Forever Young

“From the moment of your birth. A ladder was placed before you. To help you escape.”

Rumi 

Isn’t it amazing how a tiny, fragile, lifeless object like a seed grows into a large tree, a smiling flower and food bearing plant? How a small roe develops into mighty whales. How microscopic sperm transforms into a pharaoh. How an egg begins to fly. The event of birth is complex yet brief. On the other hand, the process of growing up is long and hard. It takes years, storms, long nights, harsh days, and weathers of all kinds to become something as important as a life, especially in its prime. Life is temporary and it ends at any given point. Living under the constant shadow of death is the essence of living. Life knows that across the Sahara of existence dwells death yet it goes through the desert on the back of the camel of hope, oasis of faith, and dunes of determination. The umbrella of science and technology comes handy under the scorching sun. Growing up in itself is a journey. A travel in time, an intergalactic spiritual voyage. The travel of life is non stop and it ends in a valley of the unknown. 

Today I am on the move, going to an intercontinental destination. Each path has its charms and perils. Nowadays the fear of the pandemic is presiding and most passengers are abiding by COVID-19 protocols. So are the personnel working at the airports. However the presence of an imminent threat to life is increasingly dominant than usual. Air travel already is a freaky experience and flying during pandemic makes it even worse. Lahore is a city that is known for its dense fog, if not for smog, especially in the month of December. However Mother Earth does provide variety in weather & time. Fog usually disturbs flight schedules at Lahore airport. Even most veteren pilots don’t trust fog in Lahore; they wait for better visibility. Lahorites eat a lot of meat that why vultures rule skies in this town. They actually use blasts to scare them away from runway areas on normal days. Today my flight is having the same experiment. 

I am continually growing up sitting in a passenger lounge at this airport. People in masks look like some other species. I am familiar with the building and flight delays at this airport but this is a new kind of journey with new kinds of passengers. Other than their faces people do look like us humans.  I wonder when humans mature a bit more in science and technology, would the travel to other planets be the same. I know one thing for sure that cross universal passengers will cover their faces in some kind of hi-tech masks. The masks that we are wearing today may be the trailer of such future journeys and living on other planets. 

It is not only life that ends, time also expires. The ongoing year will enter the dead pages of history soon and a new year will ask life to follow another calendar. The new cycle of the days, months and quarters shall bring renewed hopes again. In the freezing cold around most of the globe one year is buried and another begins. 

Maturing, aging, and developing makes life wear out at a certain stage. Sweating at the gym and struggling at school is one kind of growth. Fumbling under the influence and staying behind bars is another. One is a respectable way of rising up, the latter is a mess though both are travels of their own kinds. The Inmate’s future suffers for the deeds of his past whereas the druggie drains his present for the hallucinations about the future. Like spacecrafts, life needs ignition in order to launch itself like a rocket in the cosmos of existence.

Forever young – Alphaville

Life surely has a short span but collectively it is as eternal as anything else. This is the only phenomenon in the entire universe that knows how to renew and refresh itself. A dead star becomes dust, sometimes gas and stays so but life keeps reappearing. A flower blooms each season. A crop grows again and again. Life is a great factory of recycling. Before death approaches, life breeds more life thus the cycle continues. The wheel of life rotates regularly but the wind of death only cleanses the rotten part. Well, if you sit for a while next to a blooming rose, near a ripe apple, in the company of a red tomato, you will realize that the immense beauty of such calibre can only exist briefly. Fruit ripes to be eaten, flower blooms to shed scent, the vegetable grows to feed. Simultaneously they all come to life to recycle the plant they grow on. They exist to ensure the eternity of their species. Can something else be more beautiful than this? How it ripes to be reborn. How it guarantees life, its existence, through death. Life hibernates inside a seed while earth celebrates its death. And love is the veil that life wears to cover it’s return. The metamorphosis of life is the real language of rhymes of love that nature composes. 

“What hurts you blesses you.”

Rumi 

What a flight it is. What a journey life disembarks on. All of us live on, in the lap of mortality yet celebrate our being. We all are grateful to nature for receiving this miraculous gift, though briefly. I came into being. I existed. I lived. I played golf. I ate, saw, spoke, laughed, cried, and had offsprings. My children and their offspring are my way of living eternally. That’s how I defeat death. 

