A Parable of the Golf Ball

“I am the dust in the sunlight,

I am the ball of the sun . . .

I am the mist of morning,

the breath of evening . . . . 

I am the spark in the stone, 

the gleam of gold in the metal . . . . 

The rose and the nightingale 

drunk with its fragrance. 

I am the chain of being, 

the circle of the spheres, 

The scale of creation, 

the rise and the fall. 

I am what is and is not . . . 

I am the soul in all.”

Rumi

I dwell amongst the pockets of branded golf pants and kits. I travel from my birthplace, wrapped in a beautiful box, to the decorated racks of glittering golf shops. It needs expertise to make me, and I am expensive to buy. I start from a specially raised area called a tee box and take off from the top of a tee. They clean me before playing and use expensive sticks to make me fly. They raise colorful flags at my posts and make treated round greens for my arrival. I may be small, but I roll with the mighty. The most important people like kings, presidents, army generals, CEOs, doctors, astronauts, religious figures etc. follow me wherever I go. Mr. Donald Trump relaxes in my company. Nicole Kidman is my friend and Michael Jordan adores me. They get concerned when I am not in sight. Some even take off their shoes and socks, pursuing me into the water. They make expensive playgrounds, decorated with flower beds and beautiful trees. They wear special attire in my honor. Some get intoxicated, while others practice for hours just to perform better in my presence.

I have my own glossary and rules. I can punish, and I can reward. I can deny, and I can nod. I can disappear before your eyes, and I can be visible from the rough. I can make careers, and I can relinquish the crowns. I can hurt those who come in my way, and I can spare one from injury. I can crawl although I don’t have knees. I can walk despite being foot less. I run without shoes, and I don’t need wings to fly. I may remain faithful, and no one can stop me from infidelity. It is impossible to bridle me, and no one knows how to tame me. I do what I like. And I love to make people come after me. I can glorify beginners with a hole in one, and I can nail Tiger Woods to make four putts.

 I am a golf ball. No matter if I’m stained with mud or water, I will behave the way I always do. The hairy tennis ball is jealous of my glowing skin. Whereas smelly cricket balls envy my dimples. That fat soccer ball is always scared of losing its air. The oversized basketball is a loner. I travel in a caravan and live with my siblings. I innately fly while hiding is my habit. I am not scared of going through water although I don’t know how to swim. I can drown, but water can’t kill me. I don’t like to work with cowards, and I love the brave.  

“Fear makes a bear bigger than he is”

German proverb

I admire those who make divots to please me since it proves I have been there. I punish people who lack concentration. I like eye to eye contact although I lack eyes and brows. I absolutely hate divided attention and carefree attitude. If you will pay attention to me, I will do as you say. You know, paying each other some attention is all that matters.

“Take your attention off the forms and focus on what is inside.”

Rumi

To be continued. 

Credits 

Google

Pinterest 

Lahore Garrison GCC

Images: Eyaz Riaz

Mr. Sarim Z. Khan (Edit & Narration.)

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Audio: Morning with Golf

YouTube: Morning with Golf

Birdies, Bogeys and Bunkers

In the name of golf, I solemnly admit that I have cheated myself in recording my scores on the Golfshot app repeatedly. Despite such efforts, my handicap and my average score prefers to cling to the roof. 

This wonderful game is really made for wonders. My bunker shots usually insist on keeping the ball sandy. In case the ball leaves the green side  bunker, it would wander like a zombie, leaving me with a long face and a wounded spirit. I am unable to discover why it often chooses strange directions. On top of that, caddies always have a handy blame to paste on my forehead: “It’s a look up.”, “You lost balance.”, “Complete your follow through.”, etc. The usual slogans all caddies use. If I ever quit golf, look ups would be the reason.

Still, I engaged with my caddy every time I played the game. It makes no difference who is the culprit caddie, lie or myself, the onus stays on me. Of course with few exceptions. I start playing golf with overflowing zeal, and return home with a refreshed promise to win next time. There are some days when I defeat my crew, and that’s when they reach the worst of their spells. The other day, my fellow golfer unfurled on the 7th hole. Yet, I was insistent to lose that hole, so I followed him all the way to the 8th shot on a par five. But he refused to provide me the opportunity, and my ball eventually revolted into the hole. Whereas, he finished it in ten. No one can doubt my sincerity. I did my best. 

