CHAPTER 2

THE CALL

Around 1 December 2003, I received a telephone call from Lieutenant General Tauqir Zia, Chairman of the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB), at my home in Karachi informing me that he was resigning from his post as Chairman and that the Patron, President Musharraf, had approved my name as his successor. Would I accept? I asked the General to give me 24 hours to consider. This news came to me as a huge surprise as I had never aspired to the post of Chairman, nor had the media mentioned my name as General Tauqir Zia’s possible successor. Tauqir Zia was a cricketing friend who had earlier roped me in to manage the Pakistan team in the 2003 World Cup that had miserably failed to reach the second round. I was now faced with the far more important task of heading the PCB. General Tauqir Zia had been ad hoc Chairman of the PCB for over four years and had been given a torrid time in the national press, especially after Pakistan’s failure in the World Cup of 2003.

General Tauqir Zia’s nomination as Chairman of the PCB soon after General Pervez Musharraf had seized power in a military coup needs to be viewed in its political perspective. Pakistan has been ruled for nearly half its 63-year history by military dictators who displaced elected civilian representatives. The first coup was mounted by General Ayub Khan, who after 11 years handed over to General Yahya Khan. There were many successes, especially in the development sector for Ayub when Pakistan was seen as a model for economic development. But he significantly failed to liberate Kashmir in the 1965 war with India. Six years later, Pakistan was defeated in its second war with India and was forced to surrender to the Indian army in Dhaka. Worse still Pakistan saw its Eastern wing emerge as a separate nation – Bangladesh – compounding the humiliation for the people of Pakistan. After a brief civilian interregnum under Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto (1971–7), yet another coup by General Zia-ul-Haq saw the military take over power, a tenure that lasted another 11 years until Zia was killed in a mysterious plane crash in August 1988. The fourth coup was conducted by General Pervez Musharraf after his disastrous venture to capture the Kargil heights had torpedoed the peace process with India through the Lahore Declaration signed by Prime Ministers Nawaz Sharif and Atal Bihari Vajpayee in 1998.

Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s historic visit to Pakistan when he arrived in Lahore with his entourage in a bus had raised hopes of improved relations between Pakistan and India. The visit had seen the Indian Prime Minister visit the Minar-e-Pakistan, the monument that symbolized the birth of Pakistan and ended with the optimistic Lahore Declaration. There were clear indications that both prime ministers wanted to move towards a better relationship that could only be achieved through the settlement of the Kashmir dispute. This positive development was based on the personal chemistry between Nawaz Sharif and Vajpayee. They had met on the sidelines during SAARC and Commonwealth summits in which both shared the need to normalize bilateral relations. Clearly, unlike any former or subsequent Indian Prime Minister, Vajpayee was prepared to go the extra mile in seeking a solution to Kashmir. Accordingly a secret back-channel process was set in motion aimed at reaching a Kashmir solution. Niaz Naik, former Foreign Secretary, represented Pakistan, while Brijesh Mishra, the Indian Prime Minister’s principal secretary, represented India. Several rounds of back-channel discussions had been held when Musharraf’s fateful incursion into Kargil took place. It immediately derailed the back-channel process as Vajpayee felt that Kargil had been a stab in the back over his effort to normalize relations with Pakistan.

By then Nawaz Sharif had shown himself to be headstrong and erratic as Prime Minister. He had achieved strong backing from the electorate after Benazir Bhutto’s earlier dismissal over accusations of corruption. Nawaz Sharif had become Prime Minister based on a ‘heavy mandate’. He had demonstrated his power by ordering his goon-squad to physically attack the Supreme Court and was intending to achieve the title of Ameer ul Momineen (ruler of the faithful), which had been assumed by famous Caliphs during Islam’s glorious conquests. At the other end of these wayward exploits was his decision to improve relations with India, which reflected moderation and good sense particularly in finding a compromise solution to Kashmir. Kargil demolished these hopes and soon afterwards Musharraf mounted a coup against Nawaz Sharif that saw, yet again, the army achieving the status of the ‘patriotic saviour’ of Pakistan.

