Tag: Golf

It Happens Only in India!

Early one summer morning, I was on my way to Gurgaon to participate in a golf tourney. It was an annual feature in which the logistics officers (serving and the veterans) of the Indian Air Force vie for honours. The modest prizes mean little; actually it is an occasion for the logistics officers to meet and catch up with friends. I had started a tad early from Noida to be able to spend some quality time with buddies before teeing off.

I saw a white Ambassador car parked by the roadside as I was driving past the Film City. Someone was working under the bonnet. Another person, back towards the car, was looking expectantly at the passing vehicles. It was daybreak and there were very few of them on the road. The man was fidgety, gesturing to stop the passing cars.

I stopped abeam his car and lowered my window. “What’s the matter?”

“Sir, my car has broken down. I have to catch a flight from the Indira Gandhi International Airport. The driver has not been able to place his finger on the fault yet. I’ll miss the flight if I wait till the car gets repaired…”

“Hop in,” I said cutting him short. “You are lucky. I am heading for a golf course in Gurgaon. The airport is on my way and I have some time in hand. With a small detour, I’ll be able to drop you.”

He was accompanied by a lady who stepped out of the car as we spoke. They sat in my car; the gentleman by my side and the lady on the rear seat. We exchanged niceties. Then the gentleman expressed their profound gratefulness. What he couldn’t express in words, he tried to convey with his body language.

They were in their late twenties; maybe early thirties. Just married. They were on their way to Leh for a honeymoon. The gentleman was a senior executive with a Government of India enterprise. The lady was an NRI settled in the US. She had come to India after decades.

As we drove along, we indulged in polite meaningless conversation, the type we make with strangers to while away the time––we talked about the weather, about the beauty of nature, about global warming, about congestion on the roads… The lady, who was a bit reserved in the beginning, started participating actively.

I was buIMG_3770sy making calculations as I drove; I wanted to be in time for the golf tournament after dropping the couple at the airport. With the mind racing ahead of the car and trying to reach the golf course, I was participating passively in the discussion. But then, the lady said something, which drew all my attention. After thanking me for the lift she said, “I never expected this to happen in India.”

I turned my head for the first time, smiled at her and said: Young lady, it happens only in India.” There was silence.

The silence was broken by the man. He gave a long monologue, which was meant for his sweetheart. He highlighted every good thing that happens in India.

The lady was sheepish when I left the honeymooners at the airport.

The “Putting Ball”

It just happened one day half way through the game; on the tenth tee. I hit the ball 60 degrees off the intended line. I thought my stance, swing, follow through, …the works––which I had perfected by playing regularly over a year––were just fine. It didn’t end there; it repeated with every shot thereafter. The error of 60 degrees was a constant. What was disheartening was the inconsistency of the direction, left or right, which made corrective action impossible. I took six strokes to make it to the green (par 4). With shattered confidence, I carefully aligned my ‘putting ball’ and struck. A seven-foot putt just made it to the hole; dead centre. The sound of the ball falling into the cup was music to the ears.

The story repeated on the eleventh, the twelfth and the thirteenth holes––dismal performance along the fairway. But the putts were face-saving. The stance I took to prevent the ball going off the fairway was funny and yet it did not work because I was inconsistent with the direction, left or right. Then there was an assault on my self-esteem as a golfer.

“Sir, I think you need to take a break of a few days and go to the range,” advised my caddie. I took a sip of water and swallowed it as I did the pearl of wisdom given by the caddie. My golfing world was coming crumbling down..

As I trudged to the fourteenth tee, I banged the palm of my left hand with the right fist with the ball in my hand. It was a desperate physical and psychological action to retrieve what ever remained of my confidence. That’s when I found something strange; something weird. I could feel and hear the ball rattling. I shook the ball close to my ear and I could hear tIMG_3928.jpghe rattling more clearly.

“Eureka!” I was playing with an old golf ball. Its core had separated from its shell. And the shell was chipped too. Its dislocated centre of gravity and adversely affected aerodynamics were causing it to travel erratically through the air. Elementary Physics!

I played the remaining game with my ‘Putting Ball’. I regained my form as instantly as I had lost it. That was the day I threw the idea of a ‘Putting Ball’ from my mind. I started playing with the best ball in my bag. Thanks to friends and dear ones abroad, my stock of new balls never depletes. Very soon I earned a handicap card of 14. IMG_3934Although modest by all standards, it was enviable handicap in that environment.

Lately, my passion for writing has made my visits to the golf course less frequent. I do hit a few balls across a football ground with a pitching wedge to retain my muscle memory. But when I do return to the course (once in a blue moon, though) I feel comfortable betting with friends who use a ‘Putting Ball’.

 The probability of hitting the target is high when one uses the best arrow in one’s quiver.