Stop Worrying. Start Playing!

‘Stop Worrying. Start Playing!’

By

J. L. Gupta

           A word of caution at the outset. This piece is about a four letter word. If you are young and your parents have trained you to be a prude, please do not proceed any further. If you are old and a hypocrite, then too, please shut down your device.

The word is ‘GOLF’. It is the game of balls, strokes, putts and holes. Each letter is meaningful. ‘G’ is as in girl?. ‘O’ as in ogling? ‘L’? Love?  F’? I do not know what you are imagining. To me,  G is green. O out in the open. L is long shot. To me, F only means fairway.

In sober & sophisticated society, Golf has been described as a “precision club and ball sport in which competing players or (golfers )use many types of clubs to hit balls  into a series of holes on a course.” The game has also been described “as an endless series of tragedies obscured by the occasional miracle.’ It is one of the few games where one hits a stationary ball. And “you hit down to make the ball go up. You swing left and the ball goes right. The lowest score wins. And on top of that the winner buys the drinks.”

It is played on a golf course. Usually, it has 18 holes. For each hole, there is a starting point called ‘Tee”; a fairway; and then a green. On way, there are the bunkers, hazards and roughs. The lesser the number of strokes that you make in putting the ball into the hole, the better.

And surely, it is a very good game. For everyone. The adolescent, adult and the aged. It is played in green and open surroundings.  It gives good exercise to the body and provides a complete diversion for the mind. Takes one totally away from the day’s drudgery. Relaxes the body and the mind alike.

            In the 80s I used to play golf fairly regularly. I shall be less than honest if I do not admit that it was lot of fun and that I thoroughly enjoyed the game. People of all ages play this game. There are interesting stories too. You may have heard or read some.   I quote one:

“Great grandfather had been playing golf whenever possible for over 78 years. Today had been no exception. He was out early and played his 18.

Directly after golf he attended his great, great grandson’s wedding.

During the reception he was conversing with his great, great grandson, giving advice on happy marriage and a great life.

After a while the young groom said ‘Grandfather what is it like making love when you reach your age?’

And he replied, ‘Well, it is kinda like putting with a rope.”

            Another one.

            “A toothless old man greeted the doctor and announced that he was getting married. “Why? At your age? If you must, please keep some help at home,” was the doctor’s mandate.

A year later, the old man was on the course and frantically waving to the doctor. On reaching closer, he announced – ‘She is expecting.’               

The doctor asked – “Did you heed my advice and keep a help at home?”

The response was prompt. ‘Yes! I did. But she too is in the family way.’

            One more? Sure! Yes.

‘In 1923, do you know who was: 

* President of the largest steel company? 
* President of the largest gas company?
* The greatest wheat speculator?
* President of the Bank of International Settlement?
* The Great Bear of Wall Street? 
* President of the New York Stock Exchange?

These men should have been considered some of the world's most successful men. At least, they found the secret of making money.

Now almost 80 years later, do you know what became of these men?

* Charles Schwab, president of the largest steel company, died a pauper.
* Edward Hopson, president of the largest gas company, went insane.
* Arthur Cooger, the greatest wheat speculator, died abroad, penniless. 
* Cosabee Livermore, president of the BIS, shot himself 
* The Great Bear of Wall Street, committed suicide 
* Richard Whitney, NYSE president released from prison to die at home

In that same year, 1923, Gene Sarazen won most of the important golf championships, including both the US Open and PGA Championship. 
He played golf until he was 92 and died in 1999 at the age of 95... 
and was financially solvent at his death.

Conclusion: Stop worrying about business and start playing more golf!”

And pl. be sure, the following story should encourage you -

“Why are golf and sex so similar? They are the two things you can thoroughly enjoy even though you are really bad at them.”#

#Source: http://www.jokes4us.com/sportsjokes/golfjokes/golfjokes.html

The stock of such stories is inexhaustible. These jokes spare none. However, the male loyalty to the game exceeds even that to matrimony. No wonder, the non-playing ladies are often described as golf widows. 

The Trinity

             “The Trinity"

By

J.L. Gupta

            Italy is not merely the land of Fiat and Ferrari. Or of pizza and pasta. It is a treasure trove. Every city offers a slice of history. Each stone has a story to tell. And it does not take long to discover it.

         In the morning, the cruise ship was docked. At a short distance from the port. A ferry took us to the shore. The port was the city of Livorno in district Tuscany. It seemed to be a busy commercial centre. However, we boarded the bus for Pisa - the birth place of Galileo. After weaving our way through some streets, we were on the highway. No six lanes. Just a dual carriageway. But the traffic was very orderly. Nobody honked. None changed the lane without giving a proper indication. Everyone was fast. Yet, nobody seemed to be rash or in a rush.

The drive was good. There was a lot of greenery all through. No plastic. No slums anywhere. It virtually seemed as if we were passing through a forest. There was a refreshing freshness about the environment. A distinct scent in the air. In an hour, we had reached our destination. We were in Pisa. A city in the central part of Italy.

The first impression was like that of a small Indian town. The people were mostly moving on cycles. After a short walk through what may be compared to the Chandni Chowk in Delhi, we turned left. And as we moved, the sight was superb. Really breathtaking. Just fascinating. It is vividly etched in memory.

