Clash of the Cousins

My youngest son Qadir and my youngest nephew Mr. Sairam both are high school students and golfers in the making. They decided to play some competitive golf, they paired with their respective coaches and announced a match. Both veterans and their students began to train at the range day and night. They exchanged idioms and traded braggings. Their excitement touched skies and their eagerness over boarded. The whole crowd in the club got involved and people were already taking sides. 

Win. Yes I want to win. He wants to win. You want to win. No one wants to lose. Winning is good but losing is equally important. Yet there are always more losers than winners out there. The road to conquest goes through the path of defeat. It is loss that leads to success. It is experience that brings triumph and experience comes through losing. Win or lose, a game should be played in style and with etiquettes. After all in the end it’s all about having fun and being one with the greenery. 

Mr. Q and Mr. S had a competition in clothing too. Qadir wore a light green shirt and white pants, white cap, white sleeves, black belt and black Adidas shoes. Mr. Sairam was dressed in a yellow shirt, light brown pants, sleeves, belt and Under Armour shoes all black. They both looked like golf models on the tee. Mr. Shahbaz, one of the best golf coaches in the country, came in brown attire, walking in a winner’s style and manner. Mr. Shahzad, a freelancer, a carefree individual and a seldom coach came in with no consideration to his outlook. His golf kit was worn out and ancient.  He borrowed gloves from a nearby golfer. He walked half heartedly, yawned and had rheum in his eyes. A shabby and rusted fellow daring against the top coach in the country who also happened to be his elder brother. On the other hand his partner Mr. Sairam carries a gray head on green shoulders. 

We were playing behind them to watch the match while we played along. Mr. Qadir is above six feet and very well built. Earth squeaks when he walks. He is a long hitter. Three hundred plus is his normal driver shot. Mr. Sairam is a calculative genius, a guy who loves range and its specifications. They both had trained their butts off for a match between cousins. The first golf match of their lives. They sent WhatsApp teasers to each other through anything the internet could offer. Like gifs, cartoons and funny videos.

In today’s match we witnessed cross fairway blasters, knocks at the tree trunks, innocent shanks, and saber rattling of swings. There was a display of cute putts, artistic chips, grand shots and greenly drives. 

The crew in today’s match is a great presentation of the story of human representation on earth. When a few of them stroll down on the perpendicular fairways of age, the adolescents ascend to the greens of maturity. Nature toys with us in a consistent voyage of non stop rain & drain of life. The pros carry experience and skill on their side and hold their aim high. I like the combination of this flight. The young took the best available golfers on their sides so experience and skill accompanied them. The experienced golfers brought in the power of youth to their crew. 

Mr.Shahbaz & Qadir had the upper hand throughout the match. They maintained their lead for the duration of the match. Mr. Sairam and Mr. Shahzad were determined to compete fiercely. They resisted the onslaught and kept the battle red. In short, they knew only an extraordinary staging could take them over the bridge. They gave the game all they had. Mr. Sairam kept his side of the bargain and it was Shahzad’s turn to perform to perfection. They were losing by one at seventeen. Mr. Shahzad left his carelessness aside and scumming all his concentration dropped a long dramatic putt bringing his team one up. A much needed birdie turned the tables there and then. This extraordinary putt put the other team on defensive. The underdog Shahzad was now the lord of the day. 

Dancing in the air, cropping the applause from the crowd, he threw a rain of satire on the otherwise hero Mr. Shahbaz. Mr.Qadir had contributed his part of the share in this game. Despite his inter-fairway drives he displayed great recovery shots on the field. Responsibility lied on Mr. Shahbaz’s shoulders now. Mr.Shahbaz was preoccupied mentally still on the seventeenth green while he was playing the eighteenth. Amazed in awe of the unbelievable and unbearable putt of his opponent. On the other hand, inspired by his earlier achievement, Shahzad didn’t stop there; he was determined to convince the audience that the day belongs to him. On the last green when Qadir & Shahbaz still had the game in hand, he landed a chip right in the hole making the impossible possible in a row. Another wonderful birdie left no 

room for any miracle that could save Shahbaz. There was no flower left that he would pluck from the garden of his experience.

Qadir faced defeat like a man and accepted it with an open heart. He congratulated his cousin and his partner. Shahbaz was speechless. Drowned in despair he was cursing himself. He wouldn’t mind losing a match but losing to Shahzad was not the defeat he anticipated. The hero was beaten badly, by a vagabond, a wanderer and a small fry. I have advice for the losing team here, concluding with a quote sent by Mr. Sairam, one of today’s winners.

