Sandwich Rules

Consider the sandwich. Two slices of bread with an infinite variety of possible fillings in between. If you need one word to describe a sandwich (apart from 'sandwich' of course), I would pick convenience. Easy to make and easy to pack, it is also extremely easy to handle and eat. Well, it should be. I rejoice when I see a well-constructed sandwich. You would have seen boxed sandwiches in some stores, cut into perfect triangles revealing what's inside. They do live up to the name 'sandwich'. But this is not the norm everywhere.

The other day I got a sandwich from a local deli. When I opened the wrapping, the thing practically sprang open like an over-packed suitcase whose latch had failed. I had a hard time locating the ends of the sandwich and struggled to pick it up.

Why do people think that a sandwich should be so big? Ideally, the filling should not exceed a slice in thickness, maybe a little more. When you have a sandwich that is a foot high, you can barely pick it up much less bite into it (unless you are an elephant).

It requires you to open your mouth wide as if you are sitting in a dentist's chair (a particularly unpleasant thought while eating) and not at the dining table. You know there is trouble when they put a stake (with colored plastic paper wrapped around the ends for decoration) through the sandwich to hold it together. This is insane.

Most people are afraid to open their mouths so wide that they start nibbling at the sandwich from the ends. As you juggle with the sandwich this way, a lot of the good stuff inside is spilling out. As you pick it up and take a bite at one end, out goes a slice of cucumber or tomato from the other end. The mashed avocado meanwhile is seeping out on all sides coating your fingers. Ditto for mustard and mayonnaise. Even if you manage to take a bite from the center, it is bound to fill your mouth completely and render it impossible to actually move the jaws. You just resign to eating a deconstructed sandwich by this time which is to say you reach for the fork and knife.

Enough. I say it is time to regulate the sandwich.

First of all, the bread slice ideally should be a square or at least have some regular shape. There is all sorts of great tasting bread with loaves that unfortunately are so oddly shaped that they are not suited for making sandwiches. It is impossible to cut two matching slices out of these loaves. So let us stick to square slices. Next, the slice should be big enough so that the things that go into the sandwich fit comfortably and not hang out. If I put a slice of cheese in it, I don't want it half in and half out. What goes into the sandwich must stay inside.

The bread should be strong enough so that it does not become soggy when various condiments and vegetables are added. Most of the supermarket breads are so soft that they have no structure and are  completely useless. Just add one slice of tomato and the bread practically turns into mush. Even if it does not, when you pick up the sandwich the lower slice starts sagging and separating from the top letting the fillings spill out. But while the bread should be capable of holding its structural integrity, trying to use liquid dressings in a sandwich is simply madness. Yet some delis persist in offering oil and vinegar as toppings to their sandwiches.

Finally, there is no such thing as an open-faced sandwich. I mean it is an oxymoron. It is like a one-legged trouser. It is an affront to the very definition of sandwich and what the word has come to mean.  It takes two slices of bread to make a sandwich, period. Without the second slice, you do not have a sandwich. You just have a slice with stuff piled on top. You do not have half a sandwich either in case some smart aleck thinks so. You get a half sandwich by cutting through a whole sandwich.

So there you have it. Simple rules for the sandwich which I am sure the 4th Earl of Sandwich who is credited with having invented the sandwich (which now bears his name - well technically the name of the place Sandwich and not his name, John Montagu) would have heartily approved.





Large Sandwich Image Courtesy: http://www.clipartpanda.com/clipart_images/nutritious-hot-lunch-sale-3801628

English Sandwich Image Courtesy: GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], from Wikimedia Commons

The Debt

'Raja Interiors and Furniture' said the bold sign outside. Suresh paused for a second and then decided to go in check out the shop. Inside, the showroom was well laid out and the pieces of furniture looked well made. They had a touch of classic styling but seemed suitable for modern apartment living. As he looked around, a tall man approached him and asked him what furniture he was looking for. He looked vaguely familiar to Suresh and in a flash he realized this was Raja. His mind went back a few years when he was in college and was home for the holidays.

