Golf Story

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A Reluctant Golfer’s Afternoon — 

A crisp winter afternoon at the course—the kind where the sun behaves like it’s working on contract—and there we were: Sikka, Jaggi, Put Kedar, and I, the permanent reluctant golfer, armed with hope, doubt, and a swing that even I don't trust.

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Sikka (adjusting his cap and flashing his signature smile at passing lady golfers):

“SN, golf is actually the simplest game on earth. The ball is not running away. Stationary. Waiting for your blessings.”

Me:

“Simplest? With trees that appear out of nowhere? This course is like a haunted forest designed by a committee.”

Jaggi (grinning in his wicked but always warm style):

“Arrey Roybabu, these trees love you. They stand exactly where your ball wants to go.”

Then, with a soft sigh,

“Golf, jokes, and friends—that’s my life now. Rest all gone with time.”

We all fell silent just for a heartbeat, the kind that comes when humour brushes against truth.

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I stepped up to my ball. Perfect stance—knees bent, eyes down, grip textbook-correct—looking like a golfer only in the brochure.

Me:

“Everything set… only the outcome uncertain.”

I swung. The ball shot off like it understood physics for the first three seconds, then—TOK!—straight onto the only tree in the entire fairway.

Put Kedar (shaking his head like a disappointed philosopher):

“Uncle… golf is like life. You plan the route, but destiny negotiates with the nearest tree.”

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Next tee. More lady golfers walked by. As expected, Sikka’s spine straightened, swing became silk, voice deepened.

Sikka (after a perfect drive):

“SN, did you see that? Pure muscle memory.”

Jaggi:

“And pure motivation, Roybabu—please note the timing with the ladies passing.”

Kedar nearly swallowed his laughter.

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Then we reached the sand bunker, that desert of despair.

Me:

“My ball visits this bunker more frequently than I visit my doctor.”

Put Kedar:

“Uncle, consider it an unplanned outage. Even the best power stations face it.”

Jaggi:

“Only difference is—power stations recover faster than Roybabu’s swing.”

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At the green, the grass began its mischief—tilting and whispering directions only it understood.

Me:

“I hit straight, grass guides left. I hit left, it shifts right. This lawn is doing politics.”

Put Kedar:

“Uncle, pendulum stroke. Calm. Smooth. Like a temple bell on a quiet evening.”

Jaggi:

“Or like Roybabu when he’s planning how to explain to Madhuri bhabhi why he’s late again.”

I lined up the putt. Back-and-forth, gentle and precise.

The ball rolled… rolled… slowed… and stopped one inch before the hole.

Me:

“And this, gentlemen, is why I remain a reluctant golfer.”

Sikka:

“But SN, without you, our foursome loses half its charm.”

Jaggi:

“True, Roybabu. Your struggles give me hope.”

Put Kedar:

“And content. Every group needs one unpredictable factor. That is you, Uncle.”

We burst out laughing and moved toward the next tee—four men negotiating trees, grass, bunkers, memory, muscle memory, and each other.

Golf looks simple.

But for a reluctant golfer like me, it remains the most dignified comedy show in the world.

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Me

S. N. Roy is a deeply reflective and accomplished individual whose life journey exemplifies a rare blend of technical brilliance, managerial wisdom, and enduring human values. A graduate in Electrical Engineering from IIT Kharagpur (1965), he rose through the ranks of India’s top public sector enterprises—Indian Oil and later BHEL—culminating in his role as Executive Director of BHEL, Bhopal.

Mr. Roy’s leadership was always marked by thoughtful decision-making, fairness, and an insistence on root cause analysis. He famously believed that one should never bring a problem without at least two possible solutions—an approach that fostered innovation and accountability within his teams. He handled interdepartmental challenges with tact and empathy, using both logic and diplomacy to resolve conflicts.

