Almost daily, the craze of books & craving for golf wakes me up at 3:00 AM. Had I been that zealous about reading during my school years the story would be different today. Any way better late than never. As soon as I open my eyes, my hand begins to move in search of my phone, I grab it and exert to my favorite seat, the toilet seat, half awake. Through my book app I resume to listen to the narrator from the point I shut him the night before. Books often make me lose touch with my surroundings. Only when my legs begin to numb, do I come back to my senses. Morning hygiene and ablution are the most underrated comforts in our lives and tea/coffee is most overrated. Anyhow the forced arrival of COVID-19 has added more value to this unholy ritual. On top of this, we have to wash hands frequently, rubbing for at least twenty seconds. My other half has a sacred devotion to Dove soap. Consequently, my hands have begun to smell like it, and soon they will start behaving like a bird and might grow feathers to flutter. They have softened and become wrinkly because of the regular wash. Rather, remnants of glycerin from the hand wash and sanitizer seems to find its way into my food. I even ignore it with an assumption that crumbs of chloride from the soap might meet any offspring of coronavirus inside my stomach and tear it apart. Benzalkonium chloride is an effective protection against Draconian
Coronavirus but it intends to peel the skin off my fingers, bringing their inner biological textures (the dermis) to light. Golfers are used to having multicolored skin, our faces, right hands, the crus and forearms are customarily tanner than the rest of our bodies. This is all thanks to the exposure of sunlight on the course. The double toned body is a golfer's trophy.
Audiobook narrators have a certain manner to write with their lips, and the listener develops an art to read it with their ears. I think only a fractional comprehension can be attained through audio readings but one can claim to be a great listener since at this age we no longer write book reports. It's time for morning prayer, half heartedly I turn it off and perform one. Worship is easier said than done. I guess most of us do lie about it sheepishly. If it was that easy we would have had more saints than sinners.
“ I know all about the rewards of reverence
But don’t feel like doing it.”
Once I reach my closet for a golf outfit, it awakens me entirely. The gasoline-like aroma of dry clean has a special ingredient to awaken me from my slumber, maybe it’s the sight of polo shirts that ignite energy within me. Golfers wear branded shirts as if the insignia of the fashion line would help them perform better on the course, mostly to no avail. Brands won’t make us worthy but brilliance does.
It is 4:40AM now. Tip top, array in Walter Hagen attire and perfumed with Jimmy Choo, I appear from my room as if stepping on a stage, soundlessly snail through the house without any disturbance to the deeply asleep household. I emerge from the front door without a squeak. My chauffeur is ready, with the car running and my golf kit neatly placed in the trunk. Since I didn’t bring any extra luggage to take to the club’s locker room, he pushes the remote button to close the trunk. I hurl myself into the back seat. Driver shuts the door gently. The main gate of the house opens and we are on the move to the golf course. My chauffeur and I are so trained now in sneaking in and out of the house that we can easily perform a burglary in neighboring homes.
Early morning hymns in a predawn drive to the golf club on lonely roads has delight of its own. The Atif Aslam Coke Studio collection makes my spirit soar with angel’s wings. There are a couple of people ahead of us, my driver exclaims,
“Do you think I am the only mad guy in this town”, I reply.
The chirping of feathered flying friends is the most dominant sound today on the golf course. There are plenty of early birds on the tee this morning so I choose to start from the back nine. I prefer flying solo as long as the threat of COVID-19 is present. Although golf is not as fun alone; buddies are as integral as a ball. Who sees a peacock dance alone in the jungle? And what is a fish without a pound? What is a performer without an audience?
On the other hand, quarantine has revealed a reality to me, that being alone has its own perks: I have made contact with an unknown part of me. I have met myself. Discovered my mute side. The beating of my heart is heard clearly. My undiscovered qualities are disclosed to me. I know my soul now. I can guess what an alone moon out there feels? I see the dreams of a lonely heart. I have grasped the meaning of love from a distance. A writer has emerged from inside of my soul. I awaken a poet from within me. Most of all I enjoy solitary golf and an exclusive dwell.
I am going to leave it to the times ahead to find out if it is better to stay in a crowd or be alone.
In the meantime I rock on with White Snake, to the next fairway.
No, I don't know where I'm goin'
But I sure know where I've been
Hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday
And I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time
Though I keep searchin' for an answer
I never seem to find what I'm lookin' for
Oh Lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on
'Cause I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone
And I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time
Just another heart in need of rescue
Waiting on love's sweet charity
I'm gonna hold on for the rest of my days
'Cause I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone
And I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time
But here I go again
Here I go again
Here I go again
Ooh baby, ooh yeah
And I've made up my mind
Ooh baby, ain't wasting no more time
And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone
'Cause I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
Here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: David Coverdale / Bernie Marsden
Here I Go Again lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc
Credits: Youtube, Google
Ahsan Jamil
Golfer, author, poet, blogger, entrepreneur, wanderer.