Tryst with the turf

It was day to jaunt with two of my friends; all in our twenties, a half century ago…

The deciding dice fell on the hallowed Bangalore Turf Club! None of us had ever been to a race course before, so this would provide another ‘coming of age’ learning experience. We had no idea of how the protocol worked there, but adventurously floated in with the aam aadmi entering the gates, assiduously imitating their moves.

Thus we landed at the viewing enclosure, an arena to watch the horses and jockeys strut their stuff, so we punters could pick a possible winner. We giggled as we goggled at the parade and choose to bet ten bucks each on a smart looking jockey, barely looking at the horse that he was riding. Not that we were connoisseurs at horse appraisals anyway, nor had we any idea that track and weather conditions too had an important role to play. When I was a tiny tot I remember an enjoyable pony ride in Bombay, safely escorted, that’s all…

Our own attraction that day towards the horse racing track, stemmed from viewing the Ascot races in the all time favourite film ‘My Fair Lady’. Illusions we harboured however, of seeing hoiety toiety incredulously hatted ladies of leisure, being escorted by gentlemen doffing top hats to them, displaying pocket watches on chains, wearing elaborate cuff links, perhaps ogling them through a monocle, were soon dispelled by the reality of the rustle of sweaty folks around, eager to plunge into punter mode. We tried to blend in, yet hung onto our purses and to ourselves, keeping safe distance from the fray.

We should’ve hedged our bets, but we three were unanimous in choosing ‘Jockey Handsome’ as our man to win. Tickets in hand, we strolled to the members enclosure. The Ascot equivalent in Bangalore for sure! The men were suited and booted, ties, cuff links, polished shoes et al, while the ladies stylish in their chiffon sarees, maybe hand tailored dresses or following other sartorial trends of the time like dress suits, pant suits, with matching jewellery, handbag and sunglasses as accoutrements, maybe a hand fan as well! 

Ready for the race, we moved back to the viewing fence. Adrenalin gushed as the horses took off, flying across the track like the wind. We kept an eye on ‘Jockey Handsome’, who seemed more adept at look appeal rather than ‘giddyapping his bloomin’ Dover’ to the coveted first at the finish post. All was over in a jiffy. The most wizened jockey bent over double on his horse, who we had condescendingly discarded, won. Who knew jockeys had to crouch tightly on the saddle to spur on their horse…

Ruing our poor judgement but nevertheless excited by our tryst with the turf, we ticked off our list another ‘grown up’ venture! The allurement of horse racing or betting wasn’t our calling, so that was our first and last horse racing encounter.