***

'Can you make it?', father asked the carpenter. Raja, the carpenter hesitated. He was a young man in his thirties with a sullen look. He was not sure what to make of father . He was actually being asked to make a front door with a carving. It seemed ages ago that he had made a carving. And that was for an art gallery. Most people simply wanted furniture. Of late, even those orders had dwindled. Everyone preferred factory-built stuff.

Father had sought him out and appeared to be really interested in the wooden carving. 'Yes, I can', Raja finally replied. 'But I have to procure the right wood for it. And it will cost seven thousand rupees. I will need an advance of three thousand'. 'Sure, no problem,' said father who was pleased that Raja had agreed to make the door. And so the deal was struck as Suresh who was on his holiday watched with interest.

Suresh had recently visited his ancestral home in his village with his father. He was inspired to see all the woodwork in those houses. The front doors made of solid wood usually had a lotus motif carved on them. The key was about four or five inches long and required two hands to operate sometimes. The main hall inside had a pillar in the centre supporting the beams and had some ornate decorations carved on it. The ends of the beam which hung over the pillar had equally beautiful details. The look was iconic and beckoned to a bygone era.

There was not a lot of furniture in the homes. People mostly sat on the floor over mats and such. An easy chair or a cot may be found but other than that the house was quite bare. There were a few cupboards which may have been made of teak or rosewood. Perhaps only the very wealthy had chairs, tables, etc. in the old days.

Carpentry had always fascinated him. When he was younger he would stop and watch the carpenters work at the construction sites round. Many new homes were coming up at that time and the workers typically moved from one site to another working on doors, windows and such. The sight of the jack plane shaving the slivers off rough wooden beams, shaping them into regular sizes with smooth surfaces was absorbing. The sweet smell of wood chips and saw dust pervaded the air. The carpenter would then use the chisel and hammer to create the joints to assemble the frame as his assistant would stand by at his beck and call.

Suresh's father had recently bought a house. Well, a plot of land to be more accurate and he was having a house built on it. He wanted to bring some of the traditional look from his ancestral home to the new house. He was also keen to furnish the new house with furniture that was made along classic lines but still would fit in well in a modern home.. He had wondered if carpenters still made them. Upon asking around, a friend had recommended Raja. He first asked Raja to restore an old piece of furniture he had picked up and was impressed with his skills. He then decided to engage him, first to make the door and then some furniture.

A week after Raja had left with the advance, Suresh was getting anxious. There was no word from him. He started wondering if father was right to trust Raja. Father made a few inquiries but with no success. After about ten days, Raja showed up again. But it was quite a different Raja. It seemed as though he had shrunk since the previous time. He avoided eye contact and Suresh thought he was ashamed of something. It was clear that Raja would have preferred to be somewhere else.

Maybe he gambled the advance away, thought Suresh. 'Did you get the lumber?', father asked hoping that there was a different explanation. Raja was silent. Father repeated the question. 'No, I ..', came the stuttering reply. 'I had to spend the money on an emergency. My mother took ill and is now in the hospital', he continued. He was looking away and was clearly struggling with the emotion. 'I will repay the money somehow soon. Please give me some time', he said looking down.

Suresh looked at him. He was distressed to see Raja like this. 'Poverty strips away a man's dignity. What separates me from Raja other than money?', he pondered. He was at that idealistic age. True to his form, father did not seem angry or agitated. He thought for a while and then said to Raja gently, 'Let us not worry about the money right now. How is your mother?'. Raja told him that his mother was improving and he could get back to work in a couple of days. 'Very well, then. Come back in a week and we will discuss this further'. Raja seemed relieved to hear this and went away after again assuring that he would return with the money soon.

Raja did not come back in a week. Suresh assumed that Raja was a lost cause. He somehow felt betrayed. It seemed that his faith in human nature had been diminished a little. He was sure that father would never see that money again. He had said as much to his father who however seemed to be more understanding and rather accepting. 'I know he has every intention of repaying the money', he said, 'But it is very difficult for him to come up with that kind of money. It may seem not too significant to us but it can ruin someone like Raja. We have to give him all the time. And if he is never able to return the money, so be it. After all it was used for a good cause'.