                         

  The Holy Trinity – of the Baptistery, the Cathedral, and the Bell Tower, commonly known as the leaning Tower of Pisa. In what may seem like white marble with a touch of grey and blue. Each, a work of art. Individually, each is as majestic as the other.

 

The Baptistery is round in shape. It has a big dome at the top. The guide told us that the "acoustics are said to hold a sung note for minutes." He tried to prove it with the clap of his hands. He was right. The Cathedral is a huge structure. It had taken about 29 years to build it. It houses Giovanni Pisano's ornate pulpit and "swath of Gothic reliefs."

Then, there is the Tower of Pisa. It is leaning about sixteen feet. Still, it is stable.

                                         

 When were these built? The guide could not give a definite answer. But he did tell us that the Cathedral and the Baptistery were decorated by distinguished sculptors. Guglielmo Pisano had made the Cathedral’s first pulpit in the year 1162. The bronze doors were sculpted by Bonanno Pisano in 1180. And Nicola Pisano had carved the Baptistery pulpit in the year 1260. The existing pulpit in the Cathedral is from Nicola’s son. He was certain that all the three were ‘very very old.’

         But the buildings do not betray their age. Because these are well maintained. Restoration is a continuing process. It was going on. And these are kept clean. There was not a speck of dust on any stone, door or wall.  Not an extra blade of grass or a weed in any of the lawns. The whole place looked neat. Spick and span. It was beautiful.

The roads are narrow. Yet, the traffic is always on the move. The greenery is good. The trinity of the Baptistery, Cathedral and the Tower presents a spectacular sight. No wonder, the tourists come in large numbers. From far and near. Irrespective of their age.

I came back with a wish. We should also keep our monuments as the Europeans do. Shall we? Hopefully! Some good men & women from amongst us shall try to preserve the past for the future.

(Photos by the author with Sony Cyber Shot)

Some Sops

 

“Some Sops”

By

J.L. Gupta

 

Whoever thought that talk was cheap had never hired a lawyer. A chain smoker in his youth never imagined that a doctor’s five-minute visit would mean so much money. The cranky on the ‘couch’ never knew that the ‘shrink’ would own his money before he is cured.  

 

I have been in the profession of law. For decades. I can admit having lost several cases. Sometimes, on account of my own ignorance. Yet, it did not normally prevent me from sending a bill or accepting the cheque. Please do not get too excited. The truth is that each profession provides some sops.

 

Today, a pizza gets to your home before the police do. But my friend who had been in police for almost a lifetime had some magic about himself. On hearing of a crime, he was invariably the first one at the spot. And his presence made a difference. Almost instantaneously, the ‘eye witnesses’ appeared on the scene. Virtually, from nowhere. They also knew exactly what he expected them to say.

 

I have been to jail several times. At different places. Often, in august company. And I have come across some interesting characters. Like the convict for burglary. I asked him, “Do you commit burglaries while people are in deep slumber after the day’s hard work?” The reply was simple and straight. “I cannot sleep a wink throughout the night. So, what shall I do? I make a living while others are asleep. The hour is most convenient and rewarding too.” And then there was a convict under the NDPS Act. He was allegedly caught with a substantial quantity, 55 kgs. of opium. But he was continuously complaining of injustice. On a thorough interrogation, I learnt that his complaint was that he was actually carrying 125 kgs. What happened to the 70 kgs.? Your guess is as good as mine.

 

My doctor friend has a typical handwriting. Totally illegible. Five minutes after writing the prescription, even he is unable to decipher the code. But this too has a silver lining. The bad handwriting helps him to hide his spelling mistakes.

 

With almost an air of superiority, he tells me – “The professions of law and medicine have a lot in common. Both deal with and affect human lives. But there is one difference. If the doctor makes a mistake, it is buried six feet deep. However, when a lawyer falters, the poor man is hung ten feet high. He is there for everyone to see.” He tells me – ‘your fault shows.’

 

I met a beer taster. He did not drink water. Reason? ‘It is habit forming. You get addicted to it. And it is totally unfit for human consumption. See what it does to the pipes. It rusts the best of them. How would it ever spare a simple vegetarian like me?’ And then adds – “Beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder. Water only dulls your senses.”

 

In the words of Jeffrey Bernard “Journalism is the only thinkable alternative to working.” The journalist has an advantage over the others. When he writes an obituary or something else, it makes the Middle or the main story on the Edit or Op-ed page. When others write, it is just an ‘obituary’ or a dull piece and may not find any space. You may be kept waiting endlessly and not even get the old fashioned ‘slip’ conveying the Editor’s thanks for the contribution and regrets for the inability to use it. Today, things have moved still further. If you ring up or send a message, the Editor is not even obliged to respond. Simple courtesies are just forgotten. No wonder, the Magazine section of a recent issue of The Hindu says ‘There is a new kind of cricket Pundit on the scene. He’s not on TV or in print, but in blogs and the social media’, says Arun Venugopal. Further, ‘After a “fallow streak of articles”, he realised that ‘blogs were overtaking the mainstream in terms of quality.’