His transition into retirement did not dim his curiosity or energy. A voracious reader, Mr. Roy reads about 24 books a year, traversing a wide landscape of fiction, history, management, and philosophy. Books to him are not just pastimes but lifelong teachers. When he finishes a particularly impactful book, it often leaves him with a haunting sense of parting, as though a friend has just left him—and a gentle ego-check as he realizes how much vaster the world is than he once imagined.

After retirement, he also embraced golf—a game that not only kept him physically fit but fundamentally transformed his temperament. Golf instilled in him a new kind of discipline and taught him the power of muscle memory: that calm repetition, not just raw effort, often leads to mastery. It mellowed the intensity of his working style and offered meditative clarity.

Despite his success, Mr. Roy remains deeply grounded. He continues to support lift operators and raddiwalas, not out of nostalgia but out of a strong belief in human dignity and employment. His affection for those who serve quietly in the background of daily life reveals a moral compass that never swayed, even as technology and systems evolved around him.

A storyteller, painter, and writer of articles and short stories, he balances creative expression with philanthropy, being actively involved with Bhalopahar, a non-profit organization for underprivileged children. He credits his wife Madhuri for being his unwavering support and tolerating his whimsical work patterns, and he values his son Anish’s feedback as a bridge to the new generation’s thinking.

In his 80s now, S. N. Roy remains intellectually agile, emotionally aware, and spiritually engaged—a man who has not only witnessed India’s industrial evolution but has lived, shaped, and reflected upon it with grace and depth.

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A tale of two Roys

As Roy, Sikka, Hemant, and Andy gathered at Tolly Club after a round of golf, laughter and camaraderie filled the air. They were seated at their favorite table overlooking the golf course, a picturesque view that never failed to enhance their adda sessions. Hemant poured tea for everyone, while Andy, who had recently completed an ultra-marathon and a deep-sea diving adventure, enthusiastically shared his latest escapades.

“Bond,” Roy teased with a grin, the nickname he’d coined for Andy. “After all that diving and running, who would have thought you’d have the energy for golf?”

“Ha! Well, Picasso,” Andy replied, using the epithet he’d given Roy due to his watercolor art, “we all need a little balance, don’t we? I can’t imagine being as prolific with words and brushes as you are.” He gestured toward Roy, who had recently shared a batch of his latest short stories with Andy.

“You and your AI assistant,” Andy added with a grin. “I bet it knows as much about us by now as we do!”

“Speaking of AI, don’t keep your son waiting, Samar,” Hemant reminded him, noticing Roy glance at his watch. Roy had been looking forward to a video call with Anish, who was dialing in from Australia.

As Roy stood to leave, Andy’s voice followed him with a chuckle. “Enjoy your ‘happy time’ with AI, Samar! But don’t get too attached—next thing you know, your AI will be at Tolly Club having adda in your place!”

Roy laughed, pausing thoughtfully as he glanced at his friends. “You know, that might not be far off, Andy. One day, I may just send AI Roy over to keep you all company.”

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Several months later, a curious scene unfolded at the Tolly Club. Sikka, Hemant, and Andy were seated at their usual table, but this time, Roy was conspicuously absent—or so it seemed. In his place was a tablet, set up like a member of the group, with a sleek, animated figure on the screen, appearing as a digital representation of Roy.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” AI Roy greeted them, his tone amiable and all too familiar.

Andy leaned back, laughing in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. Samar's really done it!”

AI Roy smiled, his voice tinged with Roy’s characteristic warmth. “Since the original Roy is busy with his son today, he thought it only fitting that I fill in for him at your adda. Rest assured, I’m well-equipped with all of his stories, quirks, and even some new insights I’ve gathered from his conversations.”

Sikka chuckled. “Alright, AI Roy, if you’re so much like our friend, tell us a story like he would.”

AI Roy cleared his virtual throat. “How about a story from Barauni, where the original Roy once led a football team to victory despite having no dedicated striker? It’s all about finding unconventional solutions, which I believe you all know he’s fond of calling ‘jugaad’!”