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By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Surgical Shots

It is every golfer’s dream to play scratch or under. Most never get to that. There are those that come close but few touch the brinks of that desire. Golf is a deceptive sport. It seems like a piece of cake from the outside but playing is not like eating a pastry. It rattles like rocks and tricks like tears. The complexity of this game resembles surgery. The number of specifications, rules, and regulations of this game nearly surpasses the list at a hospital’s operating theatre. So does the tool kit of the golfer. A golfer’s bag carries a world inside; apart from golf balls, more than a dozen golf clubs and everything else in it has various sizes for different uses. No soldier and no doctor carries as many weapons simultaneously as golfers do. They need a trolley to bring it to the golf course. The only difference is that a surgeon throws his gloves away but a golfer dearly hangs on to his. 

I urge all my non golfer friends to refrain from putting their hand in a lady’s purse or a golf bag. They both carry sharp items that can puncture unfamiliar fingers unexpectedly. Nailing and affixing is a common phenomenon in both, the female and golfing community. 

The golf ball itself belongs to the world of wives. Most of its habits are derived from there. First and foremost it demands undivided attention. It won’t be tolerated if your eyes are looking elsewhere. It wants you to dance but only to it’s tunes. It can get irritated without a cause. It has a strong capability to hide or disappear right before your eyes. It also loves water. It will rush to swimming facilities wherever and whenever just like a tired housewife. Golf balls behave differently in the presence of lady golfers. They are immediately transformed to rowdy husbands. Annoying is the favorite hobby of golf balls and getting irritated is a usual business in this sport. 

Posture happens to be another necessary ingredient in the recipe of golf. Sometimes try hitting something as small as a golf ball with your head and body fixed, your knees bent, back bowed, arms stretched, holding a fifty inch club, and allowing only your shoulders and torso to move in order to create a swing. Only a spouse can put you through a punishment like that. 

This game should not be played by perfectionists and mathematically meticulous minds. Hope, faith, and blind moves are essential spices in this dish. I would advise my friends who are habitual winners especially those who hate to lose, to stay away from this particular sport. A game that is played on a wide field of 150 acres, that has eighteen gardens of different measurements, with tall trees and roughs, sand pits, and ponds, just to lead a ball that weighs 1.06 oz (45.93 grams) and is sized 1.680 inches (42.67 mm), into a hole which is 4 and half inches (10.8 cm) can not be won each time you come in. The elements of air speed & direction, weather conditions, sunlight, ground environment and mood of the golfer are factors of vital importance. 

Yes, practice makes us perfect but in golf it will only make you better. The word ‘Perfection’ doesn’t exist in the dictionary of golf. You need a fortune of circumstances, a blend of good luck and a secret prayer, more importantly faith in your strategy and a plan to get through this regular ordeal.  

Golf is a game of crazy and a touch of mindlessness is a suitable weapon to carry along. Keep your eyes on the ball and stroll on. 

“He who has led you so far, will guide you further.”

Rumi 

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By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

The Beauty Contest

“The beauty is a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted.”

Khalil Gibran 

In the name of the beauty present at the Cafe’ 19, he hit a great shot that crossed the long water hazard and landed at a putter’s grip away from the pin. The caddie shouts “you nailed it sir.” His heart wants to shout “she is beautiful.” Yes, beauty makes a lot of difference but a beautiful lady makes the hearts melt and also stirs them to beat faster. She was sitting on a chair facing the tee nine. He could  smell the Estée Lauder she was wearing and the smell of Alfredo chicken & pasta sauce from her plate was invigorating. A pink scarf (Dopatta) was clad over her head and black shades on her eyes were announcing her piety and innocence. Whether he had brought his eyes back to the ball in reverence to her sanctitude or to follow the hard rule of golf, ‘eyes on the ball’ remains a mystery. Her smile was trying to add more to the grace of the enormously colorful, chlorophyll-deprived leaves of autumn. As if she was there to distribute the alms of charm to the already riveting ambiance of the Gymkhana club. The swans on the pond’s banks were swimming about to show her that they too were worthy  contestants in this fashion parade. 

The marigold flowers were in no mood to miss this beauty contest.

The area around Tee nine is so magnified today that he doesn’t want to proceed to his golf ball at all, but what would a birdie add to this dream-like atmosphere? Even a Par at this occasion will make him part of that ongoing competition of cuteness at the stage of nature’s marvelous creations. 

He missed the much expected Birdie but he is grateful for the Par that he made. The birdie requires utmost concentration but he had divided one. Half of his mind was still dazed by the mesmerizing decency that was seated at Cafe’ 19. 