 “I never lose. I either win or learn.” -Nelson Mandela.

By 

Ahsan Jamil

Golfer, Author, Poet, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Wanderer 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Chinar Golf Club

Turn after turn the hills keep appearing, ascent after ascent, heights approach one after another. Eagerness of reaching the final peak increasing by the minute and enthusiasm to step on the 11th highest golf course in the world, is very consuming. I cannot wait to hit from a tee at 6350 ft above sea level. In this round the score is no longer a priority. We just want to be there for a casual round. What eyes see here, words don’t express. What words express would not do justice to this beauty of Bhurban, a great tourist village in north Punjab.

The clubhouse at CGC (Chinar Golf Club) is located at the top of a hill and a golf course rotates around it. It has a vast veranda and front yard on two levels. The furniture is a combination of lawn chairs & dinner tables. Chinar Family resort and Chinar Golf Club are two sister organizations. Tourists staying at resorts use the Clubhouse dining facilities regularly; a grand buffet is served here almost on a daily basis. 

A view of fairways from the clubhouse veranda is out of this world. It may be one of the largest lawns at such a height. It is a grand display of man’s efforts to commemorate natural landscape and bring it to another level. 

I am sure Col. Dag must have had a dream to put up a golf course on the top of this magnificent mountain and Mr. Gulab Khan was determined to fulfill it. Otherwise, it’s impossible to conceive a development of such sort. They initially developed a three hole golf course here back in 1934. Later in the 1980s it was raised to the level of a full eighteen holes legendary marvel. 

Each time I play here, the desire to play again is reinforced. Such is the grandiose this place offers. A splendid blend of nature’s and man’s design. This course has no water hazards yet it has pine trees and deep steeps as replacements. No other course can claim to be more ‘hazardous’ than CGC since playing through tree hazards is much more daunting than water ones. Diving fairways, tees upstairs and steep greens put you through a challenge beyond imagination. A golfer has to take much more in consideration than greens, fairways, bogies, pars and birdies on this magnificent golf journey. This ride is psychedelic. You have to be an experienced mountaineer to perform eagles and albatross on this magnitude of hurdles. They have placed benches and gazebos at such strategic locations that sometimes you wouldn’t like to leave them,  even when you would have a birdie waiting for you at the green. The scenic spots, romantic paths, breathlessness, tired torso, painful back, angry knees and refusing feet keep you on that bench for a bit more. 

Being a golfer is a privilege, to be in this part of the world is a charm, and not playing on this golf course is strong evidence of misfortune. It is an experience, it is a luxury and it is good luck. I could give you a tour of the complete course hole by hole but I leave that undiscovered here so you can have first hand experience yourself. 

By 

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Poet, Author, Wanderer 

Gmail: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Hill of the Dead

She was still wearing stone carved bangles on her left arm although nothing remained of her but those bones. Ladies really hang on to their jewelry. Those man made rings of stone can out last many more wearers like her. What a journey of this stone. Still on display catering the same charm, performing the same duty. Making her beautiful, dead or alive or even when she is merely a skeleton. 

He had a broken skull and his primitive spear slept on his side. Human dependence on weaponry. There are many things that can protect us like wisdom, trust, tolerance, patience and parlays but we keep developing killer artifacts. He had been injured probably in some war and fighting seems to be a part of human nature. Although Harappans were the most peaceful people as excavation shows no proof of military establishments and forts.  Yet they were destroyed by the armed invaders, the Aryans. Doesn’t matter what era humans lived in, violence had been an unfortunate phenomenon in their life. Killers and the dead both suffered fates of their own but fight goes on and on with the no end in sight.

This couple was tall and had mouths full of teeth, meaning they died young. Both skeletons were narrating a historic chronicle of human fragility and endeavour at the same time. There was a large clay jar carrying a skeleton of a baby, excavated from a grave nearby. Human love for their offsprings is older than time itself. The toys made of baked clay and these burial jars are saying that out loud. This is the Harappa Museum; present  house of the Indus Valley civilisation, otherwise known as Mohenjo Daro(the hill of the dead) and Harappa. 

I had promised my daughter to take her to Harappa Museum one day and this was that day. We had planned a visit to this museum of the Indus Valley civilization of the Early Harappans from 3300 BCE. We reached Harappa in the afternoon. This town still lives on. Instead of the oxen driven carts there is a railway station on one side and a major national highway on the other side of it. Millions pass through here each year a few are interested in knowing how many millennials this town has seen.