It’s a fact that I am a good golfer. My determination is beyond question, and my devotion to the cause is unmatched. I have quashed, time and again, most golfers who claimed to be better than me. My career in golf includes invalidating some renowned pros on many auspicious occasions. In real sense, their lack of concentration led to their downfall. All of them blamed the quality of my narration for that. Well, everything is fair in love and war. 

Not all weapons sit in the arsenal. The deadliest lurk in the fighter’s mind. Yes, strategy can make a wood piece work like a gun. And deceit works for those who don’t make it a habit. There is no bigger deception than secrecy. Nothing hits more than an unexpected blow. Mighty empires fall in slumber, and forts crumble to Trojan horses. 

Those who don’t learn historical lessons become the decoration of dustbins. Those who let opportunity slip through their hands live in the lap of despair. Those who grab the moment from its horns change their fate. A lion is a dog without nails and teeth, a soldier is worthless without courage and belief, and a golfer is a walker without patience and passion. 

The great game of golf works in chapters like a suspense novel. One flip of the page horrifies, and the other makes the reader smile. In the same manner golf shots surprise a golfer. Hissing horripilation, dens of despair, and the jogs of jubilation are regular features of this game. What matters the most is to get out there and play. 

“On what is fear: non acceptance of uncertainty. If we accept that uncertainty, it becomes an adventure.”

Rumi 

Credits 

Pinterest 

Google 

Lahore Garrison GCC. 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Audio: https://youtu.be/SkyxOQ1yAeU

Just The Two Of Them

“Reason is powerless in the expression of love.”

Rumi

A couple of pigeons sat on the v shaped stem on the top of a tree. I guess they appreciated the warmth of an April morning. My tee shot landed behind that tree in the rough. I got there to plan my approach shot from the rough near that tree. The sun on the other hand tried to complement us all supportively. I didn’t want to take that shot since it was going to interrupt those lovers with gray wings. I didn’t know their language, but their gestures expressed their adoration for each other. 

They chose a great venue to share their morning sitting, but my ball sat on a difficult lie. Since two is a company and three is a crowd, relieving my dilemma, they decided to take off. Lovers don’t like sticks and stones. I didn’t take a shot till they flew away. The wait was worth it. One should never disturb paramours since nothing is more valuable than love. The presence of love at that avenue seemed more important than my match winning shot. 

People don’t make matches very often. If they do, they seldom last. Mostly, they end up as mismatches. Winning a routine golf match should not have broken that beautiful match the pigeons had made for themselves. 

They have already made the birdie that I was intending to make. Easier said than done. Neither everyone finds a perfect partner in life nor every shot leads to victory. We must respect those who are lucky enough to hold each other’s hands in harmony or those who fly together in complete synchronization. Love finds them all, lovely pigeons in the picture above or notorious vultures in the picture below. 

Love makes all of them beautiful. It brings and keeps them together. A couple always looks prettier than the lonely. 

I must bring your attention to another picture below. There is a dry and detached leaf that clings on to another stem of the tree. As if it doesn’t want to depart. Look how being together is important to this dead leaf. How can I measure the amount of love of a leaf who deplores disconnection, despite being dead and doomed. 

You must be wondering how in the world do I notice all these things during a game as demanding as golf. 

Golf requires immediate attention, and love can wait for forever. And golf courses always offer much more. From flora and fauna to spirit and soul. From laughter and tears to patience and tolerance. Love rules God’s earth. I am not the only culprit who appreciates lovers, there are others, crazier than I am. 

My cousin, teammate, and a friend, Eyaz Riaz, is one of them. He captured the two lovers riding on the lily at Lahore Garrison Golf & Country Club. This couple of fireflies sought the light of love in the lap of a bindweed, morning glory, (convolvulus). Love neither needs wings to fly nor does it require bones to stand up. It is present everywhere, in a leaf, a petal, a heartbeat, and a dream. It just shines like sun rays, perfumes like jasmine, floats like water, and enlivens like breeze. 

“Be foolishly in love, because love is all there is.”

Rumi 

Just the two of us

Blissful Mind

Credits 

Google 

YouTube 

Eyaz Riaz

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Rain Drops Keep Falling On My Head

“Without the frown of clouds and lightning, the vines would be burned by the smiling sun.”

Rumi 

As the night began to sleep and morning was still yawning to wake, my crew mates started dropping out. WhatsApp is the most convenient way to announce the absence. I have done it many times, and it works well each time. 