Subsequently, Niaz Naik and the important Indian journalists like Kuldip Nayar stated publicly that a solution to the Kashmir dispute had emerged from the back-channel talks. Confirmation of such a formula – called the Chenab Formula – is apparent from the then Foreign Minister Sartaj Aziz’s book Between Dreams and Realities (OUP, 2009). Kuldip Nayar told me that he had met Mr Vajpayee who confirmed that a solution of the Kashmir dispute had been agreed in principle when the Kargil attack put paid to the process. The Chenab formula envisaged the handing over to Pakistan of a chunk of Indian-held territory in Kashmir on the west bank of the Chenab river which would form the border between Pakistan and Indian Kashmir. Personally, I felt that Vajpayee was the only Indian Prime Minister who could have taken such a daring decision that went against India’s long-established position of not yielding ‘an inch of Indian (Kashmir) territory to Pakistan’.

Eight years of Musharraf’s military rule began reasonably well but gradually degenerated into corrupt political dealings, mismanagement and a lack of direction so that Musharraf’s end was ignominious, dragging the armed forces prestige down with him. After Musharraf’s blighted rule, the army under General Ashfaq Kiani has stayed away from the political centre-stage, being content to control foreign policy and the budgetary allocation to the defence services under an ineffectual and corrupt political government. The army’s lustre has recently faded with the dramatic attack against bin Laden in his five-year hideout which everyone believes was in the knowledge of military intelligence. The end result is that public approval of another military coup to ‘save’ Pakistan would be difficult to achieve.

During these long years of military rule, it became the norm for military dictators to appoint military personnel to key national institutions like PIA, the Public Services Commission and of course the Pakistan Cricket Board. The military leaders felt comfortable with their representatives heading these institutions even though most of the appointees had neither experience nor expertise to commend them. Moreover, the appointments were a convenient sinecure for retiring generals, admirals and air marshals. These military appointments reflected the general contempt held by the military towards civilians who were seen as incompetent, corrupt and not sufficiently patriotic, the armed forces having arrogated to themselves the supreme badge of patriotism. Thus, a succession of generals and air marshals found themselves heading the Pakistan Cricket Board even though they had scant knowledge of the complexity and history of cricket. No doubt they were good administrators but had no feel for the game. General Tauqir Zia was an exception to this rule because he was an active cricketer who had a deep understanding of the sport. His problem was that as a serving general and a serving corps commander he barely had time to attend to day-to-day issues that were faced by the PCB. After four years in the saddle, Tauqir Zia faced a growing crescendo of criticism by the media and the public against his role as the PCB Chairman. There were two reasons for this criticism. Firstly, Pakistan had seen a welcome mushrooming of media opinion through the grant of TV licenses to private media channels. The print media was also given unprecedented freedom to express their opinions on all issues. Cricket became a target for this newly acquired freedom of the media that began to aim its slings and arrows against Musharraf’s military regime that was generally losing its lustre through half-baked compromise solutions. Politically, criticizing Tauqir Zia was aimed at Musharraf’s military regime. Secondly, Pakistan’s cricketing performance had been disappointing, typified by its first round exit from the World Cup in South Africa in 2003.

I saw my appointment as a sop to public opinion. As a civilian I would replace a general as head of the PCB. The change might also lead to cricketing performance being improved. I had no doubt that my appointment was part of the political landscape that was developing in Pakistan because Musharraf’s regime had begun to lose its shine and was increasingly on the back foot.