The first extensive excavations at Harappa were started by Rai Bahadur Daya Ram Sahni in 1920. Ever Since this town has caught the attention of anthropologists and archeologists.  Today it is a well preserved site; protected by steel fences from the present Harrapans.

The Indus Valley civilisation had beautiful jewelry, artistic pottery, well crafted artifacts, paved streets, bricked homes with running water and  attached toilets, indoor bathrooms, burial grounds, wooden coffins, markets, bazaars and inns. They had Highly sophisticated customs, education, agriculture, art and craftsmanship. They could read and write and they had wheels. They domesticated animals, used oxen driven carts and plows. They had water reservoirs and channels. About 2500 years before Ancient Rome the Indus Valley civilization had widespread systems of brick and terracotta drainage ducts. Their clay-based glazed and unglazed ceramics were still displayed in these museums as proof of their advanced artistry. Swastik was also an important symbol of these civilizations. In short Harappans were literate and use Dravidian language. They were urbanized and mercantile people with organized cities built by baked bricks and without fortifications. Their weaponry does not indicate any military activity. Their remains strongly suggest that they were peaceful and their societies were not segregated by classes rather evidence shows their equality and unionism. There are no signs of palaces and temples. These people were communal and peaceful. 

These societies were either inundated by floods and environmental changes or the invasions of Aryans; the armed Eurasians

Museums are encyclopedias of visual history. The remnants of lifespan spread though the millennials lost in the blackhholes of time and in the particles of dust and drain. We go there to have a glimpse of the life of the gone generations. These are strong evidence that we are visiting this tiny planet for a brief period of time as individuals but through the common commute of humanity we are here from time immemorial and we may be here till the end of time. What a story of continuation and discontinuation. Life stops here and begins there. We are carrying within us the beginning and the end. It is taken from one and given to another. Who is typing the pages of life and who is flipping them. 

Credits

Harappa.com

Pinterest 

Google 

YouTube 

Wikipedia 

Encyclopedia Britannica

By 

Ahsan Jamil

Golfer, Author, Blogger, poet, Entrepreneur, Wanderer 

Gmail: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Unfulfilled Dreams

In the lap of mighty mountains, among the plantations of bristlecone pine and flower beds of chiltern gentian, yellow pond lily, pyrenean buttercup, Fiordaliso, and the dominant white lily; sits a cute locality at eight thousand feet above sea level. It is called Ayubia. 

It is famous for its weather, natural beauty, chairlifts, summer resorts and a cute little satellite village, Khanspur. The lush green valley is known for its unique scenery and picturesque peaks. This heavenly little town is home to a fresh breeze and cool temperatures. The aura of this valley makes the affair of being there mystic and jazzy. Twisting streets take sharp turns and steep dives just to return to the top again, just like the pirouette of a ballet dancer. A car moves there as if a hand is drawing a bow on strings of a violin. These pendulum rides act like swings that will have you bite your teeth if you’re there for the first time. The idea of roller coasters may have been conceived on such rides. Clouds roam around isles of pines kissing the tourists’ foreheads, the cool breeze offers them hugs and condensation freshens their faces in a gesture of grand reception. Waterfalls sing littoral songs to the melodious creeks running towards the river down there.  Wildlife, especially monkeys, loom in leaps over the tall trees. Cannabis grows there naturally and purple male plants fill the air with marijuanic aroma. The ambiance is exotic and romantic especially for people clotting there from the hot areas of the country each summer. Sheer cold wind soothes the burning body pores of people coming from hot plains of lower delta cities. 

A family from Multan, one ovenly city in the south, had arrived at their summer home in Khanspur. It was their second home. Hina was the eldest sister with two male siblings and a darling of the family. Her father was a rich landlord from the mango capital of the state. 

Haroon’s family had rented a home across the street for the season. He was the only son at home. His father was an affluent cloth merchant from Lahore. They both were students in the same grade at different schools and in far away cities. This gorgeous Multani girl was traditional, shy and conventional. The Lahoriate handsome was ultra mod and trendy. His athletic figure, long hair, and fashionable style added to the beauty of these hills and this village. She was covered in a pink shawl and dark glasses most of the time. Nothing would hide her grace and she was prominently noticeable. She would stand out in a crowd and knew how to conceal and compose her beauty along with her wisdom. She would cause many accidents had she strolled on the footpath of these curved roads. 