At the first tee of Lahore Garrison GCC, the flight was formed, and we took off in great soothing weather. Sporadic clouds sailed over the empty course. The sun appeared and disappeared, playing hide and seek with the clouds. So did my game. Squeezing my skin with goosebumps, the chilly air at the golf club indicated that it was raining close by. Gradually, dark clouds spun into cold drops. The wind caught speed. The golf ball enjoyed the air resistance, diving and turning accordingly. It had no regard for the golfer’s intended directions. My balls, already used to violating my desires on a regular basis, stood to the occasion. The new leaves danced in the wind as the fallen ones flew up like flying tapestry. A spiraling procession of clouds cloaked the sun. My game didn’t go well from the very first ball. My ball would fondly look for roughs, and trees, if it would miss bunkers and water hazards. I no longer was capable of controlling the direction of my shot. It was one of those days. Other than the game, I enjoyed everything this morning had to offer. 

I couldn’t ruin my day due to the lack of a few pars and bogeys. I had to find refuge elsewhere. I let the wind’s voice wash me away as it embraced every strand of hair, sizzling me with splendor. It blew its own piper, persuading the trees to cohere with its tunes. The grass, the shrubs, and flower beds all sang in a chorus, enveloped in a rhythmic union. The flags at the post joined them, inviting me to appreciate the moment and forget about the shots. 

Being a wanderer, I, myself, wanted to join those dry leaves flying for the heck of it. Instead, I followed suit to keep our flight going. My body was in the game, but my soul had joined the rest of the course. The soil longed for rain. The clouds had traveled to answer her call, quenching its thirst and filling her void. 

Once we reached the middle of the seventh fairway, the rain lost its patience and began to pour. Our noses nested with the pleasant petrichor. It gave us no chance to seek shelter in the midway hut. It rained cats and dogs, leaving me drenched as the wind whiplashed against my poor umbrella.

The Ramadan rain fell on me as if nature intended to wash off my sins at that very moment. I don’t know how my young teammates felt, but a surge of purity and cleanliness empowered me. 

Urged with enlightenment, we walked briskly to the parking lot, but every step stemmed the journey of a washed and cleansed man. Water always ignites my imagination, but this morning rain reminded me of the heavens beyond those clouds. I might not be able to understand what the heavens meant this morning, but the soil underneath my feet glimmered with hope and smelled of gratitude. The trees and grass bloomed once again, wringing away the droplets of water. Only us humans looked for shelter to avoid this bliss falling from the skies. Everything else was enjoying the falling dexterity of the angel of the weather. 

Rain drops keep falling on my head

B.J Thomas 

Credits 

Google 

YouTube 

Lahore Garrison GCC. 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Drowsy Dawns

Of course! nothing beats sleeping through the morning. That’s the dreamiest part of the whole slumber. On the other hand being awake at dawn is much more satisfying. The first shot as the sunlight demarks the horizon is even more enchanting. What a beautiful spot on the canvas of the day, the dawn is? The disappearing darkness, drowsy dawn, and sleepy sparrows. The fresh golfer, even fresher ball and cold grip of the one wood. The wet tee box, watery fairway and the dewed greens. Crunchy sound and prints of the footsteps of the forwarding flight stay behind, breaking the peace of the pious morning. 

Walking on the dreaming grass and disturbing the snoring roughs. Knocking at the yawning trees and shaking the resting leaves. Teaching the stertoring birds to chirp and guiding the sun to rise. Teeing off with the light ball and waking the reptile with the sound of a driver strike. This is called, “morning with golf.” 

Hundreds of times I have seen the sunrise at many beautiful courses? Each time it is a new sight and fresher scene, a unique look and a brighter vision. Each time it gives birth to a newer prayer, a fresher hope, a unique satisfaction and a brighter fulfillment. Morning is a time when life renews itself and reconditions the living. It is unexplainable how everything awakens to celebrate the arrival of the first rays of the infant sun. One can hear the holy rhymes of birds and pretty sprout of the leaves at this particular time. 

Dawn leaves nothing unchanged, as if a new morning is the new birth of the whole planet. Time itself may be a chorus of the dancing stars or it can merely be a whirl of our little blue planet, like a Turkish Dervish. 

Whirling Dervish of Koneya 

Our hearts instead witness a new pat on the earth’s shoulder at each dawn. Mornings are gestures of encouragement by the universe to inspire our small planet. And dewdrops are a sign of the sky’s satisfaction with its dwellers. 

