By Rahil Gangjee
There’s something special about playing at home — the comfort of familiar fairways, the sound of familiar cheers, and the unmistakable aroma of butter chicken wafting from the clubhouse (which, let’s be honest, is a solid motivator to finish your round early). The DP World India Championship at the Delhi Golf Club had all that and more — drama, nostalgia, and a healthy dose of humility for golfers like me who still believe we can teach these youngsters a thing or two… until they bomb one 330 yards down the fairway and smile innocently.
It was a great week for Indian golf — and a humbling one for me.
Day one started with the kind of moment every golfer lives for — a 55-foot eagle putt on the 18th hole. The line looked longer than some of my hotel corridors, but I told myself, “Just roll it like you mean it.” It dropped dead-centre. The gallery erupted, and for a few glorious seconds, I forgot how old my knees are. I carded a 67 that day — my best round in months — and for that brief walk back to the clubhouse, I felt like I could take on anyone.
Then came day two.
Let’s just say the course had other plans. Delhi Golf Club can be an angel one day and a strict schoolteacher the next. My 76 that followed was the sporting equivalent of being sent to detention. The ball didn’t roll, the swing didn’t flow, and even the trees looked like they were plotting against me. It stung to miss the cut, but that’s golf — equal parts beauty and heartbreak, often in the same breath.
But even as I packed my bags earlier than planned, I couldn’t stop smiling. Because this week, golf wasn’t the only headline.
The real cynosure of the event was Rory McIlroy — the man who brought his Masters Green Jacket to Indian soil for the first time. You could feel the buzz ripple through the course the moment he arrived. There he was, World No.2, fresh from conquering Augusta, strolling down our fairways like he’d been playing them for years. At the gala dinner, he actually wore the Green Jacket — and when he stood beside Sachin Tendulkar, two GOATs from two very different worlds, you could sense how far Indian sport has come.
Rory eventually finished tied 26th, but it didn’t matter to anyone. Every time he walked down a fairway, the crowd followed. Every swing, every smile, every wave drew roars that belonged more to a rock concert than a golf event. Sometimes the presence of greatness is worth more than its position on the leaderboard.
And then there was the locker-room moment that I’ll probably remember longer than that eagle.
My caddie Som and I were packing up my clubs, ready to fly home, when we spotted a familiar golf bag nearby — Tommy Fleetwood’s. Som, ever the fan, decided he just had to take a photo of Tommy’s wedge, which had Team Europe neatly engraved on it. Just as he raised his phone — guess who walked in? Yep, Tommy himself, catching Som red-handed.
I quickly jumped in before my poor caddie got scolded. “Oh, there he is!” I said, as casually as possible, pretending this was all part of some friendly reunion plan. Tommy burst out laughing. We ended up sitting down and chatting for five minutes — just like old times. I’d played with him a couple of times back in the good ol’ Asian Tour and European Tour brotherhood days. He congratulated me and commiserated with me all at once, which is a skill only pros seem to have mastered.
I congratulated him on, well, everything — his form, his composure, his hair (which somehow never has a bad day). And as we wrapped up, I said, “I’ll leave you to it — go get it done.”
And sure enough, he did. A day later, Tommy Fleetwood went out there and won the DP World India Championship. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Watching him hold the trophy made that little locker-room chat feels like a prelude to destiny. That’s golf for you — the smallest moments can sometimes brush shoulders with the biggest stories.
Meanwhile, among the crowds were some of India’s finest sporting icons — Neeraj Chopra, our Olympic gold medallist who can throw a javelin farther than most golfers can drive a ball, and Sunil Chhetri, our beloved football captain whose energy could probably power a golf cart. Watching them cheer from the sidelines, mingling with fans and fellow athletes, made the event feel less like a golf tournament and more like a celebration of Indian sport. I even joked with Neeraj that maybe I should try throwing a javelin next time — at least that way, I’m guaranteed distance!
There’s a certain joy — and pressure — that comes with playing at home. The galleries know your name, the caddies greet you like cousins, and every missed putt earns a collective “Awww” from the crowd. It’s a reminder that while the leaderboard matters, the connection with fans matters more.
Delhi Golf Club is its own beast — ancient trees, tight fairways, and the kind of rough that hides balls better than any magician. It rewards precision, not power. Younger players with booming drives often find that out the hard way. But that’s the beauty of this course: it forces you to think, to shape shots, to rely on feel rather than force. And when you do execute the perfect shot here, it feels earned.
As someone who’s been on tour long enough to have seen juniors I once coached now calling me “sir” (ouch), these events also make me reflect on where I stand. Competing against the new generation — fearless, data-driven, fitter, and frighteningly long off the tee — keeps me grounded and hungry. I may not out-drive them, but experience has its perks. Like knowing when not to pull out the driver, or how to save par when things get ugly.
That’s what I try to pass on to the younger golfers I mentor. I tell them: “Don’t chase perfection; chase consistency. Golf’s not about how good your best shot is — it’s about how bad your worst shot isn’t.” And this week was a perfect example. The eagle was my highlight, but the 76 was my teacher. Both belong in my story.
Off the course, the DP World India Championship had a certain electricity. You could feel it in the crowds — more youngsters, more women, more families showing up. That’s the sign of a sport growing roots. And when kids see Rory McIlroy walk past or Neeraj Chopra wave from the stands, something shifts. Dreams get planted.
For Indian golf, that’s gold. We need these stages — these big-ticket events that put our players alongside the world’s best. It sharpens our edges, builds belief, and proves that golf here isn’t just a niche — it’s a movement gathering steam.
Personally, I left Delhi with mixed emotions — a little disappointed about the missed cut, but full of gratitude for the experience. Golf has a way of keeping your ego in check and your spirit alive. That 55-footer reminded me that magic still lives in these hands; the 76 reminded me that it needs constant care.
On my flight back, I scribbled a note to myself — something I’ll probably tell my students next week:
“Golf will always give you eagles and 76s. Learn from both, but don’t let either define you.”
Because in the end, that’s the beauty of this game. It humbles you, it teases you, and occasionally — just occasionally — it rewards you with a moment that makes every hour on the range worth it.
Till the next tee box, keep swinging — and keep believing.
Rahil Gangjee is a professional golfer, sharing through this column
what life on a golf course is like