How could a loving heart like his stay aloof from her auspicious presence next door. She had no interest in his charms so she didn’t even notice. Being bold and outspoken was his style and proscription and dependence were her chains. He may be a daring soul but would remain within the brackets of decency. His own upbringing abstained him from indecorous advances towards her. His eyes were tracing for her glimpse all the time and each time she was around, his heart would skip a beat. 

One sided love of an adolescent was in progress here. On the other hand she was veiled not only in her shawl but also in the curtains of modesty and taboos. Despite having nothing in common, their differences could not have prevented them from respecting each other’s way of thinking, beliefs and principles. Being in love does not mean rebellion. Not all detentions are through chains most are just enforced by upbringing and education

Hearts are hearts, they live inside the castles of chests yet they peek through the aperture of eyes. In cardiac communication it is the cornea that transmits the message. Hearts speak via silence and sing through smiles. They breed affection and season it to develop into love. Emotions are petals of the flower of heart and passion is the corolla. In the world of hearts the sun rises from the west and sets in the east. They have romantic relations with the moon and receive messages through stars. When we begin to think with our hearts, the mind starts to beat. It is love that turns things upside down and creates alternate realities. If you want something so bad you’ve got to stop wanting yourself. When you desire something more than yourself you begin to revere it.

Dreams are a nursery of accomplishments and inaction is their graveyard. She became his dream and he aimed to fulfill it. Is it so?

The social wall of norms and taboos is not like a Berlin Wall or The Great Wall of China; it does not fall through diplomacy or parlays. It demands a war. It requires a leap forward in thinking. She would stick to her brought up and he would hang onto his heart. She would respect her confines and he would not cross the boundaries of social contract. Millions of hearts beat to the tunes of love but they get muted to the shackles of their surroundings. Not all societies allow individual freedom and not everyone is lucky enough to do what their hearts want. 

The world has seen conclusions of love in many forms Taj Mahal is one way to do it and death of Romeo & Juliet is another. Many temples of love are built in minds secretly and are celebrated covertly never to emerge from the depth of unknown. There is always a love story around; sometimes it flies with wings and sometimes without them. 

The summer will be over soon and so would their silent and distant relationship. 

Let’s become strangers once again. 

Credits 

YouTube 

Google 

Pinterest 

Wikipedia 

By

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Author, Entrepreneur, Blogger, Poet, Wanderer 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Beautiful

While I began to write on a golf tour to the textile capital of Pakistan, Faisalabad; my chauffeur’s phone rang and the tune of a folk song broke the silence in our SUV. That was his ringtone. It touched my heart. I asked him to play that song in the car via Bluetooth and YouTube. 

The lyrics of Mian Mohammed Buksh a renowned Sufi poet, were sung by Sami Kanwal. It was thought provoking and soulful. I will quote here a few stanzas that immediately took me to the higher ecolan of imagination. Medieval wisdom was based upon the belief in divinity and its strong presence. They firmly believed in their transient existence, the brief visit to this world on the wings of life. They believed in certainty of the life hereafter that includes post death rewards and accountability of lifetime deeds. They had fervent faith in the creator and his (authority) almightiness. Like our generation, they were not examining their faith in scientific labs. 

The lyrics in this song are giving a message to lovers. A message of ultimate love. 

“What is the big deal if you fall for a cute face,

Imagine the beauty of its creator and fall in love with that artist.”

-Mian Mohammad Buksh

I consider that to be profound. Yes we get lost in the awe of apparent beauty and never dig into the details. Some creations are so breathtaking that they absorb us within their trance while some are intoxicatingly awesome others are frightfully tizzy. Each creation speaks volumes of the class of artistry and craftsmanship of its conceiver. 

A number of ingredients of utmost marvels were added to the creation of humans. From carbon to a cell to emiba to fetus to infant to baby to adolescent to young to middle age to old how much it takes to shape and grow a human being. What can be better use of oxygen, hydrogen,nitrogen, calcium, phosphorus, potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, magnesium and carbon than making a human being. These are the essential elements for life but the story doesn’t end here. This is just a body part of the human being. Where does the intelligence part come from? How cognition works? Do we think in the mind only or does the whole body contribute to the thinking process? Is thinking like weaving or is it like knitting? Is it a race of neurons or a web of nerves?

Is it an internal matter of the body & mind or are there external forces involved? Is there a human soul? If so, what is it?  

On a ride at motorway I cannot explore or answer all these questions but I certainly have the curiosity to think about them. 