Only the lucky wake up at dawn and the luckier walk on the fairways covered with dew. I can suspect that the residents of the skies do extend their special attention to the awakened inhabitants of the earth at dawn. 

This morning a crew of four took off from the tee one at PAF Skyview GCC. The wind was chilly and the grass was wet. Our steps left marks on the dewed fairway recording our activity there. It was clearly written on the ground how far each of us hit our drivers. Our push carts also left their lines along with our footsteps. What a messy cum mesmerizing scene it was.

Yes we left sings, divots, sand, and broken tees along with our lost and drowned balls on the course. Of course we are humans, earth shakes with the power of our mobility. Our caterpillars, Boeing’s, fighter jets, tanks, trains and ships. Our airports, freeways, seaports, and skyscrapers. Are all marks of human might on the face of this planet. And now our voyagers, rovers and remote controlled helicopters are announcing our arrival on the stars beyond ours. The moon. Mars and far beyond.  

I was wondering what a wonderful being we humans are? We make changes wherever we go. We are fond of amendments, improvements, development and progress. In the eyes of other species we may be polluters and intruders in the matter of nature. Instead no nature is complete without us. We are an integral part of nature and more. We only need to learn to clean our debri and dirt.  In order to keep on traveling in civilized manners to maintain the status of being multiplanetary species. That we have almost become. 

Keep waking up early to welcome the beautiful mornings wherever you’re across the universe or beyond. Since we can only be awake till a certain time. This luxury is not eternal at all.

“Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you. Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion.”

Rumi

Credits 

Google 

Suleman Rehman (painter)

PAF Skyview Golf & Country Club 

YouTube 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Rocking on the High Rocks

On a pleasant April morning, the traffic was virtually nonexistent on the Murree Expressway. The post-dawn air was crisp and the beauty of the weather was worth the uphill journey. I was quietly anticipating a great round at Chinar Golf Club. The road briskly snaked through the mountains crossing all hurdles smoothly. I cruised in my trusty SUV maintaining pace and performance. The spiritual genre of the morning music further soothed the shoofly of the turnings to tranquility and hope. 

In a drunken style, my chauffeur shifted in the driving seat from one side to another, completely coherent with the curves of the hillside expressway. Unlike my soul, my big tummy didn’t appreciate the waves after waves of those turns. Despite all that, the road to Murree has its unique scenes and sequence. Each time I embark on this road, it feels like it’s the first time. 

From: hippieseurope.tumbler.com

Not all roads take us home nor do all journeys lead us to destinations. Sometimes we undertake unwanted voyages that take us to undesired places. Other times, we go on explorations just for the sake of change or break in routine. Some desires die at the hands of inactions while others get fulfilled by chance. Some wishes are purposeful and others are impossible. One of such desires led me to these mountains. I was climbing these summits to culminate my golf at the top of these peaks. In the slopes of the mighty mountains dwells Chinar Golf Club, the eleventh highest golf club in the world. My flight includes three top golfers of the country. My nephew Mr. Eesa Eyaz, a champion in the making, Mr. Ahmad Baig, the hero who needs no introduction, and Sayed Raza Shah, a promising top ranker. Seeing them play so closely on this difficult course was a fun lesson. Their commitment to each short speaks of their skill and expertise. Ahmad spoke in a mellow tone and changed my game forever. And Raza pointed out bluntly what I was not doing right. We all were mesmerized by the ambiance of this amazing round. 

Speaking of commitment, I must mention Col. Deg, who conceived a three-hole golf course in 1932 at this height. He definitely must have been a fanatic golfer. Mr. Gulab Khan, a local curator who executed that design, must have formed an alliance with the jinns to bring it to reality. How in the world one can think of playing golf in such topography? But colonial British were no less than Jinns themselves. 

It also takes supernatural qualities to play golf on this mountainous course. The tee one sits on top of a hill while it takes deep slopes and steep climbs between tees and greens green. Tall tree lines do intercept the ball and golfers from reaching there. The whole round on this course is a strenuous ascend and descend. There are stairs to reach most of the tees, and it isn’t an easy task. Mostly we try to play over the trees to seldom succeed. Just like my golf game, and the weather of Bhurban, the result of the shot here is quite unpredictable. But perhaps that’s the exciting part. 

