out to be family-outing Saturday. Instead of cricket-beverages-dinner Saturday.

Test matches last for 5 days. 30 hours of layered drama. Battles won or lost over individual sessions in trying to win the five-day war. Personal duels, sagging spirits, sapped bodies, deteriorating surface, partisan crowds and inclement weather all make for gripping cricket. At least for the viewers. Strewn amidst all this are defining moments. Or critical passages of play. The better team identifies them better. And latches on to them and make them count. These are the points around which the game hinges and fortunes change.

Sifting through the debris (from an Indian perspective) of the 2nd test, I would narrow it down to two hours.Two manic hours that changed the course of the test eventually.

Third day, first session. The second hour. The Indian bowling unit came alive in the first hour. Overnight batsman Mitchell Marsh was removed by Ishant. Bowled by a fuller ball. Brad Haddin, who is not having a great series with the bat thus far, removed by the shorter ball. Australia was definitely on the back foot. India had the momentum and had grabbed the initiative. However, what followed right afterwards defies cricketing logic. A barrage of short balls. When bowling fuller lengths earlier had kept things tight. Mitchell Johnson had feasted on a buffet well before lunch was taken. And the sweet irony? Most of the Australian wickets to fall later that day were not because of the short ball. I think Dhoni and his bowlers may well have been nostalgic about the short ball that won them a test at the Lord's. Horses for courses anybody? On an aside, reading through the articles, several Indian players may have riled up Johnson when he was batting. Unprovoked sledging as a tactic, in general, has never worked for India. Ask Zaheer Khan who bowled the first over of the 2003 World Cup final. We had lost that match after he finally completed the first set of six legal deliveries. Retaliation has done wonders: the jelly bean saga in the UK, Perth 2008. But chatter for the sake of it? Better left alone.

The second of the two: Fourth day, first session, first hour. There could have been a traffic jam of Indian batters in that hurried procession to and from the pavilion. An old-school, Indian batting collapse. A flash straight from the nineties. Granted the pitch had cracks and was doing more than it did over the previous days. Granted that we had woken up the sleeping giant (but, why?) in Mitchell Johnson. But that would just be fishing for excuses. Let's face it: the Indian batters simply didn't fight. Or they were not up for it. Kohli, Sharma and Rahane had no business playing the way they did against their respective last deliveries. And Che Pu would have negotiated that delivery five different ways on any day. But when the chips are down, when it mattered the most in the third innings of a test on the balance, the crucial one hour when we needed to hang in there and put a price on each wicket, we were busy gift wrapping the test for the Aussies. Merry Christmas!

In the end, perhaps a hundred more runs could have made the difference. But then I would pin the blame on the bowlers for the second time around. Giving up a near hundred run lead after that batting display in the first innings was simply unacceptable. It is worth remembering that no team can hide behind a weak bowling attack. Definitely not behind Sharma, Yadav and Aaron. Waiting for the declaration or the new ball isn't a good strategy. This attack, if you are generous, is that squandering son of the rich father. That leak in the boat that can sink it eventually.

Off to Melbourne goes the circus. I hope there is a better show come Boxing day. Until then, enjoy our gift the Aussies. 

India vs. Australia 1st Test at the Adelaide Oval

I'm not emotionally invested in this team as I used to be with teams of the past. When no player in the squad is older than you are, this is what happens I suppose. And I'm certainly not following the game with the same intensity from earlier days. But cometh the hour, cometh the toss, when people in white turn up on the green, I'm automatically drawn to the TV computer. I followed the score over four days. And I had to watch the live stream on day five. And when it was over, my wife couldn't understand why I was having a long face on a Friday night.

First off, what a game! It had all the ingredients of a great India-Australia test: sad but high drama in the days leading up, great teams (at least on paper), the beautiful Adelaide oval, fantastic weather except for day 3, some on field banter and an intense contest that came down to the final hour on the last day.