The sagacity of marriage is that one can only admire good looks of a person from a distance. And keeping the beauty at bay adds to its attention even more. A face illuminates from a distance and its deficits become apparent up close. The glow of a body dims sooner than a season whereas inner beauty accompanies till the end. 

“Of life’s two chief prizes, beauty and truth, I found the first in a loving heart and the second in a laborer’s hand.”

Khalil Gibran 

It is the soul of the life partner that keeps them together for decades, if not forever. 

Every now and then we cross a scene, a sentence, a face, a smile, a taste, a dream, a fantasy, or a fragrance that takes us to another dimension. Those who keep the eyes of their hearts open cannot overlook such enchanting encounters. Poets and painters look for these opportunities more often. Those who intend to appreciate beauty are followed by it everywhere. Those who are in the business of writing are sought after by words themselves. Traders of songs find melodies and makers of music create the rhythm and tones. A pursuer will find what suits him. Sinners will meet the devil before they even start looking. A caddie knows where the ball hides and a golfer knows where to hit. Only sometimes do you find more than what you are looking for and that’s when one can and should “Seize the day.” 

And this was his day. He came to play golf at his home course. He met many old friends. The affection of staff at the club towards him was evidence of this being his home club. His subconscious acquaintance with the course flips the pages of his history at this club. He enjoyed the company of his coach today. And he was going home with a lot more under his sleeve than he came to take.

 Happy golfing friends and graces to him and all my readers. 

There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.

Rumi

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Lahore Gymkhana Golf Course. 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Mystic Mist

The morning is like a vision impaired and a drunken mind.  It is hazy and full of delusions. The blanket of dense murk does not sit well with the time on my wrist watch—7am. The weather app itself seems a bit off this morning. Like most days, I am on my way to the golf course. The chauffeur’s eyes are fixated on the road and he couldn’t care less what’s happening elsewhere. The car is piercing through the heavy clouds on the road, sluggishly covering yard by yard, just like a lazy putt trickles towards the hole. I know my driver is secretly wondering how it’s humanly possible to play during such harsh weather. 

Little does he know that the history of  golf is rooted in such conditions. Those who know this game are all too familiar with the relationship between the fog and the fairways. There’s an unparalleled chemistry between the dance of the golf ball and the stupor of the intoxicated golfer minds. Most of the golfers are found in a daze after their performance on a couple of greens. Their state of hallucination may be a result of the putt or the miss. Meanwhile, through my car’s stereo, Bob Marley was adding his own blend to this bewildered hour.

Misty morning”

It seems as if this morning came straight from a pub, where it stayed long after closing hours. It isn’t too keen on making its daily appearance today. Rather, it’s bent on partying on. But I wish for the sun to rise and tell the world what warmth means. After all, who wants to wake up early after a naughty night. And so, I know better than to blame this sluggish morning for its obvious lack of enthusiasm today. Whether we like it or not, time doesn’t wait for anyone and there’s no reason why should this morning be spared. It has to rise to the occasion in order to abide by the laws of nature. Dawns are designed to appear and mornings are made to rise.  The wheel of time circles on, pausing for no one. Both me and the fog have no control over the span of our lives. Whether we like it or not, we will be here till our expiration date. Neither life nor fog is eternal. Yet our galaxy’s sun has withstood all storms and weathers. It will shine soon. 

Mist in a mind, haze in a horizon, and a dent in our destiny may appear from time to time, but we should carry on as it’s business as usual. We should keep both our minds and our paths clear. We must not only keep moving, but also do so in a dignified manner. Going gets us somewhere and stopping only strains. Whether it amounts to something or not,  I won’t avoid playing the game of golf, come rain, fog, or sunshine. And no drink will keep me from moving onto the next green. I would rather inhale the unadulterated breeze of dawn, and the fresh, unpolluted oxygen radiating from the tree-lined pastures of the golf course. 

For there is nothing else I’d rather be under the influence of. 

Credits 

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Defence Raya Golf & Country Club

Qamar Zaman Images

By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Wandering Words

There comes bright day light after each night. The union of days and nights breeds time and time can be good or bad. It could be yours or mine. It can be delightful and it can be abysmal. Time is the one way stream of never ending marathons of the stars heading towards infinity. The earth rotates regularly to share the sunlight among all of its residents. What has passed is but a moment, and difficult hours seem like eternity. The breath in your arms is heavenly, the pulse in your absence is hellish. Time in your company is blissful, separation from you is painful. Hand in your hand is a journey, going alone is a travel.

