With television sports channels going on overdrive to
telecast golf tournaments, it is but natural that more people are showing
interest in playing that game. Unfortunately, in India one needs to be a member
of a golf club to enjoy the sport. That is easier said than done. On an average,
one needs to wait more than ten years after applying to start playing, unless
one is ready to pay an obscene sum to get early membership. I struck gold some
years back and now play regularly in a nice golf course.
I underestimated the skill required to play the game when
I started. Thanks to watching a few videos of some professionals easily hitting
long shots, I presumed that my old skill at college level cricket would serve
me well to master the new game.
The first day on the course was eventful. I was dressed no
different than any of the professional golfers one sees on TV. Plus, a brand
new golf set acquired through a relative in the USA. I placed the ball on the tee
and took a couple of practice swings with my club. I was now all set to hit my
first shot on a golf course. I took an almighty swing and was confident that
the ball was headed towards the flag. There was a hushed silence all around from
the spectators. To my horror, and embarrassment I found that the ball was still
there in all its glory on the tee just the way I had placed it. To cut a long and
tragic story short, my ball moved about a hundred yards after five shots. The
next day I enrolled for coaching.
Golf
and Bridge have two things in common. A post-mortem of the game, and exchange
of recrimination between the losing partners. However, unlike in the card game
there is a therapy centre at the golf course to calm frayed tempers. It is
universally called the 19th hole where a few mugs of beers will soon
cool down the antagonists. This is also the place where one drops names and
talks about one’s encounter with Tiger or Rory or Jeev (it will always be first
names to show familiarity).
For
a golfer, the Old Course at St. Andrews, Scotland has the same status as
Tirupati, Mecca or the Vatican. It was my dream for a long time to breathe the
air there. A year back, with a reluctant wife in tow, I reached the course. I
went through the normal routine of photographs of me against the background of
the club house, to prove to my pals that I actually visited the course. Then it
was off to the proshop to buy some mementos to give to my golf pals. Like in
any other tourist spot the prices were a rip off. Today I can proudly claim
that I am St. Andrews returned.
Like
horse-racing, golf also has a handicap system. The lower the handicap the
better you are as a player. Unfortunately, with my stratospherically inclined
handicap golfers find it embarrassing to play with me. So I plough a lone
furrow on the course week after week. But I am not going to give up.
