He stopped his cover drive with a frown, as two saree clad groundswomen approached the stroke's vicinity, dragging along with them a squeaky roller. The women stopped just short of him, pulling the burden back from where it came. Watching them recede, he moved back and across, and with eyes focused over his clasped wrists, he executed the text book defence. As he held the pose with grace, the electronic lawnmower swallowed stubborn tufts of grass with a chugging din inside the square, while loud painters splashed their drenched brushes on the smoothened side of the carpet-like lawn. As the sun sunk below the smoggy Ahmedabad horizon,...