The Golf Bug

Two Mad Hatters drive a red car deep into golf’s rabbit hole in the Western Ghats. Meraj Shah tells us the tale of their adventure.

- Meraj Shah

Mumbai denizens scorn a life of leisure. And egregious displays, such as the one presented by two dishevelled middle-aged gents, silly grins pasted on their faces, donning wayfarers (undoubtedly to obviate evidence of nocturnal excess) driving enthusiastically out of town in a bright red coupe on a Friday morning, grates on commuters’ sensibilities in the city. Make that three grins: if cars could smile, then the VW Beetle does so from ear-to-ear. And its infectious enthusiasm is transmitted to its occupants, who, ensconced in the pop-art interior of the cabin, basking in the shaded light filtering through the sunroof, step on the gas keeping time with the jazz standards streaming from the Bug’s eight-speaker extravagance. The car pipes in with its own sonorous soundtrack to fill the lulls—sputter and rasp—eager like a pup on its morning walk in the park. While the wheels of commerce continue to turn, the Beetle and its two grizzled occupants are effecting an escape from the wash of work. In this red car, on a gorgeous autumn day, duty crumbles in face of wings—the former lies squashed between two golf bags in the back; the latter is in ascendance. Life, according to the Beetle’s capable navigation, is ‘Out There.’