Frontier fast-food

The Lion of Lahore earns an exhaustive if naive new biography. Aayush Soni compares man and myth.

In his introduction, Christopher Sandford writes that after working on the biography of Hollywood director Roman Polanski, writing this book seemed like “drinking sparkling mineral water after eating heavily salted peanuts”. But to me, it felt like eating a lavish Lucknowi or North-west Frontier meal, accompanied by potent red wine. Imran Khan’s cricketing career — be it the initial trials and tribulations or the subsequent super-stardom — reminded me of the soft but robustly tasteful galouti kebabs, the taste of which lingers on the palate even after I’m done with my meal.

 

Khan’s frequent run-ins with the Pakistani cricket board (or the BCCP, as the author writes), altercations with team members (most notably Javed Miandad) and his later political career are reminiscent of the burra kebab: grilled, bony, hard-to-chew chunks of mutton with meat that often gets stuck between your teeth. His liaisons with beautiful women are perfectly metaphorised by a full-bodied, potent red wine, while his preoccupation with the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital and Research Center in Lahore — which he built in memory of his late mother — reveals the softer side of this Pathan; just like a delicately delicious Lucknowi biryani. And to round off this delicious fare, a phirni — the sweet, slightly imperfect semi-liquid dessert — a reminder of Khan as the doting father but failed husband.

Born as Imran Khan Niazi into a well-to-do family, Khan was the only male offspring of his generation in his family and, consequently, the apple of his mother’s eye. He had a privileged, but rigorous, childhood. While he studied at the prestigious Aitchison College in Lahore, he was made to run innumerable rounds of his Zaman Park locality, sometimes wearing a backpack filled with rocks, in order to add muscle to his skinny body. And soon after he was done with Aitchison, young “Immy”, as he was called by friends and foes, was packed off to Oxford — the start of what would soon be a roller-coaster cricket career.

One of the most striking features of Imran Khan is the amount of space devoted to his career in England’s domestic cricket circuit. It seems to suggest that Sandford wrote these chapters keeping in mind a British audience populated by a large number of Pakistani immigrants. Every aspect of Khan’s life in England — the racial abuse hurled at him, the low match fees, his poor communication skills and his inability to get along with his British teammates due to cultural differences — is interesting, but only up to a point. Simply because Imran Khan is known as a Pakistani cricket legend and not an English county cricketer.

Khan’s cricket career in Pakistan was marred by frequent run-ins with the cricket board, a rebellious stint with Kerry Packer’s World Series of Cricket and a career-threatening shin injury. The last of these and Khan’s handling of the injury makes for fascinating reading. To be able to make a comeback at the age of 31 — and that too as a fast bowler — is a testament to the man’s determination. Throughout his years as a Pakistani cricketer, Khan had to deal with a high-handed cricket board, an equally arrogant selection committee and a frequently rotating captaincy. But that isn’t to say that he was holier-than-thou. Sandford writes, rather dramatically, that if the cricket board was haughty, so was Khan; giving credence to speculation that Khan was a one-man cricket board himself. And his image of a Lothario certainly didn’t endear him to the board.

To Sandford’s credit, he doesn’t portray Khan as someone who chased women all the time; in a lot of cases it was the women who were smitten. For instance, there was an incident in an English pub where a young woman plonked herself on Khan’s lap so he could “explore” her. Yes, his dalliances with British socialites and girls at Oxford (including a certain Benazir Bhutto) did make him a playboy and an “international sex symbol”. However, Sanford is careful not to let this aspect of Khan’s life overshadow others. Instead, he tamely takes back his statement about the Bhutto-Khan affair saying the friendship was “platonic”. Bhutto would later remark that Khan would make a “valued” public servant.

That’s exactly what Khan thought himself. He did, accordingly, soon after retiring from international cricket. In 1996, he formed the political outfit Tehreek-e-Insaf (“Movement for Justice”) but didn’t have much electoral success initially. Did this lower Khan’s morale? Doubtful.

Instead, Khan is said to have remarked emphatically that his party was the “fastest growing movement” in Pakistan. Going by sheer numbers, the movement is still in its infancy, as the party holds just 0.8 per cent of parliamentary seats. Going by Khan’s personality, however, and Sandford’s slightly naive assessment, the “Lion of Lahore” will get the country’s top job one day. What the biographer forgets is that it’s one thing to be a cult figure, support a lawyers’ agitation and make grandiose statements on television, but quite another to translate all that into votes. Yes, Khan remains a glimmer of hope for an otherwise failed democracy, but it’ll be a while before he can make a significant impact on his country’s polity.

So what does this exhaustive and meticulously researched biography say about Pakistan’s most colourful personality? Simply put, Imran Khan is a complex figure who has been a victim of circumstances, and used circumstances to his advantage as well. As Sandford rightly suggests, Khan has provided Pakistanis some hope and joy through his political and cricketing career. And as far as the biography is concerned, it may not be tautly paced but is certainly very enjoyable. Remember, it’s Lucknowi and North-west Frontier fare you’re eating. Not a McDonald’s burger!

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IMRAN KHAN; THE CRICKETER, THE CELEBRITY, THE POLITICIAN — THE BIOGRAPHY
Author: Christopher Sandford
Publisher: HarperCollins India
Pages: 382
Price: Rs 499