Slumdog Golfer

Here’s a good article from Sports Illustrated.

Anil Mane dreamed of wide fairways. He dreamed of a golf club in his hand and a white ball at his feet. Worry disappeared. Everything fell quiet, his fears silenced, his shaking hand calmed. He swung the club with tempo. He held the follow-through. The ball arced into the air, landed softly and rolled next to the cup. The gallery applauded, and he tapped it in. He dreamed of a shining trophy and a long sigh of relief. Sometimes, he laughed in his sleep …

… Anil woke up. He cleared his head and found that, yes, he was still on the floor of his 10-by-10-foot shack built on a Mumbai sidewalk. He was still 27, and his problems hadn’t vanished overnight. Outside, in the dusty blue of dawn, families slept on the pavement. Chickens crawled over their huddled bodies. The street smelled of burning trash. Human waste rotted in the gutters. The children were skinny, but the rats were fat.

Read it all.

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