Suresh's holiday was over and he had to get back to his college. He never broached the topic with his father again but seeing no carved wood on the front door on his next visit, he assumed that Raja had never returned. He decided it was best not to bring up the topic with his father. His father too did not mention it. He had not thought of this episode all these years and now here he was face to face with Raja. From the looks of the showroom, he had clearly prospered since he last saw him.

***

'You are Raja, aren't you?', Suresh asked and added somewhat sharply, 'You may not remember me, but I have seen you many years ago. You were to make some furniture for us but you went away with the advance money'. Suresh expected this to cause Raja to feel guilty but the latter seemed delighted. 'You are Mr. Raman's son! I am so happy to see you. How is your father doing?'. Suresh was puzzled. Upon talking to Raja further he came to know what had happened all those years ago. He realized that his assumption about Raja was totally wrong. Raja told him the whole story.

'After I left your house that day, I desperately wanted to pay your father back. I would never use a client's money for anything other than the job and I felt very guilty and ashamed. So I borrowed the money from a professional money lender and took it back to your father. Anyone in his position would have been just relieved to get their money back. He however, questioned me thoroughly on how I had raised the sum and found out what I had done. He refused to accept the money and told me that I should never borrow money to pay another loan. He then asked me to first return the money to the lender so I could be free of the usurious interest.'

'It was too late for the door. As the construction was getting delayed, he had decided to go with a standard door. He then said that I should treat the money owed as a loan. He would wait until I was able to earn and save enough to pay it back, a little at a time, and he would charge no interest as that was against his principles. I vowed that I would work hard and repay him soon. I decided to come here to the city where the prospects are better. By God's grace I have made it this far. I wished I could have paid the money a little at a time but it was a struggle for a while before my luck turned. When I had the three thousand rupees saved up, I went back to repay your father. I was also determined to pay him a fair rate of interest. But your family had moved in the meantime and I could not trace your whereabouts. So it is my good fortune that you have dropped in today. Where do you live now? I would very much like to see your father again', he finished in an excited voice.

Even though Suresh knew his father's kindness and compassion well, he was moved by this revelation. He now had to tell Raja of his father's passing two years before. Raja's eyes filled with tears and he was quite upset to hear the news. He then said, 'Well, at least I can pay you the money that I owe. I have been keeping track of the interest too. Please accept it'. He then brought out his cheque book and started writing out a cheque. Suresh stopped him gently and said, 'I cannot accept this. Please use the money to help someone in need as you were helped then. That would please my father immensely. That is what he would have wanted. I am sure he never had any intention of accepting this money'.

Ode to the Bicycle

'This is not one of ours', said the shopkeeper when I returned the rental bike to him. I was stunned. 'How did the key open this lock then?', I tried to argue. The shopkeeper almost mockingly said, 'Lock? you call that a lock? All you have to do is sneeze loudly and it will open'. I had rented the bike a couple of hours before and had been on an errand for my mother. Apparently I had switched it for someone else's bike in the process. How could it have happened? More to the point how was I to make the switch again?

****

I had recently learned to ride the bike and was eager to do chores for my mother. Learning to ride a bicycle is one of those childhood milestones that everyone is supposed to pass. When you don't have a bike at your disposal, it is kind of hard to learn to ride one. Children's bikes were not common when I was growing up. After the tricycle, there was the adult bike. Until one grew tall enough to handle a full sized bike, one simply had to wait. Not every household had an adult bike either or if there was one, it was most certainly being used to go to work and back by an adult. So one had to squeeze any lessons when the bike was free and someone was available to teach.

