He would neither suffer fools nor ever get to backslapping terms, the ultimate patrician

In my career as a cricket writer and commentator spanning four decades and a half, I can recall only three men with whom I have had long and erudite chats about things totally removed from the game of cricket — Mike Brearley, Doug Walters and Imran Khan. Brearley’s analytical mind had opinions on everything from British monarchy to national health; Walters was obsessed with Aussie history and Imran Khan an alumnus of Oxford, could talk politics through the wee hours. And this was in his playing days!

The ‘Pathan’ loved Calcutta, as it was then — the passion, the biryani and the chaos. He would say, “If someone asks you the definition of brinksmanship, show him the drivers of Calcutta. You don’t stop, I hit.” 

Alongside Imran, others like Zaheer (Abbas), (Javed) Miandad and Wasim Raja would be regular guests at our Loudon Street residence from their very first tour of ’79-’80, obliging neighbouring kids with autographs and photographs and generally enjoying the freedom of not being tied down by stifling security. 

Imran, to a stranger would appear aloof, even snobbish. Indeed, he would neither suffer fools nor ever get to backslapping terms, the ultimate patrician. Even on the cricket field he would celebrate the fall of a wicket with neither hugs nor high fives —just a slight, playful smile from extra cover. 

Just as he was easily accepted in the rarified stratum of high society in Britain, here in India, he could meet on equal terms with film stars, multi-millionaires, diplomats or chief ministers. He was the ultimate charmer, and I recall in Bombay during his first visit in the winter of 1979-80, he was invited to the homes of leading film stars, like the Big B and Dilip Kumar and the ultimate socialite, Parmeshwar Godrej. I recall at Amitabh’s (Bachchan) party, I stood near the drinks counter and took on a challenge as to who would draw a bigger crowd — the Angry Young Man or the Pathan? No prizes for getting it right!

Yes, Imran did not drink, and still abstains. But he is a true gourmet, relishing Arab delicacies and kebabs in different parts of the subcontinent. 

And Imran had a sense of occasion. Playing at the Eden Gardens in the January of 1980, he bowled his greatest spell on an unresponsive wicket to Sunil Gavaskar. I was in the Doordarshan commentary box and recall remarking that the greatest fast bowler of the times, testing the great Gavaskar at cricket’s Holy of Holies! The match ended in a tedious draw but those who watched the battle in the hazy sunshine of that afternoon, will always remember it as vintage cricket.

In Lahore we would also meet his two illustrious first cousins — cricketers Majid Khan and Javed Burki. Imran lived and lives in Zaman Park and the cousins nearby. And when I visited Aitchison College, Imran’s alma mater in Lahore, taken there by my friend, the lawyer Tariq Rahim, you couldn’t miss the pride with which the school kids would talk about him. 
In the Eighties, I met Imran in England and he invited me to drive down with him in his comfortable sponsored limo to Birmingham when Sussex were going to play Warwickshire. I recall sitting in both that match and the one against Derbyshire a couple of days later, in the players’ box. As a fellow Asian, I felt a certain pride in hearing what esteem the fellow players held him.     

We have all had our moments of fantasising when in idle moments or in school essays we say “If I was king for a day…” or “…if only they made me prime minister”.... Well, the miracle has happened and it is now up to the great all-rounder, not only on the cricket field but in life, finding himself elevated to the ultimate office in his country. We can all hope for ‘Peace in our Times’ and resumption of cricket ties on the subcontinent!

— Kishore Bhimani

The patrician features and the rich baritone...

The cellphone and its ego-centric adjunct, the selfie, were alas not around when I was doing an interview with Imran Khan by the beryl blue pool at The Calcutta Swimming Club. Nary an iPad in sight, nor a laptop. So it was pen to paper and committing to memory, as even a recording device would have robbed those moments of spontaneity. While it was for my column in Sportsweek which used to be called “A Maiden Overview of Sport”, the piece had its cricket speak, but I did want to bring in other maidens he would bowl over. 

His patrician features, his rich baritone and that charming offensive that he always sported underwent a change to one of imploring. Which in essence said, hey, could we keep such references out of the article, as he did not wish to project that playboy angle to his people in Pakistan? So a somewhat watered-down version went.

But the memories of his many visits to Calcutta are more crystalline. The Seventies were the unspoiled days when celebrity cricketers like Imran and his fellow teammates would come over home guilelessly. We entertained because it was the most natural thing to do. Limited resources, no fancy bungalows, but a great lineup of beautiful people, with imaginative food, good booze and the absence of flashbulbs popping from media cameras. Our celeb friends from the world of sport and cinema and writing came because of a personal rapport with us, the hosts, and not because of sponsorship compulsions. 