There is also a deeper, historical resonance to the ready acceptance by the Pakistani public to successive martial law regimes. I happened to be in Pakistan during each of the four military coups that took place and can testify to the fact that there was a general sigh of relief from the common man whenever the military government took over. The initial reaction was that venal corrupt politicians had been replaced by patriotic, upright representatives of the armed forces. Initially, the military regimes did not face public resentment at overthrowing the elected representatives of the people. It was only after failures of wars against India and the loss of half of the country that public resentment built up against military power. Ayub failed in the 1965 war, Yahya saw the Pakistan army defeated in 1971 and Musharraf’s venture into Kargil was a military and diplomatic disaster. Zia’s saving grace was that though he did not liberate Kashmir, he did help in the liberation of Afghanistan from Soviet communists.

So why was the advent of military regimes in Pakistan so acceptable to the public? The answer lies in South Asia’s history. For 800 years the Muslim invaders from Central Asia, Afghanistan and Iran had invaded and colonized vast tracts of India. The success of Muslim rule was achieved mainly by the military campaigns carried out by the invading Muslim hordes. Several Muslim dynasties, beginning with Mahmud of Ghazni and ending with the magnificent Mughal dynasty, ruled over most of India. This domination of India by the Muslim minority was gained through military prowess – such as the three defining battles of Panipat (1526, 1556 and 1761). Muslim Pakistan saw in its armed forces a reflection and a hope of matching India’s numerical superiority. History had provided the Pakistan army with an aura of invincibility that was a factor in the public’s acceptability whenever they took over government. Over the years this aura of invincibility began to fade for the reasons given in the previous paragraph. In 60 years of independence, the armed services had lost prestige and respect in the eyes of the public. Musharraf’s political demise reflected this disillusionment. My appointment came at a time when Musharraf was halfway down the slide that he wanted to reverse. He was not successful.

The prospect of heading the PCB was daunting. An abrogated Constitution meant that a succession of ad hoc Chairmen had been inducted and removed at the whims of Pakistan’s Chief Executives, leading to legitimate criticism that instead of an institutional process, the PCB was run by political nominees who would operate autocratically. It was also apparent that the PCB was faced with diverse pressures from all cricketing quarters that had led to accusations of maladministration, corruption, nepotism and dwindling finances. Cricketing results had been disappointing and the terrorist threat had led to some countries declining to play in Pakistan. Even those countries that did were loath to play in Karachi where the New Zealand team had aborted their tour after a bomb blast near their hotel in 2002. There were intrigues with players grouping into separate cabals, and the constant chopping and changing of captains, coaches and managers after every series loss that had undermined the stability and continuity of the team. All these negative trends had seen a cacophony of criticism hurled at the PCB and its Chairman. The media clamoured for a change of guard at the PCB with names of former officials like Arif Abbassi, Khalid Mahmud, Zafar Altaf and even cricket-playing generals bandied about as likely successors to General Tauqir Zia. My name was not part of this speculation. I had not been part of the cricketing administration in Pakistan and my experience was limited to two stints as manager of the national team to India (1999) and to the World Cup in South Africa (2003).

An important consideration for me to accept the post of Chairman of the PCB was that the offer had come from President Musharraf. These considerations were both personal and political. Over the years I had established an affable but remote personal relationship with General Pervez Musharraf. This was due almost entirely to the fact that his father had been a colleague in the Pakistan Foreign Office. Musharrafuddin was a Muhajir1 staff officer from Delhi who, at partition, had opted like many Muslim civil servants from India for Pakistan’s government service. These civil servants brought much needed bureaucratic expertise that was invaluable for Pakistan’s government that was starting from scratch. Musharrafuddin was assigned to the Foreign Office where he made his mark as an efficient and capable superintendent. He was subsequently selected for a gazetted (officer grade) post in the new Section Officer scheme, being one of four selected gazetted officers from around 100 qualifiers.

Musharrafuddin was delighted at making the grade and would often drop by my office for a social chat during which he would proudly inform me of his children’s progress. Pervez Musharraf was sent to Forman Christian College, a fine institution, and later joined the Pakistan Army. Musharrafuddin was soon posted out to Turkey as a diplomat and later went to Indonesia.

