I was in my teens in the mid-70s and the memories of the 1971 war with Pakistan were still fresh. Most things related to Pakistan were frowned upon. Except perhaps for two: singer Noor Jehan and poet Faiz. There was a third perhaps, a relatively lesser known figure then, a sportsman called Imran Khan.
Imran had just entered international cricket, bringing some colour into it. He was a tyro all-rounder who bowled real fast. This was a big deal for us because our own fast bowlers — Abid Ali, Eknath Solkar, etc. — bowled no more than friendly medium pace. Also, Imran batted better and scored faster, something uncommon those days. But the biggest reason for the interest in him was his good looks; there were several stories of his love life floating around. And then there was the unconfirmed rumour that he had been born with right wrist attached to right shoulder and had it not come unstuck in a childhood accident, he would never have played cricket. That was the enigma of Imran Khan.
Then, in 1977, Indira Gandhi lost the elections, and a new Foreign Minister took office. Atal Bihari Vajpayee believed it made more sense for India and Pakistan to play cricket in Karachi or Kanpur than fight tank battles in Khem Karan. So, in September 1978, after a gap of three decades, an Indian team left to play cricket in Pakistan.
In honour of this unexpected government initiative, Doordarshan showed the series live, a first. For us teenagers, it was a scintillating experience. Zaheer Abbas’s batting, Imran’s bowling, and Gavaskar’s fighting resistance are some of the high points of the series I’ll take to the grave.
The series gave a big boost to Vajpayee’s reputation as peacenik and statesman. As Indo-Pak relations improved dramatically, Pakistan visited India for a return series in 1979-80. The team, with greats like Asif Iqbal, Zaheer Abbas, Majid Khan and Mudassar Nazar, was welcomed warmly. But the biggest adulation was reserved for Imran.
The famous swing
A few days before the series was to start, Rakesh Sharma, my cricket crazy neighbour, dropped in early one morning and invited me to see the Pakistanis practising at the Palam grounds. We reached the venue in good time. The lush green expanse, bathed in Delhi’s balmy winter sun, looked breathtaking. The Pakistanis were at the nets. Unimaginable as it may seem today, there was hardly anyone around. A few officials watched from the pavilion steps. A couple of young girls glanced proudly at their freshly signed autograph books. And a few youngsters dotted the grounds.
We soon tiptoed towards the nets for a better view. The visitors were hard at work. They appeared taller and stronger than on TV. We recognised Majid Khan batting at the nets. And bowling to him was our heartthrob — Imran. We knew they were cousins. And what a sight they presented. Both tall and athletic, with chiselled features. One was bowling with grace and pace. The other was hitting majestic shots.
The author photographed with Imran Khan in 1979.
We walked right behind the stumps to observe Imran’s famous swing. We could barely keep an eye on the ball as it deviated quickly and beautifully in the air. But Majid didn’t seem troubled. He batted with regal nonchalance. He had famously offended the purists by declaring that playing great shots didn’t need footwork, just a good eye. Here, he was proving it, as two uninvited 18-year-olds gawked.
After a while we went into the pavilion for a bite. When we returned, Imran was batting. Not at the nets but on a patch near the pavilion. He was batting with one pad, without wickets. The bowlers were local boys. Imran was playing forward defensive to slow bowling and we figured it was perfectly safe to stand where mid-off would be. Some five or six boys were bowling off-spin to him in rotation. All pitching at one spot. Imran was a picture of concentration. Leaning forward and smothering the spin. Ball after ball. Relentlessly.
Then he stopped, looked around, and asked, “ Koi slow left arm leg spinner hai? ” We realised Imran wanted to face slow, left-arm leg spin because he was in Delhi, home to the world’s best slow, left-arm leg spinner in the world, Bishen Bedi, whom he would face in the coming weeks.
His gaze fell on the two of us. As luck would have it, I bowled slow, left-arm leg spin in college and I had raised my hand. Imran said, “Come and bowl to me around the leg.”
And just like that, I found myself bowling to the one and only Imran Khan. Twice I beat him around the legs. The first time the ball went round his legs, he just looked at me. The second time, he fixed his gaze on me, smiled warmly, and said “Good ball.” I couldn’t believe my ears.
But that was it. After that, he opened his stance and the wider outside the leg I pitched, the more he opened up to deal with the angle. I tried my darnedest but nothing went past him. About two dozen balls later, he asked me to bowl good length on the off stump. I could turn the ball a lot those days, but there wasn’t much point doing that when pitching good length on the off stump. Nothing unusual happened for a long time. Then, one ball turned sharply and all but missed his outside edge. He looked at me with that same warm smile and repeated the magic words: “Good ball”!
If it was 2018, my friend would have filmed it all on his mobile phone. But 39 years ago, most of us didn’t even have cameras in our homes. Luckily, by the time practice ended, a few press photographers had arrived. One of them asked if I wanted a picture with Imran. When I nodded excitedly, he asked Imran if he could click. The great Khan looked at me, smiled, and said, “With pleasure.”
The way he said those words, it seemed he was saying thank you. Can anyone imagine this today? A world-famous cricketer accommodating, encouraging, and thanking a nameless kid from another country, in fact, until recently an enemy country, with all the generosity at his command.
That’s the Imran I encountered in those couple of hours I spent on the field. And if two decades of politics have not changed him, India will find him bright, warm, pleasant, and generous. Of course, his people’s interests will be the cornerstone of his diplomacy, but he still represents the best opportunity since Independence for the two nations to achieve trust and peace.
Before leaving, the photographer gave me his and his studio’s name, saying it was easy to find in a lane behind Super Bazaar in Connaught Place, and I was to come after three days to pick up the print. Photos were a big deal in that era and I can’t describe how eagerly I waited to lay my hands on this one.
Three days later, I reached the studio. And there was the print waiting for me. Taking it home was an ethereal experience. In the last four decades, the photograph has moved a dozen homes and half a dozen cities. Many of my belongings have deteriorated, even disappeared. But miraculously, this little picture has survived.
Here’s to the great Khan who made me feel so good about myself that winter day long ago. And here’s hoping India may actually have a happier future with a Pakistan under Imran Khan.
The filmmaker, TV programmer, cinema academic and writer formerly headed programming at Discovery and BBC Worldwide.
