Column | Table tyranny – The Hindu

Dear readers, have you ever met this writer in person? No? Hearty congratulations. I would not recommend this in even the gravest scenario. Even my children understand. When they come home after school, and if I open the door, they look at me and say: “Oh no.”

But if, perchance, you were to meet me, you would immediately think to yourself: “Now this is a man who is handsome in the same way that men used to be handsome in the 1970s.”

By which I mean that they were jovial fellows with tremendous facial hair and a generous approach to body mass index.

The point I am making is that I am positively inclined towards a good eatery. Not for me the distractions of fancy decor, discerning dress codes, and other such pretensions. Give me a good menu, generous portions, efficient wait staff, and a fair bill, and I am severely thrilled.

Today, my friends, I am going to take issue with the food and beverage industry. Now, as some of you might be thinking already, I have previously, in these pages, lamented the rise of QR code menus.

Today, I have the great misfortune of informing you that the QR code was just the tip of the disappointment iceberg. The decline of the modern restaurant extends far deeper than I was ready to accept.

Let me explain. I am currently travelling with my family on holiday. We are having a very enjoyable time in a seaside town. As we were checking into our hotel last night, I asked the manager to recommend a few local restaurants of high quality. He immediately laid out a map and marked out a few spots.

“You must definitely go here,” he said, drawing a star on the map. “It is the finest restaurant in this city. And it is very famous. Many writers have written about this restaurant in their books.”

“Say no more,” I said. And immediately went to the restaurant’s website. Which had a prominent link for bookings.

Readers, this was the point at which my senses should have tingled.

Rarely have I seen a website that so actively tries to discourage you from booking a table. First, the website design was the equivalent of being electrocuted over and over again. Nothing would work properly. Every time I thought I was close to finding a booking, the website would do something random. Like reset itself. Or load a version of the page in Arabic. Or load a date picker that would simply refuse to let me select February 2026.

Finally, after 30 minutes of self-electrocution, I was able to find a date. At which point the website began to speak to me like some sort of member of the Mumbai underworld in a bad Malayalam film from the 90s.

“Hello. If you don’t come on time, we will charge you money. If you book for five people but only four people turn up, then we will beat you with cricket bats. If you don’t eat a minimum amount per person, we will burn your house down. If you come too early, we will find your favourite shirt and then wash it on the wrong laundry setting. But if you sit for more than two hours, then we will switch around some of the hot and cold taps in your house. But not all of them and we won’t tell you which ones.”

Friends, do you remember the good old days when you went to a restaurant and someone would welcome you with folded hands? And if you couldn’t afford such a restaurant, then at least they would paste the photo of a lady saying namaste on the door as you entered.

I am sorry to tell you that this is no longer the case. The new trend with restaurants is to pre-emptively treat you like some career criminal. This is a travesty. And I have come up with a word for people who treat you like this: guestapo.

Example sentence: “My dentist went full guestapo on me by sending three reminders that I would be fined if I missed my appointment. So I reached 20 minutes early only to be informed that patients are allowed inside the clinic just five minutes before their slot.”

Have you been the subject of a guestapo? Was the food worth it? Yes? Okay, then please give me the details of the restaurant.

The writer helps early stage companies communicate better. He blogs at www.whatay.com.