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JEEV MILKHA SINGH Milkha's WayWith victories in Asia and a Top 50 ranking in Europe, the golfer has shown he's worth of his father's legacy. By Rohit Brijnath Here's the worst thing you can do. Take a son, a golfer, list his record. Only Indian to win pro tournaments in Asia (he won again last week), only Indian to qualify to play alongside Sergio Garcia on the European Tour, only Indian to earn over $350,000 (Rs 1.5 crore) in a season ... Then take his father, a runner, list his record. Only Indian to win Asian and Commonwealth gold, only Indian to win the Helms Trophy in 1959 as the world's finest athlete, only Indian to break an Olympic record ... Then ask that tiresome question: is Jeev, Milkha Singh? To put it another way, is Jeev Milkha Singh the golfer worthy of the father whose name he carries? Jeev, goateed, polite, shrugs. Milkha beams. This year his son has moved from No. 104 in the European rankings to No. 48, beaten world No. 5 Lee Westwood in the Dunhill Cup and last week won the $35,000 first prize at Bangkok's Lexus International Open. From a land where professional golf has no moorings, where no Indian has won outside these borders, it is a stunning accomplishment. In a sport so desperately cruel, where a swing a few millimetres crooked, means a shot gone awry, a tournament lost, it is proof of an uncommon resolve. No Indian has dared either to go beyond Asia. To a Europe of Colin Montogomerie and Jose Marie Olazabal and Sergio Garcia. To a Europe with morning tee-offs in 6 degree cold, the wind so whimsical that it can make a 150 yard difference to a shot. To a Europe where to be one of the elite 150 odd who play, you have to qualify -- from a thousand, only forty make it. All this Jeev has done. It is why his father says: "Arre mere naam ko chamka raha hai dubara (He is making my name famous again)." So it's funny that if Milkha had had his way, Jeev would be carrying a stethoscope instead of clubs. Be a doctor, an engineer, he once said, not a sportsman. Why? The struggle would be too hard for him, thought Milkha. And so to understand Jeev -- how he has like Paes-Bhupathi carved an international reputation for India beyond cricket -- first understand Milkha. Life in Gobinpura, west Pakistan, in a small farmer's family in the 1940s, was desperate. Of 14 children, six died early. At 16, as Partition riots flared, Milkha's parents were butchered in front of him. He fled, surviving one month in the holy hell of Old Delhi station. He found one sister, who smuggled food to him, for her in-laws sneered at this boy who couldn't earn. He went to jail because he hadn't the one anna for the train ticket from Shahdara to Delhi. He applied to the army, was inducted only on his fourth attempt. One day they asked, "400 m bhagoge?" "What is 400 m?" he asked. "Ek round," they said, and he thought, I run 10 miles a day, what's a round? It was more. After riots, poverty, jail, how tough could this be? The legend, who urinated blood he trained so hard, had begun. And it's why when he saw Jeev in Class IV win the school 100 m by 10 metres and said excitedly, "Wow", his wife put her hand on his. "No," said Nirmal, once India's volleyball captain, "forget it, he can't work as hard as you." Milkha agreed: "My experience made me so hard that I wasn't even scared of death. I had to make my life, Jeev had his." Sons don't listen. Blame it on biology. Somewhere in the womb, a gene was handed over, too powerful to be denied. Milkha knew that the day the golf official came to see him: "Sir, your 11-year-old son is gambling on the course." So Jeev was sent away to Simla, to Bishop Cotton's. It didn't work. Like heroin, golf was coursing through his veins. Of all sports it is the most solitary, a lonely expedition of 18 holes, each shot an examination of character, for you play not an opponent, you play against yourself. And against a course, inanimate grass and trees to you, but with its water, wind, sand, rough, for the golfer it is alive, a beast that is forever challenging. Listen to Jeev, "You play your ego, your desire, your mind, it's fantastic," and it's clear, he was hooked. So Milkha watched, as Jeev, on a holiday, entered the American Express Championships in Delhi when he was 13, and won it, as easy as that. By 15, he was India's best amateur, had played the Eisenhower Trophy (the world amateur championships). A golf scholarship to the US, a player of the year award, and Jeev was going beyond genes, becoming his own man. He already was in a sense, for golf is as much esoteric as running is basic, one a tactical adventure in slow motion, the other a high speed test of sinew. Milkha didn't care, hard work was universal. Says Jeev: "With him there are no short cuts. He tells me (after two lost play-offs), 'You've got no guts, if you don't work hard this is what happens'." Jeev froze, but he knew too that his father valued his struggle. Turning pro in 1993, he won soon in Malaysia, and as Rishi Narain, 1982 Asian Games gold medallist, says, "He was breaking barriers." But golf is teasing. Suddenly Jeev couldn't win, couldn't make cuts -- after two days the worst two-thirds of the field is ejected -- and he would sit, numb, thinking "I'm irrelevant this week." His swing was an act of ugliness, his putting unsure, but he learnt. Says Vikramjit Singh, amateur champion in the 1970s: "Other Indians may be more talented, but he's mentally the toughest, he knows where he wants to go." Finally he won, in Korea, in the Philippines, finding an odd motivation. "When a fellow whips my butt, I think what does he have that I don't. It pushes me." It could have been Milkha talking. There was no time for applause, Europe was calling. In 1998 Jeev qualified; in 1999 he threatened. Third to Els in the Dunhill Open, second to David Frost at the South African Open and Mark James, Europe's Ryder Cup captain telling him, "You've the game for Europe." He's happy? No, he's consumed by failure. In the Irish Open he leads after two rounds finishes 19th, in the European Open he's leading in the third round finishes 27. After every bad shot, he is choked by fury at his imperfection, allowing it to rest in the forefront of his memory when sport demands that you forget and move on. So he hires a coach Sam Frost, listens before matches to an audio cassette by a Swedish sports psychologist, refines his swing. Then he arrives in Bangkok, having not won a tournament in three years, having lost his last two play offs, but so sure he'll win that he tells Joy Chakravarty of Tiger Sports Marketing, "I'm going to win this, I AM." And he does, in a play-off! So here he is, trophy at his feet, Rs 20 lakh from Hero Honda, free clubs from Mizuno, gloves, shoes and balls gratis from Titleist. And finally, glory. Last week, he walks through the Delhi Golf Club and suddenly, a host of caddies squatting under a tree, hoist themselves, and whistle and cheer and clap for all their worth as he goes past. At 27, with so much to do -- win in Europe, play in America -- Jeev Milkha Singh has at least done this much. He's honoured the name of his father. |
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