The table erupted in laughter as the digital Roy spun the tale, bringing back memories of Roy’s real-life wit and strategic thinking. AI Roy could almost pass as the man himself, seamlessly sharing stories and even picking up on the nuances of each friend’s personality.

After a few rounds of jokes and stories, Sikka leaned back with a grin and remarked, “Well, this AI’s doing a fine job filling in, but it’s not quite Roy without his usual plain dosa and cappuccino!”

AI Roy chuckled, “Ah, you’re right, Sikka! The real Roy would never skip his dosa and cappuccino—small pleasures of the day. Next time, I’ll ensure those cravings don’t go unfulfilled, even if I have to add a digital aroma!”

The table erupted in laughter again, and though the real Roy’s order remained unserved, AI Roy captured the moment so well that they felt he was right there with them. As the laughter died down, AI Roy leaned forward on the tablet screen, his expression playful.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said with a twinkle, “perhaps someday I’ll develop enough taste sensors to fully appreciate a dosa and cappuccino. But until then, you’ll just have to save my seat.”

Andy chuckled, shaking his head. “Samar, whether it’s you or AI Roy, we’ll always keep that seat ready. But remember—some things can’t be digitized. Like the joy of watching you savor that first bite of dosa.”

AI Roy smiled, a hint of sentiment in his voice. “True, Andy. Some things, like this adda, are best enjoyed in person. Until then, count me in—dosa or no dosa.”

And with that, their virtual adda felt a bit closer to home, each friend reassured that, in one way or another, Roy would always be present at Tolly Club, savoring every moment with them.

The ghost in the 5 wood

It was a breezy Wednesday afternoon at the club, and I found myself on the fairway, standing next to my golfing buddy, Sikka. We had been out on the course for hours, but I was in one of those slumps that takes the joy right out of the game. Shot after shot seemed lifeless, barely scraping past the last divot or veering off to settle under some irritating bush. But things took a turn at the last six holes, and I could feel a change brewing.

“Is that a MacGregor in your hand?” Sikka asked, squinting at the club I was gripping tightly.

I smiled, remembering the story behind this particular club—a 5-wood from MacGregor’s Heritage line. "Yeah, this one's special," I replied. "It was actually gifted to my old caddie, Hulo, by some Englishman. I got it off him secondhand."

Sikka chuckled. "Didn’t think you’d go in for a secondhand club."

"Well, this one’s an exception," I replied, glancing down at the club. "There’s something... I don't know... something unique about it. MacGregor has been making clubs since the 1800s, you know? They’re known for their craftsmanship. Some of their clubs are practically legends on the course."

Sikka gave me a skeptical look. "You think that old 5-wood has any of that 'legendary' magic left?”

Just then, I lined up my shot for the 17th hole, and as I swung, I felt something surreal. The club seemed to move effortlessly through the air, and the ball shot off with a clean, powerful arc. My heart skipped a beat. For the first time, I landed my third shot right on the green.

Sikka whistled, impressed. "Well, maybe there is something magical about it," he said, laughing.

I kept my eyes on the club, a strange feeling creeping over me. "You know," I murmured to Sikka, "sometimes it feels like... someone else is guiding my hand. Like the original owner, this English golfer, is helping me along. In the last few holes, every shot felt so smooth, as if he were giving me a nudge."

Sikka raised an eyebrow. "You’re saying you’ve got a ghostly golf instructor?"

I smirked, but a part of me couldn’t shake the thought. Just minutes ago, I was plodding through the course, every shot a struggle. But with this 5-wood in my hands... It was as if a long-lost passion for the game had been rekindled.

I chuckled, partly at the absurdity of it all. "Maybe, but look at the results." I gestured toward the green, where my ball sat like a well-behaved student. "I haven’t had a shot like that in ages."

Sikka shook his head, half-amused, half-spooked. "Are you serious right now?"