All love stories don’t mature and all grudges don’t last. Neither all smiles are fake nor all tears are true. Every handshake is not for friendship and all promises are not for keeping. All mail is not love letters, and all messages are not from the beloved. All those running are not scared and all afloat are not swimmers. Most stars are lost in the abyss and not all suns rise from the east. Some blankets are to conceal sins for winter and so much piety is to attract fame. 

Youth is fleeting and beauty is ephemeral. Life is a ticking clock and age has diminishing returns. The sun shines for a few hours and darkness ends at dawn. A child crawls for a few months and toys lose attraction soon. 

Flowers bloom briefly and leaves fall again. You can not drink it all but a bottle will finish soon. Pain is periodic whereas cure takes time. Fruit doesn’t ripe in a day and not all rains bring storms. A rainbow is a smile of the skies and lightning is their fury. Romance is the grammar of passion and patience is the tense of the future. 

Grace falls upon the blessed and success follows the industrious. 

Happiness is a frame of mind and enjoyment is an attitude. The cure is a remedy and prevention is preemption. Ships sail through storms and boats stay at bay. Flute makes melodies and drums roar. Roses release aroma and seeds become trees. Time travels forward and water flows downward. Dreams move fast but the sleeper stays still. 

And I write all this because I have nothing else to write. I miss maundering. The pandemic has stretched too long. I need to go away. I need to fly. I want to wander. This writing is my way of wandering through words. 

Credits 

Google 

PAF Skyview Golf & Country Club 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Wandering Words

There comes bright day light after each night. The union of days and nights breeds time and time can be good or bad. It could be yours or mine. It can be delightful and it can be abysmal. Time is the one way stream of never ending marathons of the stars heading towards infinity. The earth rotates regularly to share the sunlight among all of its residents. What has passed is but a moment, and difficult hours seem like eternity. The breath in your arms is heavenly, the pulse in your absence is hellish. Time in your company is blissful, separation from you is painful. Hand in your hand is a journey, going alone is a travel.

All love stories don’t mature and all grudges don’t last. Neither all smiles are fake nor all tears are true. Every handshake is not for friendship and all promises are not for keeping. All mail is not love letters, and all messages are not from the beloved. All those running are not scared and all afloat are not swimmers. Most stars are lost in the abyss and not all suns rise from the east. Some blankets are to conceal sins for winter and so much piety is to attract fame. 

Youth is fleeting and beauty is ephemeral. Life is a ticking clock and age has diminishing returns. The sun shines for a few hours and darkness ends at dawn. A child crawls for a few months and toys lose attraction soon. 

Flowers bloom briefly and leaves fall again. You can not drink it all but a bottle will finish soon. Pain is periodic whereas cure takes time. Fruit doesn’t ripe in a day and not all rains bring storms. A rainbow is a smile of the skies and lightning is their fury. Romance is the grammar of passion and patience is the tense of the future. 

Grace falls upon the blessed and success follows the industrious. 

Happiness is a frame of mind and enjoyment is an attitude. The cure is a remedy and prevention is preemption. Ships sail through storms and boats stay at bay. Flute makes melodies and drums roar. Roses release aroma and seeds become trees. Time travels forward and water flows downward. Dreams move fast but the sleeper stays still. 

And I write all this because I have nothing else to write. I miss maundering. The pandemic has stretched too long. I need to go away. I need to fly. I want to wander. This writing is my way of wandering through words. 

Credits 

Google 

PAF Skyview Golf & Country Club 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

The Wings of Love

It begins with a glance and ends in tears. It rises from waiting and leads to longing. Once the eyes meet, the calm departs. When beauty arrives …

The Wings of Love

The Wings of Love

It begins with a glance and ends in tears. It rises from waiting and leads to longing. Once the eyes meet, the calm departs. When beauty arrives through one door, the heart leaves through the other. When love lands in the valley of a heart’s chamber the magic echoes in the mountains of existence. The nights begin to sing and the stars break into a dance. The moon initiates intimacy and the wind becomes the bearer of love letters. Dreams dominate the days and mornings become mischievous. Love is the land of hallucination and the sea of daydreams. Lovers’ reasoning begins to shrink and their faith tends to expand. The bells of love ring in silence and the beat of the heart grows louder. Hope swells taller and fear dissipates. Pain attains panacea and suffering promotes patience. 

