All
in the Game
It
|
was a
pleasant morning with a mild southwesterly blowing intermittent cirrus clouds
across the course. Hiraki teed up a little high and with a smooth fluid swing
sent the ball over the ominous looking water hazard, splitting the fairway into
two equal halves.
“Goooshaaw,
Yamamoto-san” shouted Aggarwal. Hiraki’s tiny chest ballooned with pride. First
tee-shot always has portentous significance to early morning golfers. ‘A day well
began’ Hiraki was smiling within. It was the day he was planning to meet the government
representatives; his inner voice must have told him that the deal would somehow
go through. That’s when he saw that immaculately dressed gentleman,
colour-coordinated from floppy San Andrews cap to his shining black golf shoes,
hurrying towards the tee-box.
“Ah there…! You’re just in time, mister Rao”,
exclaimed Aggarwal.
Royal N Ancient … RNA, to his friends – Ramji
Narayan Aggarwal is one of the oldest and loudest members of the club – always
ready to lend a helping hand to fellow members. I looked up midway through my
backswing promptly sending my ball sputtering through the lake. An inaudible
curse escaped my lips. Hiraki looked at me with a slight nod acknowledging my
distress. “Shigata nai” I muttered before tossing the
driver to my caddie.
Aggarwal had not taken any notice, he was eager to
introduce Rao to his new found acquaintance, Hiraki. “Yamamoto-san, meet mister
Rao, an old friend of mine and a great golfer…” Introductions went on for a
while with Hiraki’s characteristic bows in response the verbal flood from
Aggarwal extolling his worthy friend.
I began to fidget. My tee-shot had not helped my
mood much. “Gentlemen”, I interrupted gesturing at the other four-ball waiting
behind us. Aggarwal grunted, conceding, as he moved to the ball already teed up
by his caddie – it is too menial a task to bend down and tee up the ball – and
a louder grunt followed as he heaved his weight behind the shot making the ball
disappear into the trees. Rao’s shot that followed was decent, giving a
semblance of competition to Hiraki.
My mood had not improved as I dropped another ball
short of the water hazard. Another lousy day! My thoughts went back to the
previous day – that began with a quaint plea from my son, who needed my help in
getting his passport renewed, rather urgently – and my futile efforts to
convince the authorities that the child’s trip to Australia to participate in
an architectural design competition is of reasonable national importance.
Pillar to post!
Or is it water hazard to sand trap? I cursed once
again as my ball faded right into the greenside bunker. “A double bogey at the
best,” I said accompanying Aggarwal ambling lazily towards his caddie that had
found the ball which appeared miraculously at the fringe of the fairway.
I had no qualms though – it was I that had asked
Aggarwal to fix the game with Rao, explaining the predicament of Hiraki, whose
firm is the only supplier of a certain cantilevers, deemed essential by the
consultants for the superfast roadway connecting the principal cities of the
state. At the request of the consultants, his firm had set up a hundred million
dollar manufacturing unit and I was instrumental in locating it.
The project is essential for its future viability.
Everything was hunky dory until Hiraki’s predawn
phone-call shook me up on the day before. His voice sounded to my sleepy head
like a thousand May-day alarms going off at the same time. “The specs vanished
in the final detailing document. It must be the consortium…”
My mind continued to wander adding three more bogeys
to the card, as the four-ball continued through to the refreshment hut at the fifth
tee – a long holdup, two groups waiting ahead of us. Aggarwal continued in his
characteristic tenor forcing wit into his praises of Rao, recounting anecdotes
from a long string of his feats. Even Rao couldn’t have made his own resume,
more effective.
I smiled absentmindedly at the three heads huddled
together and moseyed off with my phone to call a certain Ilangovan that can
help me with my son’s passport. “Avaru
baathroomla irukaamgu. Pinnaale phonu pamdumgo” a high pitched voice
replied without masking her irritation.
The sixth hole is a short par three – just a well
aimed pitch with a wedge across the water should get a par, if not a birdie.
Hiraki and Aggarwal are already two up. ‘But … this is my favorite hole’ I
walked confidently to the tee in spite of a wayward hook by my partner Rao. An
easy swing and – Brrrrrrrrr – the
phone began to vibrate. I was in two minds – to take a shot or the call – and
duffed the ball … another ProV into the depths.
“Sawrree saar. My name ees Ilangovan saar”, he
began.
“Yes… yes mister Ilangovan. I was trying to contact
you for my son’s …”
“Teriyum saar. Don’t worry. Tomorrow passport
coming saar, gaarentee. Just small
fees for polees and my friend in awffees, saar”
“Okay … okay” I hung up, getting ready for my three
from the tee box.
“Who’s that?” asked Rao with a smirk.
“Some bloody tout”, I replied, landing the ball next
to the pin. An assured bogey, and a chance to halve the hole made me eloquent.
“In this goddamned country … the processes are so convoluted, they don’t even
exist. You know, how much I had to run around to get a simple passport
renewed?”
“You’re right buddy.” Shaking his head vigorously,
“This country is run by touts. It’s going to dogs for sure. There’s no place
for decent folks like us” said Rao, who runs a very successful ‘tender
servicing portal’ for government works that provides start to finish
facilitation for its clients. And, he had assured my friend Hiraki a complete
reversal of the process, of course, for a reasonable fee.