One way or the other, you gained access to the bike and an instructor (read older sibling) and after a few days of trial and falling you mastered the bike. Now you wanted to ride everywhere on the bike but had to wait your turn when it was free. All of sudden you were eager to run errands - get vegetables from the market, cash a cheque at the bank or get groceries. All you asked was to be able to rent a bike and ride it to the shop. Of course, having finished the trip, one could use the rest of the rental time for riding around freely.

There is something to be said for the bicycle. Before them and before motor cars, I suppose one had to rely on horses for getting around quickly. As a personal vehicle, horses leave a lot to be desired. They are expensive and consume vast quantities of hay and such. They also have an exhaust problem. The bicycle on the other hand requires little by way of maintenance and costs far less. With good care, it lasts generations. Bikes cause no pollution - air or noise, there is no exhaust to clean, and they definitely do not smell. The only requirement is a certain amount of muscle power. All right, I will admit that may be a deal-breaker to many but still...

The bicycle is also known as the velocipede. Thankfully, we do not use that term widely now. It sounds more appropriate for an insect. The precursor to the bicycle was called 'dandy horse' and required the rider to push the ground with his feet to move. From that to the modern bike has been an interesting journey. The design of the bicycle went through many stages before the rear-wheel chain-driven model became the norm.

For some, the love affair with the bike more or less ends with learning to ride. For some others, it is a passion for life. Many others continue to actually use the bike as a personal transportation. You may recall that in China, the bicycle was used very widely by workers of all kinds. In fact, China was dubbed the 'Kingdom of Bicycles'.  But did you know that it was not easy to get a bicycle in China in the 60's and 70's? I believe that the waiting period was several years and you might still need to have 'connections'.

The modern cutting edge design may use carbon fiber and such but the old workhorse bikes still rule the roads in many countries. They can be seen carrying immense loads on the rack on the back wheel. You can see cooking gas cylinders being transported on bikes among other things. The bikes themselves have changed little from the single-speed solidly built models of yore all in black. Or did we also have some green? Whatever the colour, they seem to have endured and I see that they are still being manufactured and sold.

In the US, there are attempts like National Biking Month and Bike to Work Day to get people to adopt the bicycle. But it really is more of a recreational thing. I use the term 'recreational' somewhat loosely. When I see people wearing those tight-fitting biker shorts, perched on impossibly tiny wedges that pass for seats (or should I say saddles?), with their bodies bent at an aerodynamic posture complete with helmets and goggles, recreation is not the word that comes to my mind. Each to his own, I suppose.

The bicycle has long been the vehicle of choice for the romantic hero in films when serenading the lady of his dreams. Remember Paul Newman and Katherine Ross in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head)? Or Rajinikanth and Kushboo in Annamalai (Rekkai katti Parakkuthu)? It is hard to imagine using a motorbike or even a horse in these scenes. Perhaps if the hero was trying to elope with the girl but otherwise, I am sorry, it just does not work.

****

Coming back to my predicament, I now had to get the original bike back. I was really apprehensive. What if the owner of the bike had raised an alarm? Even if he had not, would I not look suspicious parking one bike and riding off with another? Luckily all was quiet outside the shop and the bike was still there as I had hoped. I casually parked the cycle and then quickly retrieved the rented one.

As I got ready to leave, I heard a voice call out, 'Hey, you!'. I was petrified. I tried to ignore it but the voice continued, 'Is this yours?'. I was now near panic. Surely, I had been found out. I turned around slowly thinking the worst but I almost fainted with relief to see the owner of the voice holding out a bag. 'No', I said and quickly jumped on the bike and shot off from there. All is well that ends well, I suppose even if I had to sweat a little. Well, more than a little given the Chennai weather.

Image Courtesy: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Left_side_of_Flying_Pigeon.jpg

A Nice Ring

Remember when all phones had the same ringtone? In fact, no one used the term ringtone then. All phones were black and looked about the same. The first time I looked at a phone up close was in my grandfather's house a long time ago. I was about three then I think. The rotating dial with the characteristic sound it made when numbers were dialed was fascinating. By the way, if you thought I was talking cell phones, I would say that you are either too young to have known the rotary phones or old enough to have forgotten them.

