I forget if this was at teh Tollygunge or the Royal Calcutta (mostly cause it was a few years ago, and I went a couple times to each so they have sort of melted together in my memory). I was waiting while the group ahead of us teed off. I was also waiting for my caddie (that is a whole different story, but if it ever comes up, it is called Ganja in India), so I had my clubs slung over my shoulder. My aunt pointed to a large Orangutan that was lying on its back on the top of a stone picnic table. It was spread eagle with it's arms hanging off the sides and it's head lolled half way off the table.
Being an 18 year old and being caught up in the magic of India (not to mention the surrealism of everything from the servants to the way I saw my uncle treated by everyone including police) I was not thinking clearly, and in hind-sight was probably feeling like nothing could hurt me. I decided to go in for a closer look, only slightly aware that everyone else seemed to be taking a rather wide berth around this mellow looking fellow.
When I got about 15 ft away it turned it's head and locked its eyes on me. I knew then by the sudden stillness of it's body and head that I had made a mistake. I remember having what felt like a few seconds of paniced thoughts about what little knowledge I had on wild animals: are big-ass monkeys like felines or canines? will it chase me if I run? Is it like a bear? Should I shout and wave my arms? I didn't have time to figure anything out be cause it twisted its body and flew off the table at me.
Between that moment and the moment I came back to myself (I was about 200 metres from where I started, and was now behind the clubhouse being stared at by a few suprised Indian men having a smoke) I have no recollection. My aunt joyfully repeats about my speedy sprint and soprano screams. At these times I pretend ot only half believe her.
After I had a few seconds behind the clubhouse to make sure I was in one piece and hadn't wet myself I went back around to see if anyone had noticed. All the expats were openly busting their guts, while the Indians politley pretended not to.
The damn monkey had also thrown my golf bag (which I apparently dropped, but don't remember) and the clubs had all fallen out. No one, including myself was willing to go pick them up from so near the spazz-case orangutan. So I played with an Italian guys clubs (with the promise I would leave all wild life alone while I had them).
By the time we were done the first nine, the picnic table was vacant, and my clubs were neatly in the bag propped up next to the table.
Sorry about the wall of words. I intedned to be short.