Putting is nothing short of a magic trick here. The skin of greens on this course is natural and least treated. Nothing of the sort of PGA greens. This topography has its own qualities and limitations. One thing that is good about this course is the absence of water hazards. They are replaced by tree hazards. The Chir Pine, Blue Pine, Deodar, and Spruce are in a contest with each other to touch the blue sky. And pine needles are trying to cover the ground before the wild white daisy, aquilegia, and hydrangea. The flower spike of chestnut trees adds a unique blend of beauty. 

It is impossible to ignore the chirping. How can one pass through Murree hills and Galiyat without noticing the Himalayan Indigo and other members of Fabaceae? Clouds also call these valleys home. They regularly play hide and seek with the birds of the skies of Bhurban. Black-headed Jays and Himalayan Woodpecker are few beauties to mention.

In this season, butterflies put on live shows in aisles of these tree trunks. The four-ring butterfly is a showstopper among them. They are fragile but determined flights do add another chapter to the story of this beautiful resort. 

Mime adds a special texture to the beautiful lawns of the Chinar golf clubs. 

Touching on this piece of paradise, being a part of a young flight, walking on a unique golf course, and cooperating with the perfect weather makes the ride to Bhurban worth the while. A trip to the mountains never disappoints. 

Credits 

Google 

Wikipedia 

Chinar Golf Club 

Lahoregardening.com

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, Photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Short of Perfection

“And still after all this time,

the sun never says to earth, 

“You owe me.”

Look what happens with a love like that,

It lights the whole sky.”

Hafiz

Everybody on this Earth looks for a purpose. Some seek wealth, others look for fame. Some are in search of glory, many are on the quest for knowledge. The clever look for wisdom, while lucky ones fall for love. Some stand steadfast, ready for sacrifice. The moment life takes the form of flesh, a chain of needs commences. A newborn cries for milk only to satisfy its natural need for hunger. Then the baby grows up and hunger levels up from basic needs to worldly wants, like toys or play. 

My need promotes your profession. Your work provides for my necessities. So begins trade, commerce, and economy. Economics leads to avarice and greed makes me work. The golfers’ greed leads them to the gym and the range. They practice their tails off and sweat to their bones. A poor man laboriously works multiple jobs to meet the ends. A scientist researches day and night losing hair and weight. The jockey and horse run to outlast others. A student burns eyes in pursuit of the best grades. The story goes on. People don’t become Tiger Woods, Maria Sharapova, and Paulo Coelho overnight. 

Lakes of sweat pour out of the pores of those whose bodies grace the victory stand. In some cases, sweat is physical and in others it is mental. The lethargic and lazy ones only clap for them sitting on their cozy couches, while the winners unlock the bottles of champagnes to celebrate their victories. There are no shortcuts to the finishing line and hard work is the only key to success. It has its own cramps and stresses. Those who dance in the corridors of the palace of success and twist on red carpets, do pass through the thorn full paths of hardships and thrust through the dunes of determination. Behind the admirable figures of the fairylike models lies the story of constant fasting, unflavored diet, and endless steel lifting. In the hands of the ones holding the most prestigious of trophies, lie the scars of determination. 

Cricket enthusiasts wait hours for their turn to bat while fielding in the scorching sun. Footballers earn scratches from their fields and boxers go home with heavy bruises. Still, the game goes on. Golfers on the other hand keep tanning, playing with their individual balls in constantly rotating turns. Still, the ball is lost every now and then. Scratches, bruises, and the burning of skin are all the steps on the stairway of life, multiplied as the baby seasoned, from feeder to food to friends to fame to facade to fabulation, to ultimately become a person. 

“My soul is from elsewhere, I am sure of that, and I intend to end up there.”

Rumi

It is a great human desire to be accepted, praised, and honored by fellow human beings. The burning fancy of heroism leads us to the path of extreme hard work. On the track of struggle, one keeps crossing rivers after rivers, without the fear of drowning. Those who push themselves to the extent of extinction stand on the reach at the top. The only way up there is through the effort of consistent labor. How can one taste the fruit without planting, watering, and sowing the seed? Only once you go through the difficult phases, can you truly enjoy the deliciousness of your struggle. 

Yes, victory is a need. I myself begin my day struggling on golf courses. Yes, winning is a necessity, an inclination for the minds, fodder of the souls, and drive for life. The biggest of all needs we have as humans is our survival. These days humanity is fighting a serious war against the most stealth enemy: COVID-19. We must give it defeat by not giving up. By following the protocol. By avoiding unnecessary exposure. Good luck fellows. 