When I was a little older, we got a phone of our own, courtesy of my father's employer. This phone did not have a dialing mechanism at all but when you picked up the handset off the cradle, you got the operator at the exchange who asked, 'Number please?'. We were living in a small town which was serviced by a manual exchange. You had to be connected at the switchboard to the number you wished to call. I wonder now if the operator had the ability to listen in on the calls. 

Getting a phone in India was such big deal for the longest time. So much so, having one in your house sometimes turned out to be a nuisance as neighbours made use of it to make and receive calls. But this also provided an opportunity for some. They would allow neighbours to make calls but place a box for contributions discretely (!) next to the phone. Local shops with phone connections allowed nearby residents to use their number to receive calls. You would call the shop and ask to be connected to Mr. So and so in A-3. They would charge the recipient of course but the service included sending the boy to fetch the customer when a call came through. When I first came to the US, it was quite a dramatic change from all this. Here I could just walk into an telephone shop and walk out with an instrument of my choice. The service would be turned on in a day or less. A revolutionary concept to me then. 

Phone service in India has come a long way now but it was a slow journey for the most part. I remember having to book long distance calls and wait as there was no direct dialing. In an emergency, you placed what was referred to as a lightning call (meaning the charges would accumulate at lightning speed!). When the call came through, you had to be quick to get your message across before the operator interrupted the call to announce 'Threeee... minutes'. Since you paid for a minimum of three minutes, you did not want to be too quick either. Obviously, trunk calls were only used to communicate really urgent news. Usually this meant bad news making people apprehensive when they received such a call. But nowadays one can call internationally and chat for hours for pennies. And feel not a tinge of nervousness when someone calls from abroad. 

Direct calling to India from the US was not available for many years and one had to go through the operator paying exorbitant charges. When it did become available, it was still quite difficult to get through. You often got a message that said, 'Due to heavy congestion in the country you are calling, your call did not complete'. It was bad enough not being able to get through but the bad grammar on top of that was like rubbing salt on the wound. 'Complete' is a transitive verb for God's sake. It reminded me of other statements like, 'The product will begin shipping Thursday'. Shipping what? But I digress.
 
The instruments themselves have evolved from the simple black phone into all sorts of shapes, from desk phones to wall models, and culminated in the cordless phones with features like speed dialing and digital answering machine. By far the feature that was most heavily used by expatriate Indians, I am sure was the last number redial. It allowed you to keep retrying your call rapidly (and cut off the annoying message short too) until you got through. This feature was also highly touted by Hyacinth in the series Keeping Up Appearances ('I must answer my white, slimline telephone with last number redial, it's bound to be someone important').

Cell phones have pushed the so called land lines to the background and many people have even dispensed with them altogether now. If you still have one, you receive so many telemarketing calls that it is seriously annoying. Things have changed in other ways too.You might recall dramatic movie scenes where the bad guy disconnects the call by pressing the button on the cradle just as the damsel in distress is about to be complete it. Can you imagine that with a cell phone? And gone are scenes where people received calls at restaurants with the waiter bringing a phone to the table and plugging it into a nearby socket. 

I think the advent of personal cell phones has also changed family dynamics considerably. Before them, everyone relied on the one line in the house. There was contention to use it, and angry outbursts ensued when someone hogged the line for long periods. Parents knew whom the children were talking to and sort of knew what was going on with them. There was less privacy and perhaps fewer secrets. When calls came for someone who was out, messages had to be taken. A little note pad and a pen were kept by the phone for this purpose. Family friends got an opportunity to chat up the children when they answered.  

With everyone having their personal phone I wonder if we have lost something. The family phone created an invisible bond that is now gone. The family phone - it has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

Room Away From Home

One of the downsides of travelling is that you have to sleep on strange beds in hotels and motels. The excitement of visiting new places is necessarily tempered by the loss of the familiar comfort of one's own bed. Now there are those who regularly commute on a weekly basis being consultants (have brief case, will travel) and such. I suppose they can get used to a different room every week. My job requires no travel and so the only times I am confronted with this problem is when traveling for pleasure.