Why people fall in love is an enigma, while the path of hatred has thousands of excuses. Hatred narrows a mind and love opens hearts. Love seeks blessings and hatred breeds jealousy. Love opens chapters of sacrifice and hatred dismantles integrity. Love builds couples and hatred crumbles marriages. Love evokes negotiation and hatred wages wars. Love ushers the gift of life and death is the offspring of hatred. Love heals while hate wounds. Love breeds babies while hate  gives way to funerals. 

Love at times is nothing short of a miracle, if not a welcome gift from the universe. Love touches the souls of lovers and ignites their passions. It plunges the recipients towards an inebriated journey to destinations unknown and paths unwalked. 

Love leads to humbleness. It grooms patience, blossoms beauty, and heals wounds. It is the only sensation that melts iron hearts, and allows one to embrace empathy. Love is the ultimate cleanser of closed minds, and allows one to reach the epitome of truth. Love must be revered for its ability to bring to attention the ignored, for allowing hearts to open up to those who have otherwise been neglected or rejected. Love is the promise of being held during a fall or a fail. Love enlightens the ignorant, and brightens the corroded. Love awakens the unspirited. Love is the rewriter of destiny, the reinforcer of candour, and the rekindler of passions. Love revives sincerity, and multiplies feelings. It reinforces dignity and allows one to step into divinity. 

On the path of love we find flowers, fragrance, farries, fruits, fun, frankness, freedom, flourishment, and freshness in the midst of sharp stones, harsh deserts, wet prairies, and scorching heat. Love rides on hope and flies with faith. It caresses our spirits and cuddles us closely. It distributes happiness and spreads serenity.

“And happiness is something that multiplies when it is divided.” — Paulo Coelho

Once the truth of love begins to speak, the remaining facts of life go silent. Socrates did not drink the bowl of hemlock merely for truth. Rather, he drank it for the love of truth. Love sometimes kills people like Socrates and sometimes it saves thrones. Cleopatra, one woman who nearly destroyed two civilisations, conquered the hearts of invaders through love. Love of American divorcee Wallis Warfield Simpson makes Edward VIII abdicate the throne of England. Love fertilizes the barren fields of rugged minds and irrigates the dry gardens of empty spirits.  

Love brings followers out of their dogmatic slumber and introduces them to purity. 

Love is a strange phenomenon. I don’t know whether it gives or takes. I can not say whether it makes or breaks. But surely it changes a person completely, if not irreversibly. Many lovers that I have come across eventually ascended the ladder of ingenuity. Most artists, painters, poets, singers, writers, and warriors soar to the heights of creativity only when they passionately fall in love with someone or with their own work. Love broadens one’s vision and deepens a lover’s horizons. It teaches us to become introspective towards the many wonderful aspects of life around us. And perhaps more importantly, it is poignant in its ability to be the most authentic ambassador of peace and harmony in this world. 

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Soul in the words

By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

The Red Rose

As I reached home after an abysmal round at the Margalla Greens Golf Club, I was feeling defeated and drained. When I got out of my car, a dazzling red rose magnetically struck me. It was smiling at me in a welcoming gesture. It was at its full bloom as it turned completely towards the East, enjoying the rays of the winter sun. The stems were dancing to their own tunes under the rhythmic sunshine. I stopped in my step to appreciate the glory of the red rose. Earlier I had seen my gardener work diligently on these plants. Now his labor and sweat have flourished into florets and their blooms. Although the rose sits on the stem full of thorns, it smiles to cheer me up. Immediately, I had a great swing in my mood, better than the one I was waiting for at the golf course. 

I had an epiphany that everything has a higher purpose of being, sometimes more than we can conceive. It can be disputed but I strongly felt the purpose of this particular rose was to stimulate me today. This beautiful piece of nature was trying to open my eyes to the fact that it was a beautiful morning. After all, I played golf on a very scenic course. I was in great company with decent golfers. A Ph.D. and a Brigadier General. They were both fine human beings and veteran sportsmen. We had a scrumptious breakfast, accompanied by lively jokes and prudent discussion. Only for a few bad golf shots, I was trying to cast aside every good thing about the day. Whereas I should have been grateful for so many wonderful things throughout the morning. 

Why is it that we ignore our blessings and welcome the disdain in our lives? We disregard the beauty that surrounds us, the wisdom that enlightens us, and the inspiration that invites us. All because sometimes we are uptight and consumed by one tiny problem that we simply refuse to see anything else. May it be the relief of that very problem. There are many things like that rose in this world solely created to oblige its dwellers. We should utilize and appreciate them. 