Credits 

Google 

Wikipedia 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, Photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Lunch at Soan River

On the first day of April a group of my business partners had planned a field trip for site selection for our upcoming housing project. Our cavalcade took off from Islamabad, Kenny Rogers was preaching to me, about manners of “Gambling” through my car stereo. 

Cruising through the beautiful Pothohar plateau, the green and yellow landscape delivered a grand message to me. It said, “Green represented the youth, and old was represented by the yellow, mature crop of wheat, the gold.” 

 After many stops on the recommended sites, we finally reach a land owner’s home. Who had generously invited us to lunch. We reached his residence in Chakari. Man! He lives in an eye of the earth.

How can I describe it through my limited vocabulary and stammering narration?  

Sun shone in full glory , the wind blew briskly, the sky was bright and blue, the wheat crop at its peak bloomed and spring was in full swing. We sat on a large veranda at the bank of Soan river. The sky was reflective of the slow moving currents of the Soan River. The blonde wheat crop sat smiling in the lap of lush green mountains. The wind constantly combed the golden wheat spikes making them dance to Pothohari tunes. The young citrus orchard in the company of adolescent Loquat trees resembled the freshmen on campus grove. 

I could gaze at a few grazing cattle on the other bank of the river. While a cow came closer to greet the guests. She was shaking her head every now and then in welcome gestures. It reminded me that she also chipped in the lunch we were about to have. 

The scene absorbed completely. I was one with the valley. It soared my thoughts beyond the dusty survey of the lands on this business tour. The host had an equally pleasant personality. This part of his farm was specifically made for guests. They call it “Daira” in local language and in english it is known as anexy. It was designed in coherence with local traditions. The building is surrounded by trees. A big paved courtyard, covered br ornamental boundary. Wide veranda, a large sitting hall. Drawing and dining rooms in the lower floor.The main hall was furnished with rope knitted local beds, that had colorful wooden legs. They had decorated those with cotton filled pillows and hand woven bed covers. That is a traditional welcome gesture. 

 He further had arranged a delicious nosh-up in our honor. The self raised and street fed chicken’s curry, home grown garlic sautéed spinach, house baked bread, artfully made liver stew and well-done semolina sweet dish took over the entire scenario. Everything was cooked in home churned butter. How can I forget to mention that glass of villagers buttermilk? I must name it an additive-free luncheon by an organic host at a seraphic home. In these times of processed and stored food, this accidental lunch was proof that it was the house of a son of the soil, and a mother ran it. We don’t find people like that in the vicinity of the capital anymore. 

Be blessed, be happy, and be on the move. So many beautiful scenes await you out there. 

Credits 

Google

YouTube 

Margalla Greens GCC

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Mr, ABbott’s Abad

Who can speed away from the scenery around M-1 when it takes off from Islamabad. An intersection at M-15 adds the flavor of Martian topography to the scene. The cliffs of clay make fun of the hills of stone in the area. Prior to the intersection, it crosses the mighty Indus River.  This river is known as the mother of civilizations. It reminds the modern engineers of the motorways about the architectural abilities of ancient civilizations like Ghandhara, that it had inundated. If you know the history of the area, than It is a route that equals the time travel. 

On top of that It is a journey that draws attention to vying aesthetic senses of man and nature. Remarkably placed M-1 motorway sprints through the curvy landscape of Potohar Plateau. It also goes through the chapters of history and archaeology.  Avoiding her majesty the Margalla hills, it bypasses the present capital Islamabad to further bypass the remains of  Takṣaśilā, (Texila) the ancient capital. It takes us caressing the both capitals which are otherwise millennials apart, although they are only thirty two kilometers from each other.  Cruising on such a scenic and encyclopedic fairway we reached the fabulous city of Abbottabad @ 4,121.00 ft above sea level. The footprints of the Aryan migrants, Medes of Persia, Alexander the Great, Ashoka the great, Mongols, and British Raj are quite visible in the region.

 It is a major city offering a gateway to the several magnanimous mountain ranges. Galyat on one side and kaghan valley on the other.  Thandiani hill station at 9020ft, watches it from the above and Mansehra, smiles from the North at Abbottabad. Abbottabad is an endearing jeweled tourist base. It houses so much esteem in these  Himalian foothills. PMA kakul Academy, medical college, Army medical corps center, top boarding schools like Army Burn Hall college, Army school of music, and much more. In addition the Piffer Golf Club attracts golfers like me to this one of a kind urban center. 