The better team won. The team that deserved to win, even if only ever so slightly more, eventually prevailed. I would have preferred India to romp home with Kohli finishing it off with a boundary. It would have been a great start to the tour. But it was really pleasing to see the way they approached the total. At the start, with Dhawan and Che Pu (Thanks cricinfo!) back in the pavilion, an Aussie win seemed inevitable. But the way Vijay and Virat went about chipping away at the target, it seemed the game was being played on a different surface. Lyon did bother Vijay but not Kohli. There were no demons in the strip. The scoreboard kept ticking and suddenly there was hope. As the second session progressed, a victory seemed within reach. An Indian victory. But this is Australia. We are playing against a team that is ruthless. Relentless. And can hang in there by their nails just a bit longer than the opponent. Five wickets for 38 runs. In 10 overs. And as the dust settled, it was the usual result. 1-0 Australia.

To win in Australia takes something special. It isn't over until it is. I'm not sure if it is the land or the people but time and space appear to be stretched out just a touch. If you are shooting for the draw, the final day seems just a bit dragged out. If you aim to play out the day, the hours seem a tad longer than 60 minutes. The men in the baggy green caps seem to possess that extra bit of time to go at you relentlessly. If you aim for the win, the boundaries seem to be pushed back. The ground seems to have grown and the Aussies can easily cover it. There is always a safe pair of hands under the catches. And there is always someone to extract a bit more out of the pitch than you could.

To state an obvious fact of life, bowlers win test matches. Based on what was on display, I doubt this bowling unit has enough firepower to take 20 Australian wickets. Or even bowl them out at least once, Michael Clarke's bad back notwithstanding. Nathan Lyon proved to be the difference between the two sides. And what a performance. I don't think Karn would have been able to exploit the surface like Nathan did even if we had bowled last. This format calls for all round excellence and I suspect the bowlers may be a baggage to carry on this tour.

There was a time not so distant in the past when my generation was used to watching spectacular collapses. And the team going through the motions of a tour. It was called the nineties. The nineties of the walking dead. There would be that Sachin's one-man show book ended by mediocre capitulation. There wouldn't be even a semblance of a fight to call it a contest. Game after game. Yet another knock that would be described by R Mohan as "valiant", "in vain" in the next day's papers. Things changed in this century. Ganguly helped turn things around with the help of a better team. A group that actually began to believe in being able to compete. To be able to fight and give it back as good as it got. And this current team has managed to not fall into the old habits. I haven't watched Kohli in action very much. I'm limited to reading about him, catching up on earlier performances. But I think the team can scale great heights under him. He had spoken about aggression and intent before the game began. While they were missing when we were leather hunting, it came out in full splendor on day five. I hope this team has the mettle to rally around this guy. And that Kohli does not end up becoming the 21st century version of Sachin.

I now look forward to Brisbane. I look forward to another fight. Another contest. And I hope India becomes deserving to win at the Gabba and beyond. Good luck guys!

A senseless article by a male taxi passenger

I read the article titled “Conversations with a lady taxi driver” in The Hindu by Mr. Omar Rashid. Coming in the wake of the recent rape of a lady passenger by a cab driver in New Delhi (Of course!), I was intrigued by the “reversal or roles” and clicked on the article. On the face of it, this is about a man’s early morning ride to the New Delhi airport in a lady-driven taxi. But it is hard to miss the undertones of religions and their values present. The narrative has been colored, in my opinion, by the author’s religious identity which sees him take liberal pot shots at one and pedal soft on the other. Here is my take on what can be described as the tragedy of a successful love story.

A Brahmin lady in her purdah behind the wheels of a taxi in Mumbai. It may be a challenge to paint a more incongruent image. At the outset, I must salute the courage of the lady. In what must have been a decision taken in a haze of blind love and youthful rebellion, she had eloped with her love. She, a Brahmin and him, a Muslim. Love, especially the inter-religious flavor, has been overly romanticized and glamorized in movies and books. It is easy for young, impressionable minds in the grip of raging hormones to gloss over the challenges that may crop up. The man who, I’m sure, she must have counted upon as her pillar of support in life, had deserted her for another woman. In two years flat. After bouncing around for a bit doing odd jobs, she has taken up driving a taxi for a living. May not be the safest of jobs for a lady to undertake but let us hope that the male passengers are better behaved than the drivers.Let us also hope that her family is sensible enough to take her back into the fold. 

