By Rahil Gangjee
I knew I was in trouble when a 19-year-old I was playing a practice round with called me “Uncle” right before splitting the fairway with a 350-yard bomb off the tee.
“Good shot, beta,” I replied. With a straight face. Because sometimes sarcasm is your only defense.
It’s official. I’m the elder statesman now. When did that happen? One moment, I was the brash young rebel wearing bucket hats and triple-checking my hairstyle before a round. The next, I’m explaining to a kid what a fax machine was.
Golf, unlike most sports, has a long shelf life. That’s the beauty of it. You can still shoot under par with a dodgy back and a smarter short game. But somewhere along the way, the locker room chatter shifted from Tiger and Phil to “Dude, did you see that Ludvig Aberg swing breakdown on YouTube?”
Half of these kids don’t even know what Jeev Milkha Singh meant to Indian golf. “You mean the golfer before Anirban Lahiri?” one of them asked me with genuine innocence. I almost fainted.
Let me be clear: I’m not bitter. Okay, maybe a little bitter. But mostly, I’m amazed. This new generation? They’re built different. Literally. These kids walk onto the range with a protein shake in one hand, launch monitors in the other, and shoulders that look like they were sculpted by Marvel Studios.
I recently played with one of our top juniors — I won’t name him because I still have some pride — and watched him hit a 9-iron 180 yards. That’s my 7-iron on a good day with the wind behind me and the ball praying for distance. “Do you want a yardage book?” I asked. “Nah, I’ve mapped every course on my Arccos,” he said.
I miss the days when “mapping the course” meant walking it twice and trusting your gut. These days, gut is something you’re not even allowed to have. Six-packs are the new standard issue.
But you know what? I love it.
Because when I look past the jokes and the Uncle tags, I see something that gives me real hope for Indian golf. I see kids who are more disciplined, more informed, and more fearless than I ever was at that age.
We were taught to respect the game. They’re taught to own it.
And somewhere between those two mindsets lies the evolution of golf in our country.
Coaching the Insta-Generation
Now, mentoring these kids is a whole different ball game. You must speak their language — and I don’t mean Hindi or English. I mean Reels, DMs, and that weird Gen Z dialect where “fire” means “awesome” and “sus” is not short for suspect, but apparently a lifestyle.
You don’t just give swing tips anymore. You must curate their practice playlists, approve their social media captions, and yes, help them find the right lighting for that one-handed chip shot video.
But they’re listening. That surprised me. Despite the swagger and the sunglasses and the swing speeds that give TrackMan a seizure, these kids still crave direction. They want guidance — not in a “teach me how to grip the club” way, but in a “what do I do when I shoot 78 on Day 1 and still have to grind it out on Day 2” kind of way.
That’s where experience matters. You can’t Google what it feels like to choke on a five-footer for a playoff. You have to live it. And I’ve lived it. A lot. (Don’t ask.)
I tell them the same thing I tell myself: Learn to enjoy the boring parts of the game. Because golf isn’t highlighting reels. It’s routine. It’s recovery. It’s repeating the same damn drill until it becomes muscle memory.
They pretend to roll their eyes — and then quietly get to work.
The Role Reversal
One of the strangest things I’ve noticed is how often I find myself learning from them now.
There’s this one kid who showed me a new putting routine that he picked up from a guy in the PGA Tour University system. It looked ridiculous at first — bounce the ball three times, deep breath, laser focus — but then he started sinking everything inside ten feet. I tried it the next week. Made five more putts than usual.
You win, kid. You win.
This exchange of knowledge — me passing down old-school grit, them sharing new-school tools — is what’s keeping the game fresh for me. I may not be bombing it 350 anymore, but I’m still growing. Still competing. Still smiling like an idiot every time I hit a pure iron shot.
The goal now isn’t just to win. It’s to contribute.
To be part of a golfing ecosystem where mentorship isn’t just a buzzword — it’s a baton pass. And yes, sometimes it’s handed over with a protein bar and a humble pie.
A Word to the Next Gen (and their parents)
To the juniors reading this: Don’t lose that fearlessness. It’s your superpower. But also, don’t ignore the mental game — that’s where tournaments are won. And while you’re at it, call your coaches “Sir” and maybe just once call me “Bhai” instead of “Uncle.” I’ll Venmo you.
To their parents: Let them breathe. Let them fail. A bogey today isn’t the end of the world. It’s just a comma, not a full stop.
Golf is a long, humbling journey. And sometimes the most important lessons come in the form of a missed cut, a broken driver, or a grumpy old pro who tells you to stop rushing your transition.
Still in the Game
So yes, I now carry Tiger Balm in my golf bag. Yes, I stretch for longer than I actually play. And yes, I’ve reached the age where my Spotify Wrapped has more Kishore Kumar than Kendrick Lamar.
But I wouldn’t trade places with any of them.
Because every time I tee it up with the Next Gen — whether it’s a rising amateur, a brash teen, or a newly minted pro — I see the future of Indian golf staring back at me.
And it looks pretty darn good.
Even if it does call me Uncle.
Rahil Gangjee is a professional golfer, sharing through this column what life on a golf course is like.