“Keep your head down, sir!” My caddie has shouted this so often that I suspect he's no longer trying to improve my swing. He's simply trying to spare me the horror of watching where the ball goes. I've even decided on a fitting inscription for my golf bag: “Handicap 17. Eyes on the scenery, hopes on the next shot, and absolutely no idea where this one went.”
The 7-Iron
It began three years ago when I spotted my neighbour, Mr. Jain, with his golf bag. “Jain Saab, I've never played this game,” I remarked. “Order a 7-iron from Amazon. I'll teach you,” he replied. Days later, I was at the driving range, armed with one club and no clue. Thus began my second true love. Snooker remains the first, mainly because its balls stay on the table. Soon, impatience took over. I bought a beginner's kit and headed for the course. How difficult could hitting a stationary ball be?
Fifteen lost balls (a gross underestimate), a few birdies, and hundreds of samosas later, I've learnt that golf is a masterclass in humility. One shot makes you feel like a professional; the next sends you searching the bushes. Calling golf hitting a ball with a stick is like calling an Indian wedding a quick family get-together. My handicap is 17, but my excuses are comfortably in single figures.
I have a tip that can take five strokes off anyone’s game: it’s called an eraser.
And yet, I keep returning. For the peaceful mornings, the laughter, and the occasional perfect shot. Golf has taught me that some things are worth pursuing even when you never quite master them. Three years ago, I hoped to conquer the greens. Today, I've accepted that the greens have conquered me. I now play for the view, the company, and the pleasure of being humbled in beautiful surroundings. The scorecard, I've decided, is merely an unnecessary administrative detail.
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