THE country was quiet, the people subdued, in the sense of being reconciled to martial law and it was a peaceful time. Ayub Khan looked set for a long innings. I had met Ayub only once, when he had come to PIA headquarters and Nur Khan had asked me to sit in on his briefing to Ayub Khan, which was a one-on-one briefing and no one else from PIA was present. The intent was not to confer a signal honour on me but as his PR man, he wanted me to get my information first hand. It was obvious that Ayub Khan had a great deal of confidence in Nur Khan, the chemistry between the two was good. I kept my mouth shut during the briefing, and Ayub acknowledged my presence by asking me whether I was still doing cricket commentary. He was an impressive man and looked the part of the strong-man of Pakistan.
Amir Hussain was the advertising manager, but he had blotted his copy-book with an unfortunate error in PIA’s calendar and he was ‘banished’ to the Printing Press that PIA had set up. I was given the additional charge of advertising. The initial understanding was that this was a temporary arrangement and I was supposed to mind the store until someone else could be appointed. I had no clue about advertising, but I was a fast learner. Crawfords, a London agency and that had set up a Karachi office, was handling PIA’s account. A man called Stanley was one of the directors and he was the boss-man for Crawfords, as far as PIA was concerned. He had belonged to the Indian Police Service and had spent a long time in Hyderabad (Deccan) and had married a local girl. He seemed to be on good terms with some senior Pakistan bureaucrats.
I GOT along with him and on his recommendation we hired a young man, whose name I have forgotten, to handle our public relations in London. The young man would come to grief. I went to London to have a meeting with Stanley but the P.R.O. was not available. However, he spoke to me on the telephone and in a jolly sort of way informed me, “Sorry old boy, snowed under,” he said. I told him to get a shovel and get rid of the snow or I would get rid of him. On my next visit, he was again missing and there was the same message, “Sorry old boy, snowed under.” I sacked him and this came as a shock to Stanley. I think he realized that I meant business but more importantly, I didn’t like being patronized.
Another young man was appointed and as I remember him ,his name was Gilbert. He was personable and knew his job. The problem with him was that though he was himself a pilot, he had a terrible fear of flying as a passenger. I told him that he had to get rid of this fear as I expected him to visit Karachi on a regular basis. He did come to Karachi once and I don’t how he got on the aeroplane at London Airport but on his way back, we had to all but put him in a straitjacket. He was sweating profusely and running a high fever and looked terrified. I went to see him off personally and briefed the cabin crew to look after him. Once the aircraft had taken off, his calm returned. It was the take-off that scared the living daylights out of him.
BUT Gilbert was the least of my problems at that time. The Pakistan cricket team was embarking on a tour of India and I was very keen to go on that tour. It would be a tour that would last several weeks and I doubted that PIA would release me. Five Test matches were to be played — Bombay, Kanpur, Calcutta, Madras and Delhi were the venues. There were quite a few days between the Test matches. I hit on the idea that I would cover only the Test matches and return to Karachi after each. Being an airline employee, there was no problem about getting inter-line tickets for travel within India.
I broached the subject with Nur Khan and he was not exactly thrilled. He thought the idea to be impractical as it would mean divided concentration. The general perception about Nur Khan was that one did not argue with him. Roma est locuta, causafinita. Rome has spoken, the case is closed. But this was not the case at all. One could reason with him, if one had the gumption. He knew what cricket meant to me and he suggested that there was no harm in giving it a try. “You might as well go. In any case, your mind will be on cricket, “ he said. There was a soft side to him and he did his best to conceal it.
Apart from my newspaper assignments, Radio Pakistan hired me to do the lunch and close of play summaries. This allowed me to sit in the All India Radio commentary box, which was located on the top floor of the main Tata Pavilion, in the Brabourne Stadium. I was able to meet the Indian commentators, Pearson Suarita among them, who was a prominent social figure in Calcutta and was a friend of my brother, Nasir. Pearson was an Anglo-Indian and tended to be a bit of a snob and seemed to look down on the other commentators, but he had the advantage that he was not jingoistic. He became a good friend of mine.
I LEFT for Bombay by PIA and there was an amusing fracas at the airport. The brother of a friend of mine, who bred dogs, was also going to Bombay for a Dog Show. He had two entries but the PIA traffic staff had refused to allow him to take his dogs into the cabin. They had to be crated and put in the hold. He asked me to intervene but the traffic staff told me that the rules were quite clear and the dogs would have to be crated due to safety hazards. I told him that I was helpless. He was crestfallen.
“How can I enter the show without my best dogs? It’s like the Pakistan team without Fazal and Hanif,” he bemoaned. I told him that I didn’t think Fazal and Hanif would be flattered by the analogy. Javed Burki was also on the same flight and Mir Mohammad Hussain, who was the secretary of the Board, had come to see him off and he introduced me to him.
I was expecting to stay at the Cricket Club of India (CCI) but no booking had been made for me. So I moved to the Airlines Hotel in Churchgate, which was a walking distance from the Brabourne Stadium. I knew the Brabourne Stadium well. I used to go there to watch the Bombay Pentangular matches and had had played on that ground for my club, the Young Men’s Muslim Association (YMMA), and had scored 60, caught and bowled K.C. Ibrahaim, and taken a spiralling catch that dismissed Uday Merchant, who was the younger brother of the legendary Vijay Merchant. Zawar Hasan, who was covering the tour for APP, was also looking for a hotel room and he moved in with me. This became a permanent partnership. He and I become roommates for all the other matches.
I was thrilled to be back in Bombay. It hadn’t changed much, except that more people now slept on the footpaths. I was able to locate my friend, Jagat Vats. He had rejoined the Indian Navy and was commanding a ship that resembled a tramp steamer. But he invited me to dinner at his ship, and I took Zawar along with me. We had to take a launch from Gateway of India to get to his ship. Jagat showed courage in inviting us. We were Pakistani journalists and we had no doubt that the Indian Special Branch was keeping an eye on us — we did the same with Indian journalist when they came to Pakistan — but we were dining at a Naval Ship and Jagat must have had some questions to answer. Jagat did not seem concerned at all.
THE tour had begun with high drama. Hanif had scored a double century in the opening match against the Combined Universities at Poona. In the next match at Baroda, a supposedly over-enthusiastic fan had shaken hands with Hanif. Concealed in his hand was a razor blade and Hanif was cut and his hand was bandaged when I met him and, for a while, it seemed he would be a doubtful starter. We read all sorts of conspiracies in this and there was much mock-indignation.
There was another scare. I went to see Fazal at the CCI and he told me that he had pulled a muscle and may not play. It could have been a case of nerves for he was uptight. There was a lot riding on this tour for Fazal’s career. Or, it could have been a case of calculated disinformation to mislead the Indians. For what it was worth, I told Fazal that even if he had to play on one leg, he had to play. The match was a sell-out and tickets were being sold in the black market. There was a good deal of tension. It was going to be some tour. Little did we realize then that Pakistan and India would not play cricket against each other for some 17 years after this tour. But cricket had nothing to do with it.
FROM the window of my hotel room, long before that match was due to start, I could see cricket fans making their way to the Brabourne Stadium. I felt a slight tightening of my stomach muscles and I got ready and picked up my typewriter, which had seen better days, but like an old pair of shoes, I was comfortable with it. I went to the Pakistan dressing-room and wished the players the best of luck. They seemed cheerful enough.