Credits 

Pinterest 

By

Ahsan Jamil

Golfer, Author, Entrepreneur, Blogger, Poet, Wanderer 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Lahore to Lyallpur

The veranda at Gymkhana Golf Club is where we often congregate to appreciate humor, boiled eggs, and French toasts. We flock there with full fervor to crack jokes, enjoy mockery and satire. It is where we plan the extracurricular activities of our golfing cult. The group decided to take the game to another city, through a golfing tour to Faisalabad. 

We made it to Serena Hotel on the dot where a grand dinner awaited us. We engaged in conversation on a variety of topics. Many of the golfers revealed their true colors during that discussion; flipping further pages of their personalities that we had never read before. We are a group of early birds at Gymkhana CGC. Doctors, engineers, businessmen, and more. Although we belong to different walks of life, we fly together for the same game. We hold golfing parties occasionally but this was an entirely different experience. The cruise out of the city, a ride on a scenic freeway, tunes of my taste, anticipation to see a happy bunch, a dinner party, and a journey to a golfing destination made every mile worth the while. The most amazing part of it was breaking the chain of routine and doing something new.

Lyallpur is a nine-hole course. A bit congested but challenging. I can tell you one thing about this small course, don’t take it at face value. What it lacks in size, it makes up in difficulty. It can level any bragger back to his or her place when they least expect. 

The golf course neighbors the famous Divisional Public School on one side and an international cricket stadium on the other. Lush green fairways border straight lines of tall poplars. Greens are fast, tricky, and a bit deceptive. Particularly the green at nine. Its green sits on the bank of a hazard and the ball slides right back into the water if dropped directly on it. 

While playing, the grandiose stadium was prominent and no matter where we looked from the floodlight towers would not stop staring at us. Something about cricket amazes me. Billions are spent on cricket stadiums in cities across the country and millions are exhausted to maintain them. All while the residents play cricket in the streets and cannot even step inside those stadiums that are reserved solely for special occasions. What a service to the citizens of this country by the cricket board and ministry of sports. And they claim golf is a rich man’s game although the government does not spend a penny on it. As the cricket stadiums sit inaccessibly idle for months, golf courses are utilized all year round. 

Coming back to my trip, the most wonderful part was a ‘chatathon.’ All golfers on this trip are jovial tolerators to witticism and pleasantry. All of them keep funny stanzas handy. One who happens to be a dartboard at times doesn’t mind the onslaught from all directions. It could be anyone’s turn at any time. The understanding and forbearance to each other’s humorous sorties is the essence and charm of this group. It is proof they have big hearts and it shows the broadness of their great minds. I am lucky to know these ambassadors of decency. They may be quarreling over a given put on the course but would leave all differences there or then and move on to the next tee with clear hearts. Faisalabad or wherever I can accompany these people anywhere. Some of them lost while a few won but it didn’t matter anymore. As a matter of fact, this game soared beyond the horizons of defeat and victory. And that’s what fun is all about. 

By

Ahsan Jamil

Golfer, Author, Entrepreneur, Poet, Blogger, Wanderer 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Royal Palm Golf & Country Club

A beautiful canal floats through the middle of the historic city of Lahore; it is formed on the delta of Ravi. Its residents know the value of this water channel. Ornamental plantation, decorative lights, immaculately manicured green belts, and chains of flowerbeds, all add to its grandeur. 

The signal-free roads on both banks of the canal take you from north to south nonstop. A herd of never-ending traffic flows there as blood flows through veins. Taking one’s sweetheart on a long drive on this road is a lover’s ritual. Any Lahori can narrate stories of their youth relating to this romantic river. 

Lahore does not need a major excuse to accessorize its canal. This canal plays an important role in cultural and national celebrations. It is decorated with floats and fairy lights on auspicious occasions. On such a scenic western wing of the canal sits the famous Royal Palm Golf & Country Club. A jewel in the middle of a blistering metropolitan. It is a private club of privileges. A few golfers like me, who have exited the romantic paths, claim to be in love with it for its unique aura. 

It is a great getaway in the center of this historic capital. While the city’s hustle-bustle continues, there is total calm inside of the club’s walls. There is no noise or dust that the city is known for. A breathtaking presence of magnificent banyans, poplars, acacias, cactus, palms, polyalthia, Sheesham, and cypress dominates the ambiance. Of course, trees are the ornaments of the earth, and this piece of land, in particular, is well adorned. 

