Over the past few weeks I have had the unenviable experience of scouring newspaper pages looking for despatches from the World Cup where the Indian hockey team lost a couple of close games, then topped it up by defeating South Korea. All the labour helped the team finish ninth in the tournament, a sad story for a nation that once could take pride in its accomplishments on the hockey field. It mattered little to the media or even the average sports fan. My sorrow was mine alone.
Last weekend I found myself in a similar state. Yet again. This time, I had to use a fine comb to look for a little report about the Wimbledon tennis championships where the Williams sisters are trying to add a title or two to the happy family collection that already includes 10 singles titles. Of course, the sports pages have been full of FIFA. India may not be a speck in the distance on the international football map but there is no doubting the passion for the sport here. I experienced it first hand at Mix by the BrewMaster restaurant in Moments Mall near Kirti Nagar Metro station in New Delhi. As I waited for my friend Aslam Khan to show up, my eyes fell on a standee at the entrance. And lo, it offered seemingly exotic dishes named after soccer terms. What does a burger have to do with a penalty kick, I wondered all to myself! Or a mocktail with Ramos? Then I wondered aloud a few minutes later at the second floor restaurant, having been joined by Aslam by then.
Mix too was all decked up for the occasion. As I entered, little footballs hanging by the false ceiling graced my head. I had never entertained any notions of scoring with headers, but this was a different experience. Honestly, I did not mind it at all. For a second I imagined myself heading in the winning goal. Back to reality, I sat down in a little quiet corner — not an easy accomplishment in a restaurant full of beaming and screaming soccer fans — I started my dinner with a delectable sweet n sour chicken soup. The helping was generous; the taste commanded attention. A few spoonfuls and my eyes settled on so many beautiful flags all around me. Croatia, Brazil, Spain, England, Australia, Chile….Like a little boy, in my mind I started putting the names of the countries alongside the flags.
Considering I left primary school so long ago as to make infinity intelligible, I gave up the exercise, and resumed with my food. Aslam had finished his bowl with the ease of the Mexican goalkeeper warding off a Brazilian attack. However, like a seasoned man, I wanted to take time over something that pleases the senses. Mix, though, is so prompt with service, that leisure is a luxury here. So, off went the soup bowl, in came the kabab platter! Pray, why does it trail me wherever I go? Now, even in front of gigantic screens showing Colombia in action against Ivory Coast, all I had with me were kababs! Seriously, the food may lack novelty, and more importantly, consonance with the theme of the moment, but the kababs were good. Or at least as good as a fast serving restaurant can dish out. With beer flowing freely in one section, it was advisable for we teetotallers to stick to galouti, chicken tikka, prawns and fish kabab.
As the fans cheered Colombia on — why? I could not see — we started with our main course. And lo, almost magically, dal makhni made its appearance. I confined it to the bowl on the table. Same with the kadhai paneer. My plate was decked up with mutton korma, butter chicken, machchli ka salan and a nice variety of breads. Keeping them company were a couple of teppeniyaki specials. The meat in the korma was well cooked; the fish was a shade undercooked but the salan was out of this world. It had a sting to it that made sure the diner won’t forget it in a hurry. I, too, won’t. So good was the mutton preparation that the teppeniyaki corner went a shade under-attended, undeservedly so.
It was time for desserts. But in an evening full of passionate footballs fans, giant screens, even live music in one section, I had had my sweet moments. In fact, an enviable evening. My joy was not mine alone. Aslam, who had shown remarkable concentration at the dining table, nodded his approval. Avoiding overhanging footballs, we headed for the exit with a nice tangy feeling accompanying us. For the record, a little later, Colombia won. Ivory Coast lost. I had had my golden moments though.
The next day, my unenviable search for Wimbledon scores resumed. Alone.