Robbed of her life (antagonized family and divorced with an alimony of a grand sum of Rs. 3,000), her religion (she had, of course, converted to Islam) and her kids (there was more than one kid in 2 years!) the lady is yet another statistic of a Hindu girl-Muslim boy marriage gone wrong. (I’m personally aware of three other marriages of this flavor ending bad for the Hindu girl.) Whether love jihad, which Mr. Rashid is quick to pooh-pooh as “a myth spread by Hindutva groups”, is real may be open to debate. But what is not is the fact that the lady has fallen victim to the unchecked polygamous tendencies of the practitioners of Islam. Her marriage to someone from her own religion/caste could have gone wrong just as easily given the circumstances of the marriage. But according to the article, her ex-husband has allegedly moved on to wife number three along with two kids from his first marriage.

Love jihad, as I have mentioned earlier, may be real or not. But what is real is any parent’s concern that their children, particularly girls, aren’t misled into the wrong marriage. Unfortunately, it is often the woman that ends up getting the short end of the stick in a bad marriage. This only gets more pronounced in an inter-religious marriage given the obvious strong emotions and opposition usually involved in one.

The fact that The Hindu has deemed it fit to be published was a giveaway about how the article would end up sounding. And my instincts have not let me down. First off, the quick punches that Mr. Rashid liberally throws at VHP and Hindutva groups. “love jihad is a myth spread by Hindutva groups”, “right wing Hindutva groups could manipulate her story (italics mine) to include it within the template of love jihad” and “VHP’s disregard for individual choices”. What is strikingly loud is Mr. Rashid's silence on the Islamic practices of polygamy, the triple talak or the need for the non-Muslim to always convert to Islam in a marriage of “individual choice”. And related to the context of this article, I would be curious to know where the author stands on the implementation of a uniform civil code and this arcane concept of family planning in Islam. If there was even so much as a murmur of protest against the erring Muslim in this story, it would be difficult to question his motives. But even after a second reading, there is not a mention of neither the author’s pity for the state of the lady nor a word of reprimand at her husband’s behavior. The only question critical of Islam comes from the taxi driver herself and is met by silence. However, there is ample relief that “her story” didn’t get picked up by the evil right wing Hindutva groups to be fit it into the myth of love jihad. Wow.

Perhaps I’m dense but I couldn’t see the point of this article other than piggy backing on a recent unfortunate incident. This would have been a good article if not for the one-sided political color given to it. This would have been a sensible article if only it had been neutral. Instead it is a meandering piece of Hindutva-groups-bashing prose masquerading behind a clever title. Mr. Omar Rashid, what a waste of words. And The Hindu, what a waste of space.

This and that

It has been terribly long since I wrote something here. The last post on the showdown with the moronic restaurant owner (he was wrong and I was right!) seems silly now. I write something just so that that post gets pushed down.

Much needed rains have finally graced the Bay Area. Wet earth, black tarmac, wipers, the pitter patter, misty mornings and grey skies. This is my fourth fall here but this is the first time that I’m consumed by the elaborate show that nature has been staging.

Fall, in all its fiery hues, is here. A riot of rich autumnal colors. The street looks different with each passing day. Short-lived it may be, but each tree is now a seductress with her own charm and allure. Can death be any more colorful? The last, beautiful vestiges of life falling down to the wet earth from where they had sprung from. Giving back unto the earth what was taken earlier. They owe not anybody. Their only sin, perhaps, leaving the trees unclothed against the enveloping winter. The wet dark trunks and the unadorned arms left awaiting a faraway spring. Can life be any starker? The timeless show of the cycle of life and death. Now playing at every window.

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When I first read about it, sitting across the world, I was expecting Phil Hughes to recover from his blow. This is what happens when a batsman cops a nasty snarler: they recover. Well not this time. Death itself is not rare. But when it happens on the field of sport, it feels somehow different.

Hurl ball, block it. Hurl ball, whack it. Shorn of the inherent potential for injury as soccer or the gore of the pugilistic sports, cricket is a beautiful, elitist game. There is room for individual brilliance and for collective excellence. While adding layers of beauty to the sport, the wizardry of the practitioners has managed to veil the danger lurking beneath each delivery. The possibility of injury or much worse has been diluted by the craft of the masters. So when something unfortunate happens, it is a rude jolt. A cruel twist to an otherwise sedate narrative.

