Rudy Hartono was the oldest of three all-conquering Indonesians who dominated world badminton between the late 1960s and early 1980s, and he fired my childhood passion for what was then the national sport of both Malaysia and Indonesia. Along with Liem Swie King and Icuk Sugiarto, Hartono led a golden generation of Indonesian shuttlers at a time when badminton was inextricably linked with politics, ethnicity and regional rivalry – the latter principally with the old enemy, Malaysia.

He was nearing the end of his career by the time I began to play seriously, but his achievements cast a shadow over the landscape of badminton, a quietly boastful "Match‑me-if-you-can" dare to the young pretenders to his throne. There was something about his style that mesmerised me. He did not have Liem's extravagant leaping smashes nor Icuk's raw power, but he had an innate intelligence and pulse-quickening speed. In 1978, I watched him try – and fail – to win a record ninth All-England championship against Liem, seven years his junior. My father said: "Rudy will always be the master."

In rare moments of harmony, my entire extended family would gather to watch the Thomas Cup, which often witnessed titanic struggles between Malaysia and Indonesia. All our political and cultural differences were expressed red-bloodedly in the cauldrons of the Senayan or Negara stadiums, where bottles would rain down on the players and seats would be ripped from the stands and flung on to the court. Outwardly, I supported Malaysia, but, secretly, I was rooting for the other side – their country seemed hungrier and more troubled than ours, and they needed the balm of victory more than we did. They were flamboyant and stylish, these lean, swift Indonesians; they took a genteel English game and turned it into a sport of passion and danger.

• Tash Aw's Five Star Billionaire has been longlisted for the Man Booker prize 2013. He will be appearing at the Edinburgh international book festival on 19 August.