TIGERS OF THE PANTHER GOLF COURSE

It was a funny sight. The golfer was almost prostrated on the ground – the word to describe someone standing at 45 degrees angle escapes me – the ball almost a good three feet away from him. Having played to a decent level of golf myself, the sight was truly amusing.  As expected the swing missed the ball. However, other than me who suppressed his smile out of politeness, everyone else patiently waited for the second swing which struck gold! No flight but the ball rolled onto the green. Everyone cheered & appreciated the shot in a manner typical of golfers nudging each other on. Hands quivering, a smile played on the golfers lips as he trudged along. At 78 years of age and quivering hands, flightless shots or even missed swings were all eclipsed by the spirit.

This was definitely not golf at its best but the spirit of life at its zenith – the indomitable spirit of the super veterans at the Panther Golf Course at its best. And not that he was a one off exception! The course was teeming with many other such golfers, clearly outnumbering the younger golfers. Here was an example of enjoying life at the prime of their youth – psychologically if not physically! You couldn’t get younger & healthier at heart. Regular at the course, they’d come in car pools, some too old to drive but not too old to play. The coordination of the tee off time was probably the most important task of the day. Laughter rang out incessantly right from the first tee off! Jokes, wisecracks at the shots of fellow golfers & abundant appreciation of a shot hit well filled the green environs with a festive atmosphere. Their shots consistent – straight & steady!  

And here I was, completely floored by the way this lot was living life to its hilt at the golf course.  I was the focus of their amusement today.  On leave from my posting at Leh, I was caddying for my father – another veteran golfer. They found it very amusing to see a CO (commanding officer) sahib pulling a trolley on the course.  They’d all pull their own trolleys, some had caddies of their own & an occasional odd who couldn’t walk the course had his own golf cart. Father wasn’t too keen to let me pull the trolley. It was going to be difficult going back to pulling it on his own after this pampering but between this and the happiness or pride of having his son caddy for him, I think the happiness won. After all this was all about happiness.

The nine holes were full of anecdotes on battles fought, the places served in were described intricately & fights picked up with bosses were given a special place of pride. My occasional two bits at attempts to impress them were scoffed at and paled in comparison to their experiences. And their battles still continued – maybe more now than ever. Some were fighting Parkinson’s, some Vertigo, some Alzheimer’s, some had sacrificed their knees to posts climbed, actual battles fought, injuries in sports and general rigors of military life. Many were fighting loneliness – their children fighting their own battles in far away places. But the one thing common to all of them was that they were all giving everything negative a run for its money & living life to the fullest.

I wondered if I would be able to live this life when I was old. This generation on the greens belonged to an era when the army was considered a way of life and not a profession. All, without exception, had been through atleast one war. They knew the price of life and so knew how to live it. Their careers were built by their own styles, their own rules of engagement. They didn’t know how to butter up seniors. They were not careerists. They were life-ists!  They had donned the uniform & hung it at almost the same time. Army Welfare Housing initiatives had given them an opportunity to settle close to cantonments. My generation is not so “life” oriented – we’re a serious lot – out to make a killing in the rat race of life. We would never be able to live life the way they were.

It was then that I realized that this was the Golden Age of the Panther Golf Course (or Environmental Park and Training Area). The age and creed of golfers would never be repeated again – anywhere. I was fortunate to be a witness to this era, to learn the lessons of life from them – to get an opportunity to let their indomitable spirit rub off on me. Golf would continue but not these endangered Tigers at the Panther Golf Course, Amritsar. 

GOODBYES

Goodbyes are painful. Have never liked them. Over a period of time realized that different people have different ways of dealing with them. Some like to build a wall around themselves right before you’re about to leave – as if steeling themselves. Some like my wife cry – maybe it helps them lessen the grief of parting. Some like my brother are simply indifferent – its just an opportunity to give space (maybe enjoy some too) and get back rejuvenated. For me they’re slightly different – having understood the inevitability of them – I then start thinking why we met in the first place & when we’d meet again. But this write up is not about the types of goodbyes or which ones are better. This is about the goodbyes that shaped my life.

There was this one where I left home. I had faught with my mom. Penniless, I came back a few days later. The goodbye showed me my place in life – how much I mattered to those who mattered to me – what love or the lack of it was. It helped me loose expectations, surrender myself to fate or the inevitability of it & left me directionless in life. Have written about it in one of my posts.

Then there was one which never was. She just disappeared. In an era where letters were the only means of communication there wasn’t much one could do if someone would stop responding. I initially kept writing, hoping I’d get a reply. It never came. This one taught me that one could be a disposable commodity for someone, that the world didn’t revolve around me & that love didn’t always have a happy ending.

Another one was forced on me. A meeting that I was desperately looking forward to on a very special occasion was eclipsed by someone who drew a promise to break a heart. Sentimental blackmail! Don’t know how I could do it but between the secret meetings, the discussions on goals in life & stolen kisses, I bid goodbye. And I curse myself for what I did. It taught me that some people have to be shunned – that some people have to be given a no for an answer. It left me with a guilt for life, didn’t know whether to be happy for the occasion or whether to cry for my loss. Cried bitterly in the arms of my brother but could never speak about what had happened – he never asked – perhaps he understood that I would have broken down only if something had happened which was beyond repair. Some part of me was broken, some part stolen, some part went missing for life.

My work also gave me quite a few opportunities for goodbyes. Every time my son would ask when I would return I would think if my profession was worth it. Every time my daughter would cry I’d wonder even more. The long drawn loneliness which followed would often question if this was the life that I wanted.

However the goodbye that I remember the most was when I was perhaps in 5^th grade – 1987/88. I’d gone to meet my uncle in Dimapur. Spent quite a few days with uncle enjoying Nagaland, which at that point of time was a peaceful paradise – shopping baggy jeans (an “in” thing then), buying cassettes of Modern Talking, playing Tambola at parties and what not. And the person who made all this happen was my uncle. As the holiday grew to an end & we were about to leave, I jumped into the waiting army truck – eager to get home. I didn’t even hug or kiss my uncle goodbye – something that I immediately regretted and something that clung onto me for the rest of my life. He passed away a few days later.  I can never forget his face as I waved goodbye – smiling, understanding & happy at my happiness. How I wish I could have said goodbye properly.