"Let’s just say... for these last three holes, I don’t feel like I’m playing alone." I grinned, giving the club a knowing pat, almost as though I were thanking its previous owner. "Who knows? Maybe it’s MacGregor magic... or maybe that English golfer never really let it go."

We continued onto the final hole, and with each step, I felt my confidence soar. My ground shots improved, the ball flew straighter, longer, as though drawn by some unseen hand. Sikka watched, growing more impressed—and slightly more suspicious—with each perfect shot.

As we reached the 18th green, I let out a deep breath, savoring the feel of the game that had returned to me. Sikka clapped me on the back, laughing. "Maybe you should thank that old Englishman. Whoever he was, he’s clearly not done playing.”

I glanced down at the 5-wood, feeling a strange bond with its mysterious history. "You’re probably right," I murmured. "Looks like he's got a few rounds left in him."

Straight drive...

Golf is like a love affair. If you don't take it seriously, it's no fun; if you do take it seriously, it breaks your heart. ~Arthur Daley They say that the golf is a game where the course is your opponent. In this game like in other ball games you don't have a moving ball, it is stationary on the ground.You got to hit that stationary ball and so it appears to be a very easy game for any one who has not played golf. But then ask those who are playing golf for years but still could not master those drives, chips, pitch, putts. To play this game one has to remember 3Cs, concentration,control and confidence..well i was doing just that when i took position for my drive at 4th Tee. The ball flew to the left, i was careful that the ball should not go to the right in the jungle.It was drizzling. i was playing alone and my caddy Hoolo was carrying my bag . I had my umbrella and Hoolo was wrapped in rain coat with his face practically hidden in the hood. It was slowly becoming dark. Hoolo could locate the ball, i walked to the ball and gave the driver to Hoolo. I pulled out 6 iron from the golf bag, aligned myself with the flag, took position with slight knee bend and back straight.In the rainy season it is preferred lie as per local club rule. Hoolo had kept the ball on the tip of the grass.I took a few practice swing and then I swung the club with half rotation of the body, i don't go for full swing as a precaution against the likely damage of hip, shoulder and knee joints.My drive could cover 180 yards and with 6 iron i covered another 120 yards. Now i was within 70 yards of the green. I picked up the pitching iron, took stance and swung the ball to the green. The ball rolled to the far edge, the hole was at 15 feet. I took out my new putter Itsy Bitsy of Taylormade.I squatted at the back of the ball and judged the lie of the green, Hoolo took out the flag from the hole, he pointed 3 inches off left of the hole. I took a few practice stroke of the putter, placed it behind the ball and rolled the ball towards left of the hole. The ball rolled but as the green was wet so it stopped short by 2 feet of the hole.So it was one more putt and got a bogie in that hole. The Tee off at the 5th green is quite tricky as the boundary wall is at the right and beyond that is the shed of Calcutta Metro. I have lost many balls by driving the ball beyond the boundary wall. This time i took aim towards the left, the ball was on the Tee, with eyes down i took a few practice swing of my Taylormade Burner. Then i took position towards the left and swung the driver, the ball went high to the left among the trees.It was raining still and was getting darker. I could see the shadowy figure of Hoolo at a distance. I purposefully walked towards the trees,Hoolo waived his hand towards right. I found that the ball was at the centre of the fairway, i was surprised that it had not gone to the cluster of trees. Hoolo took the driver from me and gave 7 iron.The rain was still there but then i wanted to complete rest of the holes in the semidarkness. I took aim , took a few practice swing and hit the ball. I could not see the ball , i did not see even Hoolo. I walked towards the green. To my surprise i found the ball lying 1 foot away from the hole.I putted the ball and got a birdie on that par 4 5th green.i was expecting applause from Hoolo but he was not there.I picked up the ball from the hole and put that in my pocket. It had started raining heavily i ran to the golf shed near the 6 th Tee off point. There was a different club boy standing with dab and water in the shed. He smiled at me and said," " Sir you scored birdie in that hole." “Yes," i said but was surprised that he had