During the unforgiving hot summer of Lahore, these trees provide a shadow for the determined golfers to walk under on the course. Its turf is smooth and cushiony like a carpet underneath bare feet. A series of creepers decorate the gardens with colorful and aromatic blossoms. My thoughts are flooded with praise; the fairways offer chapters of descriptions, and Google aids loads of vocabulary. I can describe the course hole by hole and step by step but that would require volumes of writing in plenty of sessions. Neither you have time for long reads nor do I have a publisher to compose a book. So for now, we will stick to an abstract and not the whole anecdote.

From the curved fairway number one to descending fairway number eighteen, the course offers a series of graces and a variety of changes. A number of minarets from the inner city loom over these thick trees, offering a peek of divinity to the golfers on the course. Windows of the tall houses on the other side of the wall hide worlds behind those curtains. Sometimes you hear shouts from some of them and other times you hear a dim song playing. Mostly these houses sit idly with no disturbances or distractions from the outside world.

Swans parade in honor of a good shot and birds appear to appreciate a good put. You will find an individual or flocks of Eurasian hoopoes, doves, pied bushchat, parrots, white-throated kingfishers, Asian koels and red vented bulbuls fly by or chirping nearby.

Every now and then, a green turtle might grace golfers with its marathon. Making one pause and reflect on the creatures we share this Earth with. I have also witnessed crows chasing a domestic cat. On this course, you are far away from the troubles and comforts of Lahore. The only time you feel the existence of the city is when briefly you play close to boundaries. 

Sometimes when you end up in the rough and go to take a second shot, a fat trunk of a huge tree tries to whisper a tip in your ear. Of course, it has seen golfers struggle under it for decades. These trees are veteran spectators of the golfers’ shanks and regulation shots. Bad and good shots are both a routine; how we tackle them is what makes us who we are. In a round of golf or life, recovery is all the matters. Sometimes we have to recover from a good shot too. In moments of triumph, many lose track. In times of failure, most seek refuge in despair. Moving on for the next shot is the only way to complete the round responsibly. 

By

Ahsan Jamil

Golfer, Author, Entrepreneur, Poet, Blogger, Wanderer 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Love Scares

Whenever Dorothy comes across scorching heat, he provides a cover. She knows he cares for her, he is always present like a shadow. She wants to reveal her feelings to him and is bewildered if he will reciprocate or not. While his eyes glitter when he sees her, his lips never release the magic words she is waiting for. One day, she musters up the courage to let him know how she feels. 

“Even my soul is in love with you.”, exclaims Dorthy. 

He ponders before replying, 

“I know you but I don’t know your soul. I have never seen it. Leave the business of spirits to angels. Let cardiologists handle affairs of the heart. I know and adore your eyes, your hair, your lips. What business do I have with your soul? Even you yourself have no control over it, it is a fleeting entity. It can depart any time it likes.”

He keeps pouring words of the sort but she no longer listens. She leaves the room abashed, regretting her admission to him. Before you reach the destination of yes or no, there is a courtyard of hope. But Dorothy has crossed that and has entered an alley of uncertainty and unease. Walking away she bites her under lip, in an attempt to control the tears of discomfort that irrigate her eyes. When a girl’s tear falls from her eyes and crosses the cheek, it has already travelled miles. The wet eyes shake skies, a tear tears hearts and mines minds.  

A hurt person does not need much to injure others, especially those who are near and dear. So does David. He is with Dorothy but his heart is stuck in the past. When the fears of the past start residing with you in the present, you will always do injustice to your future. You would be passing through today without living through it. Yes there is a fool’s paradise, but remember, there is a hell for them too. 

David fails to understand the sincerity of Dorothy’s words and he denies his own heart to beat again to the tune of love. In the whirlpool of dialogues truth drowns. Emotional phrases blind our intellect. The path of sweet talks leads to a ditch of sorrow. Love is a great emotional state of mind but it mostly dims in time. What is left in the end is a horrible era of abuse and refuses. A lot of us fall in love, a few know the etiquettes of separation. 

Had Nicole left him like true friends do, the world would be different for David. He had loved her and he had to pay a painful toll on that relationship. He is a fellow with a great loving nature but had fallen prey to it earlier. Earlier, he has seen his childhood friendships drown in the lake of self interest. His siblings quarreled over grandma’s property while she was on her deathbed. The more, he grew the more he saw innocent passions like benevolence, friendship and love yield to avarice. He has locked his emotional self behind the door of silence and calm. 