How should Spring bring forth a garden on hard stone? Become earth, that you may grow flowers of many colors. For you have been heart-breaking rock. Once, for the sake of experiment, be earth!

Rumi 

In a pragmatic society that is driven by tests and trials, victories and losses, we easily get swollen by routine drawbacks. In friendly matches, it’s not important who wins. What matters most is to be there in the field, in the company of good people, being part of that great ambiance like a golf course. Even a worse round of golf provides some positivity and productivity. We can take defeat as a lesson and practice, walk, exercise, and chat. We also crack jokes, meet the cart girls, hear the bird chirpings, see a lot of green and life, and much more during a round. All we need is grateful nature, appreciative eyes, and open hearts. We can walk out of any match in life smiling like that red flower. No rose grows without thorns and no victory comes without loss. 

“Patience is not sitting and waiting, it is foreseeing. It is looking at the thorn and seeing the rose, looking at the night and seeing the day.

Rumi

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By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Royalty, Peasants and Golf

Made out of plastic and rubber, the golf ball resembles an egg. The club is made of graphite or steel and rubber. All of it is a lifeless matter, yet the stick swings at such a high speed that causes the ball to take a flight to hundreds of yards. Only for a brief moment, both the stick and ball become alive. It is almost as if the life in the human hand and thought in the human mind gets translated into the club and then into the ball. It’s a continuous process of movement and idleness. Science calls it a shift of energy, players call it a sport. The game is an activity that cannot be transmitted into these lines through still words. It is an act to operate something. The action presents life and stillness represents lifelessness. The living motivates growth and the dead adds to debris. 

Some lead a deathlike life, a few live in deadly conditions. Some give in to the hardships of life while others stand firm to face all odds. Some commit suicide and others kill to live longer. Some are dead men walking, others are crippled but running. It’s not only the breath that is proof of our existence. It is the celebration of life that matters. Ultimately, hard work is the best way to relish life. One of the lighter ways to appreciate life is to play golf. 

Humans tend to complicate things in pursuit of perfection. Golf was invented by the colts of Scotland. By the fifteenth century, to keep the spirit of competition warm in the cold environment, the open, vast, and lush valleys invited the wool worn and restless hillside youth to come out of their smoky dungeons and play. They found plenty of the bent wooden sticks from the Scot fields and pebbles from the Eastern beaches. They began to hit those round stones over the sand dunes and ponds to a pinned point. Thus golf comes into being. Men played many games with sticks. Ancient Romans played with bent sticks and stuffed leather balls. Punjabis played with a straight stick and a small wooden ball-like straight object called ‘Guli Danda.’

Later on in Scotland, royals became interested in the game of golf and declared it a glorified sport. Kings have the tendency to transgress simple matters into a complex and expensive affair. Royals or vagabond thrill and beauty thrives them alike. The landscape of Scotland provided beauty, thrill, and chill while golf added more excitement.

Wherever on this Earth, a peasant locates a piece of the valley that can be cultivated while the rich always find a law that helps him to own that land. The same happened to their game of golf. The peasants became caddies and royalty became the player. The colonial-era introduced it across the continents. And later on, capitalism transcribed it as a commercial sport of the elite. For centuries this game entertained the rich and provided dough for the poor. The invention of Scottish youth opened new avenues of employment for them though, Coach, caddie, gardener, carpenter, blacksmith, the tailors, cloth merchants, and many others got opportunities to earn more. 

First Wille Anderson, then Arnold Palmer, and now Tiger Woods and many other enthusiasts like them helped to bring golf back to the spheres of its original owners, the common men. Now golf is accessible to all. It is an industry worth billions of dollars. People like Nick Faldo are trying their best to take the game to the doorsteps of the communities that otherwise can not reach a window of opportunity. His work witnesses his love and contributions to golf and golfers. 

Poverty produces innovation and richness promotes luxury. Needs breed invention and knowledge springs comfort. Practice creates improvement and hard work nurtures perfection. If we multiply all of the above it surmounts to greatness. That is how golf ascended from the dunes of eastern Scotland to the top destinations at all corners of the world. What a journey from a pebble to expensive balls like Titleist Pro V1 and what an improvement from brentwood to golf clubs by Ping etc. The designs of golf resorts and the engineering and ambiance of the golf courses speak volumes of human progress. Humans’ capacity to improve, change, innovate, and invent may soon take us to golf courses on the far-flung stars within or beyond our universe. 

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By

Ahsan Jamil 

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

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com