I must confess that even at home I am a fidgety sleeper. But hotel rooms and beds present peculiar problems that I am sure you all have encountered. The pictures of the room do look inviting and comfortable. The colours are calming and the decor in general unobtrusive and muted though I have seen exceptions to this. The hotel management seems committed to ensure an uneventful and comfortable sojourn. So at least are the expectations.

When you check in to the room, you feel the sense of peace. But things seem to change when you turn in for the night. That inviting tucked in sheet turns out to be a trap. You have to insert yourself between the bed and the bed sheet like a cork in a bottle. It would be a perfect fit if you convert your body into a flat cutout cartoon-style. The impossibly tight space makes you feel like you have been placed under restraints. There may also be a sense of apprehension - what if the fire alarm goes off and you have to get out in a hurry?

You can always loosen the sheet before getting in (after you are in you are completely helpless) but it is quite a job to pull the sheet completely out from under the mattress. I am sure people have thrown their backs out trying to do that. I really like the sheet to turn with my body when I turn in the bed and so have to have the sheet completely loose from the mattress. If you have seen the Seinfeld episode where George gets mad about this, you will agree that this is but a reasonable requirement.

If you do manage to get the sheet pulled out to your comfort, it is not all snores after that. The room turns pitch dark when you switch off the bedside light but a minute or two later as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see that the curtains have these inevitable gaps either in the centre or at the sides that let in disconcerting streaks of light from outside that just fall on your face. You can try to adjust them all you want but you will fail. Some hotels place the the air-conditioning unit just below the curtain covering the window which results in the curtain being blown away from the window and creating a dancing display of light. Good for disco perhaps but certainly not for sleeping.

The bed itself is of unpredictable quality but it is the pillows that I find most troubling. Either they provide no support or they are so firm you feel like your head is on another floor altogether. I don't know who thinks it is a good idea to fill pillows with feathers but some hotels provide such pillows. As far as I know, birds do not sleep on feathers. The wonderfully fluffed up pillow sinks like an anchor the moment you rest your head on it. Good luck trying to reshape it after that.

The light from the leaky curtains may be enough to irritate you but it is certainly not enough to illuminate anything else. If you get up at night, you will need to turn on the bedside lamp which is as powerful as a search light. Now I know some people find it hard to get back to sleep (no points for guessing who) after being in the beam of a flood light in the middle of their sleep. But if you do not turn on the light, you will likely trip over your own shoes or bump into the furniture in the unfamiliar room.

If all this makes you get up somewhat tired and dreary-eyed, a shower is the perfect cure for that. The hotel shower is in my opinion the best feature of the room and will definitely make you feel refreshed. The building code regarding low flow shower heads (at least in CA) does not apparently apply to hotels. The shower is unusually powerful and you may find some of your hair being separated from your scalp but it is worth the risk. Best of all you don't have to worry about your water bill although the hotel bill may clean out your wallet.

Keeping Score

I was watching a soccer game on TV the other day and was finding the commentary somewhat dull. It felt as though the pace of the commentary did not match that of the game. Then I switched to a Spanish language channel and things changed immediately. Though I could not follow the language, it seemed more in tune with the game than English. The commentators seemed to talk as if they were on radio, and not television. Just then, one of the teams scored a goal and the announcer exploded into the the customary 'Go.............al' with the 'oooo' going on for a whole minute. Such enthusiasm is infectious and I found myself getting caught up in the excitement.

This got me thinking about the the time when radio was the source of sports news and live coverage. Some sports are well-suited for the radio as the pace of play allows the commentators to give a very good, detailed account of the proceedings. Others are either too slow or too fast paced. Golf for example allows enough time for the commentators to tell you the life story of the players between shots. The crowds are docile and clap dutifully at the appropriate times. Altogether too dull, if you ask me.

