Teeing-off with the Sultan!

To be the guest of someone who is not less than a Sultan is more than a red-carpet welcome(literally), from the car door being opened to being chaperoned by the endless number of men and voila, to be waited on with chilled lime-juice just as the mind was beginning to think that the body would die of the heat. Magic? Not exactly but I was wont to wonder if I had chanced upon a wonderland as a car escort guided me to an area which seemed as if someone had just a while ago laid a leaf-green carpet in the undulating plains, surrounded by untouched dense foliage.

As someone hurried to open my door, I was fixated by the bounteous beauty of my surroundings and like a person in a trance, almost got out of the car dramatically in slow-motion. “Woah! Gosh! What is this place?” I almost thought out aloud. And to give my answers, a man in a pair of black tracks and a collared black tee-shirt with ‘Jodhpur’ embroidered diagonally across the chest in black over an orange appliqué, with a black straw hat and an orange sash around it to match his ensemble, came up to me and welcomed me with his usually affable smile.. For a second I couldn’t recognise him from his usual royal gala-bandhs and jodhpurs that he is almost always seen in one of our parties. He is the GOC of the Army, General Cheema and I had this special invitation from him to join him for golf and breakfast on Sunday morning.

I had simply no idea about golf at all. It is a far cry from what I am good at and am passionate about. I just knew Tiger Woods was doing a great job at it. I still looked disinterested in the offer by General Cheema to show me the ropes. I mean, I just can’t imagine myself sweltering in the heat, getting a tan and then trying to hit the ball closer to the greens so that I could hole it. I mean, how could a person like me who hates getting a tan and gets massive migraines have any affinity of walking miles of greens to hit a mere white ball with clubs of all different shapes and sizes? And that too, it wasn’t even anywhere close to winter. I would rather sit at home and write.

But now since I was there, I decided that teeing-off with the General would seem a better idea than just sitting around and sipping lemonade.

Before we hit the greens, we decided to cool off in one of the tree houses adjacent to the main building of the golf club. The club compound was maintained to a T and looked as if it was recently done up with paint and all.

All around us was this endless carpet, which covered around 200 acres; dark and light in places, interspersed in places by water bodies which were all linked to each other. Trees of different varieties all around was the speciality of the golf course. Swans, ducks and migratory birds swam around together and made the place look ethereal. What a great place this would be to sit in some corner of the coffee-house overlooking the golf course through the huge bay windows and just write.

Anyway, my initiation into golf started with the General taking me on a round in his electric golf car and showing me around the 18-hole golf course. Since, he was the patron, I had the privilege of taking a ride in his golf cart and going from one point to the other where he demonstrated how he teed off. Things got interesting when he told me to do a practice session with one of his personal golf clubs. I was shaky but I am good at taking instructions. As the General kept telling me to concentrate on the ball and swing, I was surprised when he exclaimed that I am doing extremely well. I only had to improve on the way i held the golf-club; just like I would hold a toothpaste tube, he said. Looks like the General will make a golfer out of me after all.

After several hours in the cruel sun, a tour through the whole golf course and a mild tan later, the General treated me to a scrumptious breakfast of aloo parathas and yoghurt, washed down with coffee.

As I left, I told the General that henceforth, I would call him the Sultan; The Sultan of Narangi. He seemed mighty pleased and guffawed heartily. Looks like I might go back to try my hand at golf again in the Sultan’s sultanate, sooner than I can spell Tiger Woods.