What’s the difference between me and someone like, say, Jeev Milkha Singh? It’s quite simple, really – he can play golf and I can’t. Actually, forget play, can’t even understand golf. ‘No problem’ said Peter, the caddy master at the Victoria Golf and Country Resort, an hour’s drive from Kandy. ‘It’s simple. There are eighteen stages, or holes, to complete, and the aim is to put the ball in the hole in as few strokes as you can, from tee-off to putt.’ ‘Ah, in that case lead on and let me at ‘em’, I said. Peter looked discreetly embarrassed. ‘Er, the thing is, we usually don’t let rank beginners play a full round, since the course takes a lot of effort to maintain and can be damaged by... well, badly aimed swings. We’ll start you off with some practice tee-offs and then you can move on to the putts, what say?’ I could have felt slighted at this point, but I didn’t because I could see what he was on about. The course at the club is widely considered to be the best in Asia and is spectacularly beautiful, so the last thing I wanted to do was leave it looking like a war zone. A rudimentary set of golf clubs later, we set off for the tee.
As you’ve gathered by now, I don’t exactly set golf courses worldwide on fire with dazzling performances. What, then, was I doing in Sri Lanka of all places, having a go at a game I knew very little about? Put it down to a bit of good luck – a friend was a life-member of the club and had suggested I check it out, more as a picturesque spot than anything else, and I had rolled up and wangled a swing or two while I was at it. Picturesque it certainly was, as I discovered while being given a guided tour, but would I be able to uphold the Chaterji name or would I make a complete ass of myself with the business end of a golf club? The moment of truth was soon upon me.
‘Right’, said Peter briskly. ‘The key is to relax and do everything smoothly – backswing, hit and follow-through. Keep your eye on the ball at all times, from the moment you start your swing to the time it lands on the green. If you’ve played cricket a bit, then it should easier for you.’ Unfortunately, virtually all the cricket strokes I’ve essayed in my life have been agricultural hoicks and outrageous flukes, so I wasn’t especially emboldened. Still, nothing ventured and all that. I took the proffered club, had an almighty swing and made the classic slogger’s mistake of shutting my eyes at the nth moment. A wet ‘thwap’ sound ensued, and I opened my eyes to find an unmolested golf ball, a large patch of grass missing from next to it and Peter delicately wiping quantities of mud from his face and shirt. Spluttering a stream of apologies, I volunteered to bring activities to an immediate halt for fear of doing more damage to the premises, to say nothing of my ego.
Peter took it extremely sportingly, though. ‘Don’t worry, we all started out like that. Just slow it down and try not to shut your eyes!’ I re-positioned myself and took a deep breath, determined not to do any farming this time. Keeping an eagle eye on the ball, I drew back and swung through as cleanly as I could. With the sweetest metallic ‘ping’ I’ve ever heard in my life, the ball fizzed out high and clear into the distance, arced gracefully and dropped onto the green. I whooped with delight and did an impromptu jig, much to Peter’s amusement. ‘That’s better’, he said. ‘Let’s work on your swing now, so you can get more distance on your shots.’ So, over the course of the next couple of hours, I was given an express lesson on how to maximise my swing, how to putt and how to yell ‘Fore!’ instead of ‘Timber!’. At the end of it all, I was able to tee-off to within striking distance of the hole and I even managed to sink a 15-foot putt (another outrageous fluke, putt...erm, but they all count). Even Peter was impressed. ‘Not bad’, he said, which was sufficient for me.
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