Does handicap matter?
Last Monday, I had a remarkable round of golf. I played just nine holes and that, too, after a break of about six months. I had no pars, no birdies; four bogeys and some double bogeys. Besides, I lost two new balls during the round. Despite these apparent setbacks, what made the game immensely enjoyable was the company. I played with my own young self of 35 years ago. Let me call him ‘Ashok*’, for he was so different from me, the Ashok of today. Air Vice Marshal Sudhanshu Rath and Brigadier Dixit were the others who completed our four-ball.
Teeing off at six on a Monday morning at the Air Force Golf Course has a distinct advantage beyond the beautiful weather and calm of the early morning. There is less rush—the serving officers are back to work and many a golfer takes a break after a weekend of partying. As a spin-off, caddies are more easily available than on other days. There is that feeling of ownership of the golf course.
Ashok* gave me a questioning look when I teed up with a new Callaway golf ball on the first tee. Later, he asked me, “Why did you tee up with a new ball? Wasn’t that your putting ball?”
“I tee off with the best ball in my bag and I use the same for putting,” I told him.
“But that way, there is a greater possibility of losing a new ball.”
He wasn’t convinced when I told him that the aerodynamics of an old, worn-out ball are unpredictable and affect one’s game adversely in ways that one doesn’t even realise. I suggested he read my post on the putting ball. He gave me an I-told-you-so smile when, in the very next shot, I sent my ball into a palm tree, not to be seen again.
In contrast, Ashok* hit an old, chipped ball, hard and straight, down the long fairway. It veered to the right towards the end of its 220-yard flight and landed in the rough. The little extra time his caddie—a rookie who had begun caddying just three months ago—took to locate his ball annoyed him. “It seems I am caddying for this guy rather than he caddying for me,” Ashok* grumbled.
The rains had endowed the course with lush fairways, but they had also rendered the rough and the bunkers difficult to play. So, we had mutually agreed to play preferred lies through the course. Rath, Dixit and I improved our lies whenever we felt the need, but Ashok* was determined to play the ball as it lay—he wanted to stick to the rule book. His stickler-for-rules attitude cost him strokes and frustrated him. To vent his anger, he cursed his caddie for not knowing his job.
On the fifth green, lying about 10 feet from the pin, I asked my caddie, ritualistically, how the green was.
“Sir, it is medium.”
That answer made me laugh because, since I started playing golf in 1991, very few of my caddies have reported the greens to be slow or fast. ‘Medium’ is the safest bet. With that ‘tip’, I landed well short of the hole and took a peaceful three strokes to putt. I overheard Dixit’s caddie also reporting the green to be ‘medium’. Dixit, too, landed short and took two to putt. With another ‘medium’ report, Rath was able to execute a 6-foot putt. Seeing the two of us fall short and miss our putts, while Rath got his, Ashok*’s caddie was confused. He told him that, for the young golfer, the green was ‘slow’. So, our man hit hard, ended up well past the pin, and took four to putt. Obviously, Ashok* was utterly cheesed off, and rightly so—he was using a new putting ball with a line marked with a permanent marker for alignment.
Kabhi khushi, kabhi gham continued until we began walking to the ninth tee. Three of us were enjoying ourselves, but Ashok* was serious about his game and score. Lost in his thoughts, he inadvertently distracted another four-ball by walking across their fairway.
The tee shots of all three of us for the ninth hole were good. For the second shot, there was a water hazard between me and the green—about 150 yards from me. I was going to use a 7-wood, which gives me about 170 yards to land beyond the water hazard. Ashok*, standing next to me, suggested that I play safe: take an 8-iron and drop short of the hazard. I thanked him for the advice but didn’t heed it. My ball landed well beyond the water hazard. I missed out on a par and ended up with a bogey.
Rath and Dixit wanted to continue—play the back nine. Ashok*, rattled by the caddie, looked for another caddie for the back nine. He too decided to leave when he didn’t find a ‘good’ caddie.
In the parking area, when I bade goodbye to Ashok*, he responded with the usual niceties and asked me, “How long have you been playing golf?”
“Nearly 35 years.”
“Hmm…” He paused, gave me an inscrutable look, and continued, “And what’s your handicap?”
“My honesty,” I said, without batting an eye.
I am sure my younger self of 35 years ago, wouldn’t have understood me, for he continued, in a tone which sounded sermonising and cheering at the same time, “Although your scores aren’t anything to write home about, you play calmly, and you dare to experiment and choose difficult shots. How does that come so naturally to you?”
“Maybe because I belong to Generation Jones and learn from Gen Z,” I said as I drove off.
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