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  • Writer's pictureAhsan Jamil

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.

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.

“Come sit with me! Let us drink the holy wine of happiness.”






Defence Raya Golf & Country Club

Qamar Zaman Images


Ahsan Jamil

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



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Dec 19, 2020

Loved it...

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