The cricketing world is in the process of being turned on its head.   

In two days, the Indian home team juggernaut is being declawed, derailed, decommissioned, decimated. 

The word juggernaut, as it happens, has Hindi roots, an Anglicised derivation of Jagannath, and a very apt word for the almost unstoppable force that is Indian cricket at home. 

After being embarrassed in Bangaluru, the home team cultivated a pitch designed to play to the strengths of the home side, a poppadom-esque surface, waiting to explode on impact when the Indian spin attack delivers its vast array of spin grenades.  

This masterplan came undone to a degree when Latham won the toss and elected to bat, dooming the hosts to chasing on a deteriorating wicket.  

New Zealand batted manfully, establishing a passable first innings total before Flatline Santner tore the unflappable Indian line-up to shreds. His 7 wickets, not dissimilar to the spell of the other unheralded tweaker in the match, the almost unplayable Washington Sundar, set up an impressive second innings bowling display from the tourists.  

Yes, the match is far from over. Writing off the home team’s ability to chase down any total in the fourth innings is foolish, but to suggest that New Zealand aren’t in the driver's seat, is just as reckless.  

My enthusiasm around a possible, maybe even probable win, has a touch of premature celebration about it, as the vagaries of this beautiful game can make idiots of us all. But to maintain Santner style reaction to the test match so far is to deny myself the joy of the proceedings to date.   

The juggernaut is on the cusp of being decommissioned, a home series loss for the first time in 12 years beckons. 

I am so here for it.