Now Dorothy was rattling the keys of endearment to open his closed heart. Though he was resisting, his heart was inclined. Things were escalating from mere liking to love. He did not want to walk on the thorny path of passion again, but who can ask the heart not to beat? 

Only clouds can quench the thirst of soil. Only the air brings showers to the turf. Only plants would produce food from dust. Only the flowers can convert water into fragrance. Only she is a panacea to the pain of his heart. 

She leaves the room and part of him follows her. His heart wants to beat with hers but the scared part of him abstains. What a stage of divide. What a split of no and yes. What a polycephalic state of mind. His heart is pumping to a rhythm that no cardiologist can cure. His soul is restless to a cause that no angel comprehends. 

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”

Rumi

Once the virus of love infiltrates you, it won’t leave you alone. Its first victim will be your defenses against it. It will erode all thoughts that refrain you from falling in love. Eventually eradicating entire anti-love elements from rationality. Just a few hiccups and you will be repeating the three holy words. 

“I love you.”

Credits 

Google 

By 

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Author, Poet, Blogger, Entrepreneur, Wanderer 

Email: Golfaij.com

Website: Golfaij.com

Memory

Today on the golf course, something was distracting me.  Once I concentrated, I realised it was the memory of a friend who has fallen ill to coronavirus and was unable to join me. This led me down a spiral of memories and I wondered what this human function is? I am pondering what is a memory and what role it plays in our lives. 
Memories are realities recorded in our heads. Life’s moments are fleeting, the minute moves on to never return, but what we do in that moment stays engraved within us. Life is nothing but our mark on time. We’ve got two shadows, one made by the light, the other by our memories. The latter stays on even in the dark. 
Scientifically to my humble understanding, memory is the adjustment of connections between neurons. There are two types of memories, short-term and long-term. Researchers say malleability of memories make the hippocampus capable of storing different types of evocations. 
Memories are the record of our living. The actual incidents amount to nonexistence once erased from our consciousness, such is the importance of remembering and not remembering.  When we are faced with the absence of a loved one, the yearning to be with them is only satisfied through recalling. When we want to relive cherished moments that have long passed, memory can oblige. Memories can make us a child once again. It has the power to take us back into grandmother’s arms or standing side by side with grandfather. Those who are no longer by our sides, sometimes relive with us in our memories.  There are several kinds of memories: cheerful, sorrowful, cherishable, miserable, peaceful, scornful, sweet and sour. These can make you dissolve into laughter, and can stream your cheeks with tears. You can be sitting on your school bench and can be strolling through your university campus. You can hold the hand of your sophomore crush and can be sitting with a long face in the principal’s office. 

“In the twilight of memory we should meet once more. We shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song. And if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall build another tower in the sky.”Khalil Gibran The Prophet
Memories can play the role of a Messiah, bringing the dead back to life. Plentiful pages of literature were blackened in remembrance of the ones with great historic importance and so were the books of history flooded with accounts of the overmen. Tournaments are held in their memorial. Memoirs are published for the legends and poems are composed for the beloved. Some memories are so painful, one prefers them abolished. In order to accomplish that, people find a safe haven in intoxication through drinking and drugs. All to forget certain times, certain things, certain people. On the other hand, some take stimulators to boost certain reflections.
As a matter of fact memory is one’s home in history. It’s a mark on time and it is the act of adding a dot in the vast void of the universe. One memory is an attempt to capture a lifetime in an album of ever expanding space. On the ferris wheel of time and memories, capturing a photograph is an attempt to steal a point in time. It’s a video recording of dwelling on earth. It’s painting a life on a canvas of thought. It’s a tome of grief and volume of pleasure. Memories can have deep supernovas, sometimes longer than the black holes and sometimes wider than the white ones.
All civilizations tried to save memories eternally. Some had built pyramids, others engraved signs on cave walls. Today’s online civilization has developed ‘the cloud’ to store all memories digitally. Many modems have been used throughout history to store memories.
In wars they commemorate the sacrificial stories of the historic warriors. They sing songs of ancestral valor to charge troops. History is nothing but a compilation of recollections. Reminiscence is a great source of knowledge. It teaches us to learn from our past experiences.
Memories have their own importance in religious affairs as well. People admirably remember the holy transcripts in full. On top of that, they learn different versions of recitations by heart.


