• Ahsan Jamil

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. This tradition must go on. Plan a tree for those arrive here after we are gone.



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By


Ahsan Jamil

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


Email: Golfaij@gmail.com

Website: Golfaij.com






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