Sunday Musings: Learning a Golf Lesson

Gurgaon: The game of GOLF has many stories. Some years ago the late Bob Hope, an English-born American comedian, had organised a tournament for all the retired US Presidents. In the closing remarks, referring to the wayward shots of George Bush Sr, Bob remarked, “San Francisco has nine golf courses. Today George played on all of them.”

In my case it all started in 1966. We were deployed on posts along the then Ceasefire Line in J&K. It was a very active area with firing and casualties almost on a daily basis. For me as an Adjutant, it was a 24-hour commitment for days on end. I was stressed out. A break was needed.

I fixed up with a Gunner friend in Poonch to have lunch with him one day. The commanding officer agreed to let me go. “Not more than six hours’ absence” was his caveat. Considering that the outing entailed a two-hour one-way drive, it was not much of a break. But anything was welcome.

After an exchange of pleasantries with my friend, we walked to their dug-out mess. As we entered, I had my first introduction to golf. A steel tumbler lay agape on its side at one end of the carpet. From the other end some 12 feet away, my host’s CO was trying to hit golf balls in its mouth. “Ssshhh”, my host whispered, putting his finger on the mouth. We froze at the door reverentially. The CO was missing his mark generously and using cuss words.

Some two misses later I heard the clicking of boots outside. “Ram Ram Sahib” the caller said as I looked back to see a tall man in regimental police uniform, “woh kal wali ball mil gayee sahib.” The CO remained focused on the tumbler. “Shabaash”, he said from the corner of his mouth, “Woh parson wali bhi dhoondho.”

Not enthused by the first experience, golf went off my mental radar.

In 1988 I took over command of a Brigade on the Indo-Tibet border in East Sikkim. One of my ardent predecessors had laid out a nine-hole golf course there among boulders. It was recognised by the Indian Golf Union. ‘At a 12,800-foot altitude it is the second highest golf course in the world’ said a notice board at the entrance.

Nature has only two seasons in that area: the rains or snow. Our playing gear, therefore, always included gum boots

and an umbrella. Aided by the rarefied air, experienced golfers hit long drives, some up to 300 yards. In my case the drives were often measured in minus, because that is where the ball went after ricocheting off a rock some yards in front. I also came to understand why the CO in Poonch had been missing the seemingly easy putts on the carpet.

I can’t say I am a fanatic golfer but I have been fairly regular on the course. Recently I played with an Admiral at the Army Golf Course in Delhi cantonment. After the game, he recounted his experience of having played with the Commandant of Australian Staff College, where he had gone to attend a training course. Having seen his game, the Commandant called the coach and asked him to conduct a lesson for the young man.

The next day the coach asked him to take a tee shot. After he had twice gone off into the rough, the coach told him, “Sir, this time after you hit the ball you must spit on the tee before you look up.” The shot went perfectly straight and he paid five dollars for the lesson.

I admired the Admiral’s masterful subtlety and resolved to follow the lesson.   Teeing off is like taking a long, written examination; you have to keep your head down till it is finished.                                                                                                                      (pics credit-Golf Magazine & Kamal Vatsain Library)