Have a jolly heave

How many times have I promised myself to do it! I have injected energy into my veins and infused courage into my heart; and I have gone around sports shops and picked up good-looking and comfortable apparel to suit the occasion.

But somehow I couldn’t do it so far.

I’m not talking about climbing Mount Kilimanjaro or going on a Kenyan Safari. It’s just about playing golf. Picking up a club and going for a mighty heave, that’s all. Yes, the nuances of the game are there to learn but to get started all you need is to whack the little ball away into the bushes and go searching for it.

In the past two months, I’ve had three invites to play golf. I had to be honest and tell the hosts of the events that I’m used to Kashmir willow and leather ball rather than titanium club and dimple ball.

“I’m a cricketer,” I’ve told them, trying to convince them that not playing golf in Dubai is not sin. But the intensity and the surprise of the girls at the other end of the phone make me think twice.

“You mean you haven’t played it at least once?” I regretted the decision to carry some good golf stories in Sports Today. That has done me in. One girl said: “I was going through the magazine and am happy to read the golf stories. By the way, we have an event coming up and would like to invite you to come and play.” My smile withered even before it was fully bloomed.

I have walked one whole day with none other than Mr Tiger Woods when he came to Dubai Desert Classic last time. I mean, he walked on the fairway and I was a speck in the crowd. But I did try to catch up with the master.

My old buddy with whom I have played innumerable club matches on the dusty pitches in India said it was shame on me not to play golf. He has learnt the fine art of chatting with the who’s who in town on Dubai courses even though he is yet to get his swing right. But that’s a small issue, he says. It is easy for us who have been swinging our cricket bat wildly at a moving ball, he argues.

I can remember the number of times I have swung my SG bat and heard the unsettling sound of unsettled stumps behind me. Recently, spurred by my nephew, I made the mistake of playing cricket with his colleagues. I didn’t know that he had hyped about his uncle. After watching other batsmen carting huge sixes over midwicket as easy as pulling out a facial tissue, I walked in one down. The air, so to say, was thick with anticipation. I saw my nephew waiting for his uncle to unleash those vintage stuff. I saw a big fellow running in with the ball. And, that’s all I saw. Then, I heard the rattle of timber, and the sickening hustle of celebration. I looked up and saw my nephew kicking the wall in embarrassment.
All I could do was walk back like Sachin Tendulkar, pursing my lips in lofty seriousness.

Is it mandatory to play golf in Dubai? I’m afraid it is.