Bunta or marbles was my first exposure to any sport of relative seriousness, and failure. This was probably when I was about six years old and played in the courtyard of our family home in Kericho, where my uncle Pratap Raja, Kunchan Fai, Patu, Kirit and Raju lived.
Now their son, Kirit (and possibly all future sporting competitors) have some sort genetic advantage over me. Kirit was a tall eight year old who could flex his fingers to get maximal projectile advantage with the marbles, such that the force of the hit on my (bunta) almost broke them, and sent them shooting beyond normal human capacity.
I have since graduated into different sports mostly to do with balls from hockey, football, squash, and tennis. And recently retired from WPBC, the Winter Pansies Badminton Club after receiving my ‘invisible man’ T-shirt. In all these sports I have always attended the Christmas party, and made my presence felt, such that I secured the next game, even as a back-up.
So fifty years on from marbles, and with such a sporting pedigree, I felt that as my knees could get worse with tennis, I will have a go at golf. Looks so easy I thought, especially because I see golfers or mostly older people hitting the ball. Thought I would never play this sport, as there is no aerobic component, apart from hitting the ball, and perhaps it’s a good walk spoilt.
My first foray was in Marbella, after getting invited to play by a pharmaceutical company. So my nephew, Pritesh, gave me some clubs, and a little lesson (always use the seven iron, he said and if somebody asks you your handicap say 28), and I bought some black and white golf shoes from the local golf club. Oh, the pro there sold me five lessons, and I took one the day before.
So the first lesson was about the different clubs, and some are made of iron, and some I think wood. Then there are the wedges. Like the first car driving lesson, I did not hit a ball.
I ensured I had the best looking golf looking cap for my initiation in Spain. Got to look the part! Like tennis, there is an initial politeness, that golfers proffer, until you play, when the lower handicappers, go silently mental, and do quite disappearing acts.
In Spain, for some strange reason, I was asked to hit my ball first, so I placed the ball on the T, and somehow it fell off. I lined up like Ronaldo the Portuguese footballer, with a little puff and knee bend, took my stance, took a practice shot without hitting the ball. However, the wind made the ball fall off. I replaced the ball on the T, and took a shot, and the ball almost got scalped and fell a few feet ahead, in full view of an industry audience. I turned around, but Pritesh could not be seen despite his prominent frame.
I was asked to drive the buggy, and somehow went backwards. Ever since this episode of Mr Bean, I took a sabbatical from golf.
Only recently have I made made a re-entry, with encouragement from my brother Naval. I have always paid due respect to my older brothers, and he rightfully said that as I live near a golf course I should play, and so would he…I think that was his ulterior motive. He brought me a PING bag, some Callaway Clubs ( for a while I used to call Galloway), an Ericsson hat, and surely my golf has to improve. It has improved, well sort of, sometimes, and and mostly when alone.
My first improvement was that the ability to find one’s ball when you hit it in the bush. I learnt the term line, and soon, if I did not find mine, I would find somebody else’s. The second improvement was that the zig-zags became bigger, or somehow I was getting closer to the green, with a relatively smaller ‘tour-de-France’.
Now golf is not just about playing. It’s also about etiquette, much like ball room dancing. Cardinal sins, never walk on somebody’s line, do not talk and release even the tiniest wind when somebody is hitting the ball. And take your turn on the ‘dance’ floor. And ladies have grace in terms of the distance they hit, and can do a little elf flick on hitting.
Though major levels of polite bribery, and connections, I have recently been admitted to the Birmingham Pharmacists Golf Society (BPGS), and it has long standing members from lots of places outside Birmingham. And also the Friends Golf Society, which was kindly introduced to me by my brother Pankaj, who is a career golfer.
The other aspect of golf is banter, and the frequency of this is inversely
proportional to the level of acquaintance. But, this requires a robust enough understanding of the language, and despite being multilingual, this is like learning Sanskrit on the side. Perhaps it’s my age, or embarrassment in asking questions.
I have had some flattering comments, regarding dog-legs to the left, where I draw the ball. Only recently, somebody told me that means you tend hit the ball to the left if the fairway goes that way! I do not think I will ever be able to fade the ball, that is hit it to the right on T-off, but at least I will be able to make the courteous (and jealous) comment when somebody else does.
Golfers also talk to the ball, like go go go! And well out! My hearing is poor, so recently when I pitched a ball onto the green, I spoke to mine, saying shit, shit, shit, having listened to others say it. It’s actually sit, sit, sit. I wonder whether this game formally involved having a dog!
So I have recently played with my brother-in-law Subodh, lads from the Friends Society who have mastered the art of 24/7 banter including on What’s App, BPGS (some new people and friends…until they get to know my golf) , and abroad.
A couple of weeks ago it was Portugal for a whole week of Golf with pharmacists from all around the UK. The weather was lovely, hotel was great, the food was excellent, and the golf was well….. if only it went in!
I was however, on the last day, matched up with three lovely ladies, and we nearly had a picnic. I discovered one thing in common with them, I can multitask, and recently I have taken up philosophical thinking alongside golfing! The journey carries on.
Good Day! It does have a lot of meanings.