Cricket lends itself to radio commentary particularly well in my opinion, though nowadays it is all about the television. Remember the time you had to follow cricket matches through radio commentary? The sight of people with a small transistor radio glued to their ears was all too common before the advent of televised games. If the game was played overseas, the short wave radio enabled us to tune in to stations in Australia, England and West Indies to follow test matches played there. There were excellent commentators who brought the game to you in detail - ball by ball. Within India, it was All India Radio - AIR. Elsewhere, it would be ABC or BBC. Best of all, there were no commercials interrupting the game. Even during drink breaks.

Listening to someone describing the action creates some suspense and builds tension and anticipation. Consider this. The batsman hits a skier and a fielder is running to catch the ball. I recall one commentator going, 'Will he take it? Will he take it? Noooo..., he drops it'. Or this. 'No Australian fielder within speaking distance of another' when the West Indian batsmen were destroying the Aussie attack in a World Cup final. You do not get this when watching the game on TV. You can say that the commentary forces you to see the world (or just the sports field in this case) through someone else's eyes. I suppose we can all do with some of that.

When AIR decided to introduce Hindi commentary for cricket matches, I was concerned as I did not know the language. But as more than 90% of the description was in English, there was little difficulty in following - 'mid-off ki tarah push', 'sundar cover drive', and other things. Every field position  - slip, gully, cover, mid-on and so on, every stroke - off-drive, sweep, square cut, etc., was the same - they just used the English terms. There was no attempt to translate these, thank god. However, there was one crucial problem. I could not follow the score very well. I could make out the number of wickets, but the runs turned out to be tricky. I struggled to figure out the numbers especially past the forties. Mercifully, the commentary would change to English after a few minutes.

Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against any language. For example, I used to like listening to radio coverage of hockey games in Hindi. Hockey being fast paced, kept the commentators on their toes. They tried hard to keep up and the commentary sometimes turned into a rapid chanting of the players' names - 'Virinder, Balwinder', etc. - as they passed the ball back and forth and advanced down the field. The English language could not match that just as it could not stand up against Spanish in soccer.

It is not that the English commentary was always great. The commentators on AIR varied a great deal in ability and had their own quirks. There was this time when one of them was providing a recap of the day's play till that point for the benefit of listeners overseas who would have just started receiving the direct relay. He opened with, 'Today is sankaranthi' and went on with what seemed like a prepared monologue. The misty morning, the cloudless sky that followed and of course the various happenings on the field too were covered. In the ten minutes that this took, there were a couple of big roars from the crowd but he ignored them and continued with the speech. At the end of it he informed us that two more wickets had fallen in the time he was giving the summary. So now he had to launch into another recap and almost missed the loss of the next wicket.

India's fascinating diversity provided us with endless opportunities to entertain ourselves by trying to come up with commentaries in Tamil, Telugu and so on. We used to wonder if the regional powers would actually try that. However, TV coverage started around this time and the language barrier was finally lifted. Nowadays the coverage is state of the art with multiple cameras and mikes everywhere. If only the commercials were kept in check and the commentators spoke less, things would be great.

The first commentator in history was probably Sanjaya in the epic Mahabharata where he described the happenings on the battlefield to the blind king Dhritarashtra. He (I mean Sanjaya of course and not the king) was blessed with divine vision to not only see things as they unfolded while sitting in the palace but also look into the fighters' minds and know their thoughts and feelings. Today's commentators sit in boxes and follow the game from a vantage position. Strangely, divine powers or not, they too purport to know what the players on the field are thinking if you believe what they say!

Finally, a word on the word 'commentator'. I am intrigued by this word. How did this come about? From comment, we have commenter. To comment is not the same as providing a commentary, so from the latter should we get commentarian? But we got commentator instead. That's English for you but I am not about to commentate on that.
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Life by Numbers

Numbers make things appear predictable and stable. Saying 'He is six feet tall' is more definitive than saying 'He is tall'. We like things to be measurable and finite. Go to any bookstore and look at the self-help section. You will see all sorts of topics reduced to a finite number of things - Seven Habits, Five Ways, Ten Values, etc., etc. It is comforting to find that things can be specified in this manner. They look manageable. 'Five Easy Fixes' is more attractive than 'One Hundred Ways' to do something.

