Circa 2006: It was one of those frigid winter mornings when surface winds blow in the Capital, sending Delhi’s residents scurrying to the warm refuge of the hearth and the company of a hot cuppa and a book. Most of the denizens, it has to be said, but not all. As better halves of most inveterate golfers will attest, we are not bound by conventional wisdom; nay, some might even consider us foolhardy in our single-mindedness when it comes to teeing it up, especially after a work week spent refining swing thoughts for that all-important game on the weekend.
So it was that day, a handful of intrepid souls, clad in multiple layers, gingerly cradling glasses of hot tea were seen disappearing into the mist on the first fairway of the Qutab Golf Club in South Delhi.
At the first hole, a young man clamoured for his caddy to get his clubs. The Marker admonished him to get a move on it and pair up with a senior gentleman who was already running down the elevated tee after hitting his drive. Pre-occupied by swing thoughts and trying to ward off first-tee jitters, the lad mumbled a quick introduction and self-deprecatingly apologised to the gentleman for holding him up. The unmistakable dip in confidence, a remnant of his last round’s carnage.
Much to everyone’s surprise, that first drive whooshed into the mist, straight, long, and true. A pitching wedge approach to two feet—the best he’d ever hit on that hole led to a birdie and a swell of confidence. To cut a long story short, and this story sticks in the memory only on account of the score I shot that day — a career-best 5-over — it turned out to be one of those rare days when you can do no wrong. Every shot came off as intended; and the few that didn’t get a lucky bounce (or a lucky ricochet off a tree!) — golfing nirvana, we’ve all been there.
The only witness to this once-in-a-lifetime performance, who I shall refrain from naming here, was, as expected, mighty impressed. Considering that I was entirely ‘in-the-zone’ there wasn’t that much conversation between the two of us, except the perfunctory niceties on the greens. At the end of the round, this gent, who’d been very complimentary all day, gave me his business card. An honorary Director with an NGO — I pocketed it without a second look, thanked him for the game, and went back to mentally recounting every shot I’d hit every day. I never gave it another thought.
Cut to a couple of months later, I was a newbie in a big media house and trying to find my feet in a corporate set-up. Walking diminutively across the executive floor, I suddenly heard someone roar my name from the office of the executive director, startling the hushed tones that were parred for the course in the vicinity of the big man.
You know what’s coming next; he pulled out his putter, and we had a short conversation on Ben Crenshaw’s stroke. The ED recounted my marvellous game on that unforgettable day, wished me luck, and indicated that we should chat more often.
In the year that followed, we never played again, and, besides a couple of meetings, never met in a professional capacity either (he was beyond even my boss’ pay grade) but the trickle-down effect of that meeting was immeasurable. It made me much more comfortable in my new work environment and, for everyone else, singled me out amongst the sea of youngsters trying to make an impression. The ED never did me any favours, but just the fact that we were friendly, as equals, made all the difference.
In retrospect, what’s apparent to me when I look back on this exchange is that given the difference in our age, experience, and professional standing, there was literally no platform on which the ED and I could have met on equal standing. Except, when it came to golf. I like to recount this anecdote when young corporate executives I meet quiz me about wanting to play golf to network and get ahead. The point is this: all you can really count on is the probability of running into someone who might have some relevance in your work life. And assuming you acquit yourself well, not just with your skills but the way you conduct yourself, it could lead to a relationship that might have surprising effects.
Some of the folks who pick the game up for furthering their career or business endeavours, don’t understand the nature of the game and what it can do to your psyche. Golf extracts sweet revenge from would-be players with ulterior motives: they may have had their reasons for picking up the game, but it soon becomes an obsession rather than just a platform for meeting people. Most people get completely absorbed in this pursuit, often to the detriment of work and family.
It takes a while to realise that this quest is a lifelong one, and most of us learn to balance our madness for the game with other commitments. Along the way, we meet other people on the same pilgrimage, and that’s the crucible in which relationships are forged. Relationships forged on the golf course are, first and most importantly, about golf; being reduced to the same level, shorn of corporate designations; of being afflicted equally by the game’s cruelties and the rare victories. There’s no better way to end that relationship, even before it begins than by bringing up work-related talk with someone you’ve just met on the golf course. That will immediately identify you as an imposter — who has little chance of getting ahead, neither with the game nor with climbing the corporate ladder on the golf course.
A golfer, Meraj Shah also writes about the game