 

The following on Twitter and Facebook clearly supports the claim!

 

Why grudge? Every profession offers some sops.  

 

Respect Bonds. Reject Borders.

‘Respect Bonds. Reject Borders’

By

J.L. Gupta

 

India remained under foreign domination, particularly of the English for a long time. We fought and ultimately became independent. In the fight for independence, we were all Indians. Not Christians, Hindus, Muslims or Sikhs. But while leaving, the English partitioned us into India and Pakistan. A man made border was created to divide what God had ordained to be one. Suddenly, the people were branded as Hindus and Muslims. The families and friends had to leave their homes, hearths and loved ones. They had to migrate to what are now India and Pakistan. As if the holocaust of partition was not enough, the governments have even inflicted the wounds of two wars on the innocent people.

 

Yet, the bonds are too strong to be broken. The facts prove it. Let us go back by a few years. It was March 2004. Indian Cricketers were going to Pakistan. The government had made it easy for the people to cross the border. Shireesh, my nephew is an adventurous youngman. He along with a friend, decided to visit Pakistan. And what an experience! He was full of praise for everyone. Particularly, the people.

 

            In the Stadium, he spotted his cousin Vivek with his wife Pooja. Both of them were also equally touched by the warm reception. The ‘Customs’ and the ‘Security’ clearances were quick. The hotel staff was helpful. The policemen at the Stadium were polite. And the people had gone out of the way to make every Indian feel comfortable, at home and welcome.

 

            The warmth was visible. Everywhere. The taxi drivers; the hoteliers; the wayside vendors and the shopkeepers, all refused to accept any money for the fare, food or the small souvenirs that they had picked up. The people greeted everyone with open arms and extended hospitality whole-heartedly.  An acquaintance had asked Shireesh and his friend over for dinner. It was a lavish spread. Even small sentiments were respected. No non-vegetarian dish was served.

 

            It was heartening to hear their experiences. And everything seemed so natural. After all, only some years back, all of us were together. We were one people. A single nation. Our ancestors had lived and grown up together. They had fought hand in hand for our independence. Spent the best part of their youth in jails. Made sacrifices. Finally, they had succeeded. But having achieved the goal, the politicians had put the people apart. 

 

 

Man to man, there is no bitterness. No rancour. Only bonds of love and affection.  Fortunately, the hatred created by the politicians has not permeated to the hearts of the people. And why not? We look alike. We eat and enjoy the same kind of food. Speak the same language. Wear similar clothes. There are old associations. Fond memories of good moments that some of us had spent together. Various incidents are still indelibly imprinted in our minds.

 

            I recall a comparatively recent one. Janab Qateel Shefai, the famous poet, had visited Chandigarh. To participate in a mushaira. A friend had hosted a dinner. I overheard Shefai Sahib ask one of the guests about a place called Samana. “You have some association with Samana?” I asked. “It is my native place,” was the reply. And on learning that I also belong to the same place, he gave me a very warm hug. “I would like to meet your father,” he said. And next evening, they met. Very warmly. Like long lost brothers. He touched my father’s feet. They talked nostalgically about Justice Munir and Justice Jameel Hussain, the two distinguished Judges from Samana who had migrated to Pakistan and made a mark in the field of law. About many others too. Also about the times spent together in Samana. The mutual love & regard were absolutely obvious. 

 

            Now, it is Sept, 2013. The Hindus and Muslims have been living together. Yet, we have witnessed some unfortunate clashes between the members of the two communities in India during the last few days. Over what? Nobody is able to tell. But precious lives have been lost. The loved ones have been done to death. Clearly, the human beings behaved worse than savage beasts.

 

Would such a conduct be approved by God or even by man himself? If not, why this madness?

 

Despite these stray incidents, the people have not forgotten the martyrs. The Tribune of Sept. 30, 2013 carries the following report on Page 13 - 

 

“Pak celebrates Bhagat Singh’s 107^th birth anniversary”

 

“Islamabad: Members  of the civil society celebrated the 107th birth anniversary of the  legendary freedom fighter Bhagat Singh on Saturday at Lahore’s Shadman Chowk where he was          hanged by the British in 1931. They cut a cake and held a vigil in his memory chanting “We want freedom” and “Freedom is our right”.  They also reiterated their demand to name the place after the freedom fighter and regretted that a local court had put on hold a decision by the government in this regard after opposition by an extremist group – TNS”

 

The report bears testimony to the fact that we remember and respect our martyrs. Is it not time that the people sat together to discuss and decide that violence can never help anyone. Is it not apparent that fanaticism and petty politics cannot resolve issues that really confront the people of the two countries? Is the conflict between India and Pakistan helping anyone except the manufacturers of weapons of war and destruction? The people of the two countries and the members of the two communities must embrace each other. Hold each other close to the hearts. Welcome each other warmly. We must resolve to ignore the politicians; work together to stop buying weapons of war and use the available funds to free the people from want and hunger. Let there be no hostility. Only hospitality. Let us all resolve to respect the old bonds and not be divided by the new man-made borders; be ambassadors of goodwill and peace. For the good of humanity.  For our own good.