As we rewind to his many interactions with India, largely sporting oriented, we fast forward to here and now and hope that in one area at least, a modicum of cricketing diplomacy will kick in as Imran takes over stewardship of his country.   

— Rita Bhimani

Yes to biryani. No to bhang

The man has made an impact on the opposite sex. On batsmen in opposite teams. On a cricket ball to make it swing the opposite way. And now on the public of his beloved nation by luring them from the opposite camp! 

The first impact Imran Khan made on me was when I was all of seven-and-a-half. It was a nippy late January evening on the eve of the sixth Test of a gruelling series that the home side led two zero. We were thrilled to be able to host the Pakistan team at home. And it was a team full of personalities. Yet when this dashing 20-something Oxford graduate walked in accompanied by the wiry speedster Sikander Bakht, there a hushed silence followed by a collective deep breath. 

He was not even flamboyantly attired. Faded jeans and casual mojris. A white shirt (with the customary Seventies, giant collar) and an olive green jumper with a subtle cricket logo! It was just his persona that silenced the raucous soiree. 
Fortunately, his love for food and music was as much as his people skills with the opposite sex, so I actually got as much attention as the formerly raucous and now dumbstruck ladies at the party! First I was the official DJ, furiously alternating these ingenious things called cassettes on which I had made a “playlist”. He came and tinkered around with them and expressed his preference for the Beatles and the Stones. We had records naturally. He insisted. I changed. Off with Tina Charles and the Bee Gees. 

Then came the iconic Shiraz biryani. No smart packaging in those days, so if you ordered in bulk, you got buckets! I was put in charge of one bucket to ensure it would be directed exclusively towards Messrs Khan and Bakht. Thanks to them and particularly Imran ‘Uncle’, I would get no leftovers for school tiffin the next day.  

Less than a decade later, he had gone on to become Kaptaan of Pakistan and the team was touring India smack in the middle of my board exams! Thanks to my exams, no big party happened at home during the Calcutta Test which was laced with a customary Azharuddin hundred and eight wickets from man of the match Roger Binny. But while studying, I did get a visit from a young man, just out of his teens, who had just finished giving his own exams. Again the visit was thanks to Imran, as he liked to move around with and promote his fast bowling prodigies. This time it was baby-faced Wasim Akram who had just taken a fiver that very morning at Eden. To this day (and I met the two of them recently with Imran Khan a full-fledged politician), Wasim refers to him as Kaptaan. 

The first four Tests of five were drawn, and my exams were done in time for the fifth in Bangalore. I got on a morning flight on March 13, Day One of the Test and a cricket fan pilot kept us abreast of the scores. “No draw in Bangalore” he said. Pakistan already 68/6. Maninder running riot. Despite the great start, Imran had two match-winning spinners in the lineup in Iqbal Qasim and Tauseef Ahmed and they took the visitors to victory with 18 wickets in the match between them. The on-field highlight was Gavaskar’s masterly 96 on a treacherous fifth day surface trying to save India. The off-field highlight for me was what transpired on the Rest Day, which happened to be Holi! 

My father and I were staying in the Pakistan wing of the Taj West End hotel. There were no rooms in the Indian side and the Pakistan team management had no objection to us being there. We were sandwiched between Abdul Qadir (he wasn’t playing in Bangalore but was in the squad) and Saleem Malik. The usual serenity of the West End was broken early on the Rest Day morning by a few Indian players knocking on the doors of the Pakistan team. Maninder Singh led the charge. Offie Gopal Sharma, Kris Srikkanth and Ravi Shastri were all in tow. 

Abdul Qadir knocked at our door. “Bhai, yeh rang kabhi nahin utrega. Kya karoon main”. It was only gulal. However, what followed was mayhem. Within an hour the swimming pool had been taken over and both teams were in the midst of hardcore colours and dunks in the pool. The only mission incomplete was getting the Kaptaan out there. 

Imran, at times, after becoming captain was perceived to be a bit of a loner. And being cloistered in a single cottage didn’t help matters. But thanks to the camaraderie between the teams and a few threats from his young fast bowling unit, Imran was soon the centre of it all, physically carried and tossed into the pool! 

Only when it came to trying the bhang, his baritone rang out, “daaru toh main nahin peeta hoon yaar. So I will pass”. The final riveting day of the Test was played with some red-faced individuals, and embarrassment was certainly not the cause. But the already colourful Imran Khan was named man of the series! 

Yes to biryani. No to bhang. A philosophy that has stood this playboy turned prime minister in very good stead. 

— Gautam Bhimani