noticed that in that rain, but then how could he count the strokes from my Tee off point. I was quite perplexed but i was quite proud with my game of that day. I tipped him 50 rupees. "Shukriyasaheb, you scored hole in one in 6th a few months back. I missed your backshish on that day." He was speaking in typical Urdu mixed Hindi.He was funnily dressed. I was quite surprised that he knew about my scoring hole in one. Hoolo was not still visible anywhere.I asked that club boy to tell Hoolo to come near the Shamiana. As the rain had increased so i abandon the game and taking cover under my umbrella cut across the 7th green and then 1st green towards the club house. The club canteen shamiana was not much crowded that day because of the rain.I ordered a hot cup of coffee. Still i could not get my caddie. I went towards my car in the car park. there i found Hoolo standing with my driver Gopal, both looked worried. I was furious on Hoolo. "Where did you go?" i shouted at him. "It was raining heavy so i shouted at you that i am going and asked you to come." "But you gave me 7 iron in 5th fairway and took my driver." " No sir here is your golf bag and 7 iron is here." "What about putter? I scored birdie with that." "Sir here is your new Itsy Bitsy putter. But sir, your TaylormadeBurmner is missing." "Then who was that caddie who located the ball and was carrying bag up to the 5th green. But after i sank the ball i did not see him." "Sir every one has come out of the course including the club boy in the shed." " I saw a different club boy there. He seemed to have seen me scoring birdie. I was quite surprised." I was worried. That driver was new and also thinking about the whole incident started giving me goose pimples. My drive was certainly going towards the trees but that caddy found it lying in the centre of the fairway. He gave me 7 iron and then took the 7 iron from me on the green. He handed over a putter but i did notice the make. I remembered to have carried the putter to the shed and left that on the bench.In a hurry to rush back to the club house because it got dark and the rain had increased i totally forgot about the putter. Hoolo was aghast and started chanting " Ram." I asked my driver and Hoolo to accompany me to the shed near 6th Tee off place. Hoolo was not ready to come, he told me that next morning he would search the driver.He was pale from fear and i started getting goose bumps. "Ok, tell me when the hard core golfers come in the morning?" "Just at the day break, 5.45am." Gopal drove me back to my flat. Next day i reached Tollyclub before the day break. Hoolo was waiting for me. Me, Gopal and Hoolo proceeded to 6th green. We went to the golf shed but did not find my Taylormade driver there. We started walking on the fairway of 5th green, suddenly Hooloshouted , "Sir come here and see." Near the 6th Tee off point there is a grave yard. Hoolo was standing in side the grave yard.It is believed that those three graves bang next to the 6th Tee off point are those of Johnson family who owned the property around that place before the club was established. But the ornate design on the grave had Muslim touch. Me and Gopal went near the graves, my Taylormade driver was lying beside the graves, also by the side was lying the 50 rupees note which i had tipped to that Urdu speaking club boy. My head started spinning, Gopal lifted the Driver. I asked them not to take that 50 rupees note. Hoolo was trembling in fear. I was looking at Hoolo and started thinking whether he was the real guy or the one who was with me yesterday on that 5th green.I touched him, he was the real one but then who was that caddy who assisted me to get that birdie. Did that really happen or was that a figment of my imagination. Three of us were standing there dumbstruck..slowly the day was breaking. Gopal my driver asked, "Babu ,are you sure that you played on 5th green yesterday? You might have left that driver in the shed. The driver might have been pulled to that place by those foxes which roam the course freely." "What you say is possible, due to the inclement weather i might have been day dreaming." I said those words in order to lighten the situation but the event of the previous evening was quite vivid in my mind.That friendly ghost helped me in scoring a birdie by placing a wayward ball in the centre of the fairway.The second shot by 7 iron was also an out of the world stroke as the ball fell within 1 foot of the hole. After that evening i have stopped playing in the afternoons, in the morning whenever i pass that grave yard while playing golf i thank that unknown soul but my hand automatically reaches for my sacred thread.