The game of golf also requires a very sharp memory.
It’s an art of threading a needle to assemble a garland of golf rules and wear it on players’ heads to ensure a perfect shot. Here is a set of certain principles that come to my mind at the moment but I am sure a few would be missing:

  • Choose proper club
  • Stance
  • Eye on the ball
  • Appropriate grip
  • Required swing
  • Speed of execution 
  • Prescribed body movements 
  • Direction
  • Complete concentration 
  • Mandatory weight shift

If you fail to remember one of these, you pay the price and often it is a common practice to miss a few. Keeping in mind all these rules in sequence is easier said than done.
Musicians cram songs and beats before performances. Mathematicians remember complex formulae. Chemists learn elements by heart. Attorneys prepare entire cases in their minds. Politicians memorize lengthy speeches. Language itself is a recollective use of alphabets. Memory plays a vital role in human existence and helps shape its future.

Credits

Sparknotes


By

Ahsan Jamil

Golfer, author, blogger, entrepreneur, wanderer.


Those Who Lose It

Success is the most sought after commodity in all ages. It is a part of everyone who walks through the path of life. People live and die for it. Most of the hands that are held up for prayers, most of the eyes that rise towards skies, most of the hearts that beat for a wish, most minds that tabolate neurons, and most of the physical practice in the arena of struggle, seek success. What is success? It varies from person to person. Success brings power and power, unveils the true colors of human nature. Some fail trying to climb the tower of success and some fail when they reach the top. 

In the series of success, the most commonly renowned are wealth, glory and fame. Nothing beats success that draws fans. A fortune that crowds people is considered number 1 on the victory stand in the stadium of triumph. Thereon, some return to the ground and others begin to walk in the air. Few keep the equilibrium, many lose balance. Arrogance, opulence, vanity, tympany and self-conceit accompany them to the podium they stand on. The wise do not succumb to such temptations; instead, they choose the promenade of gratitude, humbleness, patience, moderation and composure.

Successful people are rightfully called stars in our society. I also respect these stars that twinkle around me. The one who doesn’t respect a successful person is hubris in my eyes. However admirers should refrain from loving stars who assume themselves as the sun. Those who no longer remain on the ground try to fly on the wings of conceit. Amour propre always reveals stature. Not all stars carry the digestion of public acclaim and those who do are the true heroes. 

When a person rides the horse of pomposity that wears the saddle of egotism one must leave the welcome queue formed by fans and amble away waving a good will gesture to both the star and the fans. 

“If we ever travel thousands of light years to a planet inhabited by intelligent life, let’s just make patterns in their crops and leave.”

-Neil DeGrasse Tyson

Popularity is a bird. Anything with wings will relocate anytime. Gratefulness is a scissor. If you want a bird of fame to stay in your yard forever, keep cutting its wings with the blade of gratitude. Fame is the dust that flies off the tyres of the cart of attention that you are riding on. It will settle soon after your departure. Not all roads are unpaved and all rides are not dusty. The rain of circumstances can fall anytime and your cart can get stuck in the mud made of the same dust that you were proud to stir up. The jubilant tumult can convert into dejected clamour anytime. 

The successful work day and night. Weeks after weeks, untiringly working odd jobs at odd hours just to follow their passion. They crave for acceptance, then for admiration and later for popularity. Once they get to the spotlight and the camera flashes, they try to hide from the very audience they were hungry to create. Lines are formed behind the boundary ropes and glossy windows. They avoid signing autographs for the same enthusiasts they were praying to find. They hire armed guards as a deterrent to keep them at bay. Stars begin to give contaminated smiles and adulterated waves to the fans. Even then, followers ignore insults & misbehavior just to have a peek at their heroes. 

Being a success story requires an effort from the heart and being a fan takes passion. When the successful tries to take his audience for granted, their passion begins to shrink. Mere misconduct or arrogant behaviour usually turns the stanchest of fans away. Immodesty is the first sign of upcoming downfall. The energy between a follower and the followed is built on the pillars of emotion. One missing brick can collapse the whole castle. The relations that are based upon ardour are kept close to the heart. The stars shine down regularly and there are always new ones emerging from the very fall of the setting ones. The falling star leaves marks of opportunity in its stardust for the newcomers. In the business of stardom; I mean, in the celestial world, shining and dimming is a matter of routine and order of the day. Weathers are supposed to change and suns rise to set. 

Popularity based stars set at the hands of their fans. At the avenue of their arrogance and at the roundabout of their short stature and narrow sightedness. 

Credits:

  • Pinterest
  • Startalk 

By 

Ahsan Jamil 

Golfer, Author, Entrepreneur, Poet, Blogger, Wanderer 

Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com