The golf course sits in the center of the city. Once we got inside the grand gate, the noise and pollution of the city simply was no more. Mighty tree lines of magnificent Chinar simply absorbs the visitors and their transgressions of the outside world. The lush green fairways, variety of birds, flowers beds, mischievous pandiculations of the greens, links with sharp bends, zigzag waterways in addition to the hazards, narrow tree lines, crowned roughs, glimpses of Karakoram mountains and simplicity of the design make this golf course mesmerizing and memorable. 

Clusters of terrace houses in the lap of mountains around the course add an out of this world look to the ambiance of this wonderful golfing arena. 

I am a frequent golfing traveler of different continents. As a wanderer like air I don’t fit in one town. So I belong to all. I also belong to many clubs in different cities. Playing at various courses has taught me a certain dialect that golf courses communicate in. Courses’ talk to me and I can communicate with them at a spiritual level. Yet this course sings tunes of its own. I can hear the melodies of long and stone hardened water flowing through the culverts on the course. It tells the story of cold glaciers above in the Himalaya mountains. Lyrics of hundreds of miles of speedy rivers and rhythm of icy lakes on the top floats through these channels. Although man’s hard work to pollute this sacred water is obviously visible. Still the lovely breeze that travels along these currents stands witness to it’s sanctity.

So do the hills of Abbottabad. They know the journey of breeze and water since they guide them both to the direction of Abbottabad. Heavens may have the solution for human pollution but earth seems incapable to cope with it. So is man himself. The water running through our creeks and karezs speaks about that in volumes. 

There were some trees that were hundred and fifty years old. They tell the anecdote of man’s positive contribution and fight for the earth is ancestral. Earlier generations planted  seeds, which today stand as tall trees for our comfort. So should we. 

Credits 

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Wikipedia 

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By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Dimples

Golf balls illustrate artistic dimples that place them on the highest pedestals of beauty. There are golf balls of many colors but none beats the original white. The perfection with which it moves causes anyone to appreciate the physics behind it. But the story of dimples enters our lives much before our introduction to golf balls. Most of the babyfaces have dimples. Most get filled soon while a few do hold on to their dimples till age wrinkles their plump cheeks. What cheeks are more attractive than the ones with beautiful natural indentation, one carved by God Himself. 

The aura of dimple faces makes inlets in hearts and makes the skin hair rise. It floats charm and represents innocence. Many amorists fall in love and get lost in the universe of splendor behind those pretty pits. Oceans of irresistibility dwell in the depths of that divot on cheeks. 

“Don’t you know yet? It’s your light that lights the world.”

Rumi

The beauty maintains its awe in joy and in despair. Sadness sometimes stimulates it even more. Those who have seen tears traveling through those clefts can tell you the piercing power of that little drop and dent. I pray no cheeks, with or without dimples, ever see saltish drains. Only smiles suit the symmetry of that seamless surface. 

Dimples on golf balls and divots on the fairways help in the execution of beautiful shots. A smile further signifies dimples on an already adorable face. In the game of golf, bad shots are as frequent as good ones. Despite this, the game goes on, with divots and with shanks. Bunkers, roughs, and water hazards are made on the course to add challenges to the game. So are the bodies of human beings. What is a bigger challenge than performing before the miraculous beauty that nature created in the human body? 

Dimples, John Lee Hooker

One appreciates beauty wherever one goes. Whether it is on golf fields or in a museum, beauty exists everywhere. But the beautiful should stay humble and the amorist must remain decent. The beauty that intends to seduce and the lover who longs to sin are both the fuel of the inferno also known as hell. 

A human being sins, Adam repents and God forgives. We cannot keep odometers in the human brain neither can we install a tracker in it. Self-control is the only method that promotes balance. We can only teach juniors what is good and bad for them and for society as a whole. Unfortunately our performance there is not up to the mark. There will always be perfect balls, mesmerizing dimples, and dazzling beauty. What matters the most how we receive and treat them. 

“The real sin against life is to abuse and destroy beauty, even one’s own.”

Katherine Anne Porter

Credits:

Google 

Pinterest 

YouTube 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Author, Poet, Wanderer, Photographer, Rebel. 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com