Golfing or Goofing

 Why don't you play Golf? My friends ask me often, now that Achille's tendon injury has put paid to my forays  on the Squash and Tennis Courts. Having spent almost half a century in uniform, sports and physical activities are as essential as the morning cuppa or the morning newspaper. A day without any activity i.e. a sedentary day is the worst nightmare that most of us  dread the most. The mood is grouchy, kids avoid you and the mistress of the house keeps you at an arm's length. But throw in an outdoor activity and we are rejuvenated, become our usual boisterous chirpy selves again. Kids know that they can ask for the moon and it shall not be denied in these euphoric moments of bliss. So golf should be good enough, it's played outdoors after all. Frankly it is not that I don't indulge in this vice called golf but there are reasons why I could not make much headway.

In the year of the Lord 1999, when the millennium was coming to an end and the world was scared about the impact of Y2K, I was bitten by this bug of golfing. I was headed to Defence Services Staff College at Wellington, which incidentally is in the state of Tamil Nadu in close proximity to Ooty. Thankfully the name change bug has spared this salubrious heaven in the Nilgiris. As is the unwritten norm in the Army that a psc ( Staff College Course qualified) officer must be a golfer as it was considered a prerequisite for scaling the steep pyramid of military hierarchy. Golf courses were the perfect arena for rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty everywhere including the Corporate world. Times have changed, now of course, golf and golf courses are not the places to frequent, instead cycling, running to remain fit is the mantra these days. But back then, possession of a golf set and a decent 18 handicap was considered an asset.  Sure enough I went ahead and procured a used half set from a friend and course-mate, the game is not for the chicken hearted and unless you have deep pockets just stay away. Pre-Sixth Pay Commission, a young Major's take home salary was barely enough to survive for the month. But sacrifices have to be made, so compromise solution was buying a half set, at a princely sum of 9000 which was equivalent to two month's take home salary.  For the uninitiated a half set is half the number of clubs, (a full set comprises 14 of them in the bag while on the course), which suffice for a beginner to get on the course. Since I was at Mhow then, I dutifully hit the driving range to hit a few balls and get acquainted with the sport. There were no coaches here but I did get to watch Mukesh Kumar, the caddie turned professional golfer practising once in a while.

Inspired and motivated I too started off, at first I thought this should be child's play, after all having played decent hockey in the academy where a moving ball needed to be connected and hit, and being a winger I was pretty good at that. But  this small little 'dimpled devil' is a different kettle of fish altogether, as it has its own mind and enjoys putting us in our place by deciding to take the trajectory that she chooses, not where it was intended to traverse. Why am I referring to her in the feminine gender, well do I even need to explain that? We strike the ball alright, but it flies in a curve in the opposite direction where it was intended to be despatched. With different clubs it behaves in an even more erratic manner. Sometimes it was our stance, or our swing or the posture, then it was our approach and if all that was addressed, the wind direction played a spoilsport. A few practise swings for the muscle memory to do the needful, but in my case the muscles suffer from short term memory loss and invariably go bonkers leaving me cursing just about everything under the Sun for the horrible shot that I just executed. The caddie or the friendly four ball chip in and say you looked up just a wee bit early. You know it was the anxiety which forced me to look up and watch the trajectory. Just when we are about to throw in the towel, she (the ball) gets into the benevolent mood and chooses to land where it was directed, in a tease, keeping us hooked for that occasional sweet spot hit and flight.

But the battle was far from over, I landed up in Wellington, where the Golf course of WGC (Wellington Gymkhana Club) is amongst the most picturesque courses in the world. Located amidst tea gardens, undulating sloped fairways, greens either below the tee or at a vertical sixty degree height precariously designed that if you miss it, you simply roll down to where you teed off from. Keeping up with the bisons and the other wildlife for company, I too embarked on this roller coaster, little realising that we have to contend with the caddies, who are supposed to be your friend, philosopher and guide carrying your golf set, advising you on the club to use, the slope of the green etc. Novices like me who invariably hit what is referred to as rough in golf parlance, which  actually is an area, which is heavily wooded  with thick undergrowth. There is no way in hell that the ball can be retrieved from there by ordinary mortals, but caddies have divine eyes, like Sanjay of Mahabharata, they can see exactly where the ball landed, albeit  with a twist, they do not let this secret out to  the Dhritrashtra like golfer, but quietly pocket the ball to be sold to us at a discounted 'used ball' price later. Golf sets are expensive, so are the balls and the other accessories, so used balls are often used for our routine golfing, with new sleeves being retained for special occasions. 

My idea of a successful round on the course was when I returned with 'all balls' in tact, pun intended. Getting back to the accessories, a golfer who is not outrageously attired isn't one, so the shorts or trousers must be in shocking colours, shoes laden with spikes, gloves, shades, bags for carrying the balls etc. I finally did get the hang of it to some extent. Over the years I did manage to hold my handicap of 18 and in fact at one point of time, they even brought it down to 16 when I started to hit the course regularly. Normally golfers aren’t very happy when their handicap goes down as they lose out on the strokes which they earn from their opponents in the four ball, but I was overjoyed as it finally was a vindication that I could actually play the game. Alas that was short-lived, as soon I was back to what is normally referred to as social golfing by bad golfers, where they play 24 to 36 handicap game,

but enjoy the friendly banter of their regular four ball, and if they are course-mates from NDA, that is the icing on the cake, of course the gentle ambling around in the green environs is the other blessing. So here I am waiting to recover fully and return to the course for suffering or rather enjoying the humiliation which this piddly golf ball inflicts on me each time, I step onto the course, but leaving me enticed for that one sweet spot driven 300 yarder, flying with that perfect trajectory landing on the green just a couple of feet away from the ‘hole, waiting for me to tap it in for a well earned birdie or even a par. Call it golfing or goofing, it is definitely addictive.