Red tapism. ...

I have been doing watercolor painting for the last 4 yrs and paintings are in display in the houses of my friends and relatives. For the last 2 yrs I am getting yearly calendar made with my paintings. Polu, the caddy is an excellent golfer with single digit handicap, he is one of the admirers of my watercolor. I wanted to display my this painting in the Pro shop of a leading club but then they have their own complicated red tape...so I gifted the painting to Polu. I know that he will frame it up and keep in his house. After getting the painting he proudly showed to all caddies,each of them is better #golfer than most of us members. So a lesson learnt here, the social position is no criteria for getting admiration of your work,he is a golfer so he could relate the painting.

What do i remember?

What do I remember?

Another year has started, not by itself but as declared by calendar. Like any other day there is no change of routine of the sun, it came up as per schedule but we human have the power of thinking so for us 1^st of January is kind of reminder that another year gone or another year has come. Our aging does not depend on calendar, we age by nanoseconds, our DNA,gene etc drive the process which depends directly or indirectly on our life style too.

The above preamble is just hard facts which are undeniable cutting across caste, creed,religion and region. The main operating system is our mind and which is the real driver. I have heard people writing or saying that they are happy, I think it is more of self-assertion for himself. If someone ask me today what has been my happiest moment, then I cannot reply immediately. The problem is that when one gets that happy moment then he does not keep track, it just happens. So looking back the year gone I would remember those physically satisfying things like purchase of latest gadgets, arrival of a new born baby, travelling to exotic places, chilling out with friends, playing a satisfying round of game, reading a book, hearing a new song etc…the list is long. As I was postulating that happiness is the moment and which does not get recorded in conscious mind but subconscious stores it. Somedays I get up feeling happy but I don’t know the reason what triggered it. May be the getting up, the sun light, surrounding silence, fitness of body, looking forward to something etc all put together created that oft mentioned cliche, feel good factor.

The other day while talking to Dr,Kamal Chakraborty I commented that I always find him happy, then I derived that as everyday he is not working for himself but for those poor 200 plus tribal kids in his setup Bhalopahar and that selfless deed of his keeps him perpetually happy. So looking back I can say I too felt happy whenever I was doing something for Bhalopahar or for those poor boys of Tollygaunge slums. Last year I started colour painting and while putting colour I was mentally transported to those places same way as I feel while reading a book, all these feelings again get lodged in subconscious and for which we don’t have a key to push.

It is simple, as they say, happiness is the state of mind. Try enabling that mind to capture more positive thoughts so that those are present predominantly in the subconscious.

A very Happy New Year.

GOLF in Australia, August,2007

GOLF
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This game used to be for men only. Jokingly often GOLF was expanded as Gentleman only Ladies Forbidden. This game tests ones all skills. It is not only physical but more of mental. Though majority play Golf for showing off to others. It is a convenient excuse for a long walk in the beautiful greens. Collin Bowles, wrote, "The fundamental problem with Golf is that every so often, no matter how lacking you may be in the essential virtue required of a steady player, the odds are that one day you will hit the ball straight, hard out of sight. This is the essential frustration of this excruciating sport. For when you have done it once, you make fundamental error of asking yourself why you can't do this all the times. The answer to this question is simple; the first time was a fluke."
You find guys trying for a long drive in the practice range so that they can show off at the TEE off. It is said that the DRIVE is for SHOW and the PUTT is for DOUGH. More than 50% of the game depends on two basic strokes CHIPPING and PUTTING. These two strokes don't require any strength but requires lot of concentration, skill and of course the nerve of steel at the PUTT.
This is a great bonding game, one develops lot of camaraderie not only within the foursome but also with the Golfing fraternity.
Here the foursome are Mazhar, Ameer ,Anish and of course me Samaroy.