We are so addicted to numbers that we have started to apply them even when dealing with intangible things. The nurse asks a patient to describe the intensity of his pain on a scale of 1 to 10. How does he do that? I have no clue but this is a standard question used by medical professionals now. I suppose if the pain is unbearable, the patient will say 10 and get medication. If on the other hand, he says 4, he may merely receive some words of comfort. The point is tolerance to pain varies widely from one individual to another. What is level 10 anyway? Do I even want to know? Instead of asking the patient, maybe the nurse can be trained to gauge the pain level by poking the part in question. If the patient merely winces it is level 3, if he swears loudly then it is 7, and so on. If he faints, then it is surely level 10.

It is now fairly common to employ a scale of 1 to 5 or 1 to 10 to measure almost anything. The problem is there is no reference point to know what this actually means. I am sure you have been to restaurants that want us to specify the level of spiciness in their dishes using this scale. Without a common basis, level 5 in one eatery may merely be 3 in another. One diner may find that level 10 hardly tickles his taste buds while another may feel like he is on fire with a mere 3. So the scientific sounding measure turns out to be pretty useless in this case.

Numbers can be used to lull us into a false sense of confidence. Advertisers know this well. An ad claims that four out of five people preferred product A over B in a blind study. But we don't know the actual sample size. What we may not know is that they actually surveyed 50 people and dropped many data points and used only 20 so that they could 'truthfully' claim four out of five chose A. The 30 people excluded may have chosen B! On the other hand, if they only surveyed five then it is a very small sample size and the result is suspect. As they say in many ads, your results may vary. So numerical data can be stated to appear more respectable than they are. Here's another example. If a job applicant says he was among the top ten in his class, it merely means that he was actually the tenth. If he was any higher, he would have been more specific. In any case, without knowing the class size, we cannot be sure if this is good or not.

Don't get me wrong. Of course, numbers are important. The human body needs many parameters to fall within narrow ranges. Small variations in certain hormone levels, for example, can wreak havoc on one's health. We are very much like Goldilocks in this sense. But extreme dependence on numbers is a little unsettling to me. My entire health is being reduced to a set of numbers and decisions are made on the basis of where they fall on a chart. Are my numbers within the range or outside? That is certainly useful to know. But now complicated formulae are used to arrive at a number and they in turn decide whether I should be put on a drug regimen or not. 'Your risk of a cardiac event in the next ten years is x %. So you should start taking this tablet (usually for the rest of your life)' - I am not sure I want to go that far. I wonder if doctors are being relieved of their responsibility with this reliance on digital diagnosis.

To be fair, one must also consider the plight of doctors. Research studies come out with various confusing guidelines now and then. The drug companies keep pushing medicines through intense advertisements that urge you to 'ask your doctor about' their new wonder drug. The internet is full of all sorts of articles that purport to give medical information. Second opinion these days most likely comes from Dr. Google. In fact, Google can help you obtain third, fourth or as many opinions as you want. I am sure many patients are bringing the wisdom gained online to the consulting rooms. I wonder how the poor doctor deals with them.

If you find comfort in the numbers, you may be disturbed by research that's constantly contradicting previous findings. Or moves the goal posts by changing the numbers. For example, saturated fats are supposed to be bad. Or are they? Lower cholesterol levels mean better heart health. Or do they? Statins work by lowering cholesterol. Or maybe their benefit comes from something else. Of course almost every study also says that we should not change what we are doing on the basis of the study. All a lay person can do is reach a state of learned ignorance after reading about different studies and their conclusions. This actually makes the case for asking your doctor who is best equipped to deal with the deluge of information.

I think it is fitting that I end with some statistics of my own. This piece is among my top 50 posts and as of the time of publishing, one hundred percent of the people who read it, have liked it. Now, if you would like to rate this post, may I suggest you use a scale of 5 to 5?