Chin music, I must admit, was groovy. The bouncer aimed to level the playfield for an even contest between ball and bat in a game that has become lopsided for the batsmen. I have enjoyed watching great willow wielders duck and weave. Or hook and pull. It should be interesting to see how the bouncer will be used going forward.

More interesting will be to see how sledging will change, if at all. A batsman has enough going on his mind already in trying to negotiate fast projectiles. Adding to the clutter in the name of “mind games” may not be wise. A cold glare, a smart quip and let’s get on with the game.  

Phil Hughes, rest in peace. 

Chaat the f*#@ up!!

I don't know how I do it but I find myself at the receiving end of bad service at restaurants more times than I wish. For those of you that don't know me personally, despite all the evidence to the contrary, I'm not a prick, a difficult patron or a bad tipper. OK, not on all days. Alright, definitely not last Sunday when the latest episode of my run in with an Indian restaurant happened. But in hindsight, this was something that was waiting to happen and that it happened didn't surprise me the least.

Chaat Paradise is a restaurant in Mountain View along the famous El Camino Real. Tucked away in a corner of a mall, they are purveyors of North Indian food. I have in the past taken my business to them on many occasions. The prime motivation in choosing them over half a dozen other places right along El Camino Real is that we live a short distance from their establishment. Take away this advantage and there is no reason why I wouldn't go elsewhere as one can hardly tell them apart inasmuch as taste, quality and service are concerned.

Cut to this past Sunday and we were driving back home from somewhere and decided to pick up some food for dinner en route. Since we would have to pass Chaat Paradise on our way, we decided to go there. I placed my order with the manager at the cash register - some rotis and a couple of run-of-the-mill curries that wouldn't require fancy culinary maneuvers. The wait time, I was informed, was 15 minutes - par for a Sunday evening dinner time. I went back to my car and was passing the time trying to convince my kid that he could go back home to his toys very soon.

The food was not ready in 15 minutes. The manager rummaged through the few take away bags on the table behind the counter, checked with the kitchen and asked me to wait for ten more minutes. I go back a few years with this place and this was playing to the usual script. On time food was never their strong point. Back to the car and convincing an agitated kid expressing his burning desire to be set free from the car seat.

Fifteen minutes later, the food was still not ready. The manager checked the new take away bags, checked with the kitchen and came up to the register.

"Sir, there are many phone orders ahead of you. So it is going to take some more time." This in Hindi. I know just enough Hindi to know that this asshole had messed something up.

"But you knew this when you said 15 minutes right?" I was holding myself back. This wasn't the first time this has happened to me here and my patience was paper thin.

"I was only giving you an idea." This only confirmed that not only had he messed up but was trying to act smart. When I'm hungry and trying in vain to pacify my kid holed up in a parked car, someone trying to pontificate his sorry ass out of a fuck up of his own making in Hindi doesn't help the situation one bit.

Three options presented themselves:

1. Punch him in the face and storm out of the place. After dealing with the aftermath of course.
2. Demand a refund, go to another restaurant and spend more time than what would have taken to fix a homemade dinner.
3. Play along, wait for the food and go back home.

All things considered, option 3 seemed to be the prudent one to pursue and I came back to the car with the assurance that the kitchen had dropped everything else to prepare my order in five minutes.

Five minutes later, and by now I had spent close to 45 minutes just waiting for my damned order, the food is still missing. I'm trying to get the attention of the manager who is busy on the phone. He did a quick kitchen check and asked for more time citing too many orders.

I lost my patience and asked for a refund figuring that I was better off going back home or trying some other place.

The bugger agreed to refund the money but instead of reaching for the register, picked up the phone, called someone and started talking while I was standing there.

"You ordered twenty rotis, right?" Hindi reared its head once again. And the idiot gave it away that he had no clue what I had ordered.

I repeated my order, this time barely concealing my frustration.

With the correct information, he sauntered up to the line of take away bags and quietly fished out mine from among the earlier ones: my food had been sitting there all along for the past 45 minutes. The entire time that I was made to wait, this filthy animal posing as a manager was feeding me false information, buying time for no reason without even the foggiest clue that my food was already done.

I was now in a flying rage and started shouting at him at the very top of my voice about why clowns belong only in the circus and shouldn't be running restaurants. The portly bastard, showing not even the faintest trace of remorse, even started accusing me of not clarifying something or the other to him soon enough or clear enough. In Hindi.

Hearing the commotion, one of his waiters appeared and used a swear word. May be he saw this as his only chance for a long overdue pay hike or he had illusions of becoming his son-in-law. Whatever be the case, I was forced to respond in kind. A heated and colorful exchange of pleasantries in English, Hindi and Tamil, which made a late but forceful entry to give vent to my rage, provided live multi-lingual entertainment to the crowd of diners tucking into their dishes. At some point during the melee, the bugger even threatened to call the cops. To which I offered him my phone and urged him to dial them right away which, of course, promptly quietened him. No man in his mind would want to be declared an idiot by the police force.

I got a full refund, vowed never to step foot into Chaat Paradise, advised the waiting customers to find a better restaurant and returned home. They were, of course, absolutely thankful. Not for the advice but because their wait time just came down.

As I had mentioned, this wasn't the first time that that guy had tried to be a smart ass. On multiple occasions in the past, it was always something or the other. Lousy service, missed orders, dirty utensils and I had taken them all in my stride. But that Sunday, I just let go. It was as if the sluice gates were thrown open and all the pent up frustration came gushing out.

In the eyes of those that were there that night, I was some random idiot pissing off a restaurant manager. But to me it was a cathartic exercise. And although my wife disagrees, I walked out of that damned place a free man. A free hungry man. 

Roger Ebert

I join the millions of movie fans saddened by Roger Ebert's demise. In his passing away, the world of cinema has lost a qualified, popular and knowledgeable sounding board.

I was first introduced to Roger Ebert's work through my good friend Prasad (who blogs here, by the way) - a movie aficionado in our midst. It was at that time, that I also got introduced to good movies outside the realm of the ones that were staple "Hollywood" fare in India: movies involving alien invasions, a British spy, a sinking ship or dinosaurs running amok.

Just as I was beginning to awaken to a world of good movies, I left the USA. Maybe I was looking at the wrong places but somehow between living in India, then Singapore and holding a traveling job, my movie watching became limited to inflight choices - not the best way to enjoy a movie. And Roger Ebert faded into the background.

All that changed dramatically when we moved to the USA a few years back. With a reasonably well-stocked public library nearby, we were able to watch movies that we have always wanted to watch. Good ones, bad ones, famous ones, classics - we started ticking them off one DVD at a time, making up for lost time. And Ebert's words became the hand guiding us to the forgotten delights of movies. And on occasions, delights of forgotten movies as well.

As a teenager, I remember waiting restlessly for The Hindu to be delivered to our home in the morning so that I could relive the experience of Steffi Graf's on-court exploits or a scintillating knock from Sachin the previous day through the prose of Nirmal Shekar and R Mohan respectively. This was the closest to watching a sporting event live a second time, if that is even possible. Ebert's words, similarly, gave me the opportunity to prolong the enjoyment a good movie had to offer. Reading his thoughts about a movie that we watched quickly became a post-viewing learning ritual.

Over time, "Ebert enna solraar?" (What does Ebert have to say?) became the benchmark that helped decide which ones we would bring home. The ones with the most stars or the "thumbs up" naturally made it to the top of the pile. And when we did stumble upon a good one of our own, we would be on his review page even as the end credits rolled by on the screen.

I'm not a movie expert in any sense nor do I possess the intellect to critically analyze one, looking for deeper meaning or a "thesis" in the plot. But over the past few years, I have been able to develop a taste for good fare in my own limited ways and appreciate the nuances of this medium through the words of a great master. And God knows that it has been a truly enriching experience for me personally.

A Shabari that helped identify good movies for our pleasure and shared his passion for the art of movie making is no more. Rest in peace.

Chasing away the fortune tellers

Kamal has stepped on one.

The beautiful Amala then stepped on the same one.

Together, they stepped on the same one again.

I too have stepped on one (read here).

But now the train station weight machines are going away. We no longer have the time to stand and tare.

So with a "heavy" heart, so long friends.