It was mainly due to his father that I used to seek out Pervez Musharraf for a brief chat, first as a Brigadier and then as a General in the Pakistan Army. I was delighted to see the steep and unusual rise in the cadre of a Muhajir, and rejoiced and was a tad surprised when he was selected as Army Chief.

When the Army mounted a coup against Nawaz Sharif’s civilian government, I viewed the event with mixed feelings. Politically, as a democrat, a liberal and a firm believer in human rights, I was emotionally opposed to the coup. At the time I was Ambassador in Paris and resigned my post, only to be told my resignation had not been accepted and I should continue ‘until further orders’. Moreover, Musharraf’s sally into Kargil2 had been disastrous diplomatically and militarily, plunging Pakistan’s international prestige to rock bottom. On the favourable side, I recalled Ayub Khan’s decade of governance when Pakistan had made remarkable progress in the field of development and national unity. Ayub was a benign, wise and moderate dictator, and since I knew Pervez Musharraf to be a liberal, sporting, tolerant person I hoped he could bring order, discipline and direction to Pakistan’s policies nationally and externally. Faced with the spectre of religious extremism, I felt only a liberal, courageous and wise leader could overcome the dangers that Pakistan faced. President Pervez Musharraf had idolized Kemal Atatürk and had announced a humane, civilized approach towards weaker elements of society like the minorities. So my objections in principle to military coups were subordinated in favour of promised discipline, progress and reform. Knowing Pervez Musharraf personally made it easier for me to accept the offer.

In the 24 hours during which I weighed up my options, I was encouraged by the fact that Ramiz Raja was Chief Executive of the PCB. I had known Ramiz Raja and had come to respect him as one of the few Test cricketers in Pakistan who was educated, articulate and balanced. Ramiz had received his share of media flak, particularly from Karachi because of his Lahore connections, but it did not alter my perception of him as a rational and competent administrator who was also a former Test captain.

The reason for a Lahore-based cricketer being treated with a degree of animosity by the Karachi lobby (or vice versa a Karachi cricketer being treated similarly by the Lahore lobby) needs to be set in a wider context of historical regional and provincial tensions.

Rivalries between provinces exist throughout the world. Yorkshire and Lancashire have been traditional rivals reflecting the historical battles of the war of the Roses. New South Wales and Victoria have a similar rivalry as do the islands of Barbados, Jamaica and Trinidad. Across the border from Pakistan, Kolkata and Mumbai are similar adversaries. This rivalry is competitive and mostly healthy. There is the usual hype from the press and public on issues such as selection, and the distribution of loaves and fishes. Pakistan lives with similar rivalries that are perhaps more sinister and give rise to negative repercussions. This is because of political administrative and even racial influences.

Let us begin with cricket in pre-1971 Pakistan before Bangladesh became an independent nation. Until 1971 there was no representation in the national team from East Pakistan despite it having the majority population. There was a club-level cricketer from Dhaka called Niaz Ahmed who was Pakistan’s perennial 12th man for quite some time, the Pakistan Cricket Board attempting to give the entirely unconvincing impression that East Pakistan was on the verge of national representation. The fact was that no effort was made by the governments of Pakistan or by the cricket boards to promote cricket in East Pakistan. The result was that although people were full of enthusiasm for the sport, as was evident from huge attendances for the Tests in Dhaka, there was no organized cricket in East Pakistan. Today, Bangladesh is making strides as a junior member of the cricket world and would find some of its players, like its openers, its wicketkeeper and captain all-rounder, walking into the Pakistan national team. Certainly their fielding is more athletic and their fitness and work ethic more apparent. The reason for this neglect of East Pakistan was primarily political. The West Pakistani regarded himself superior, the martial race, with extensive representation in Pakistan’s armed services. There was no East Pakistan representation in Pakistan’s Olympic contingents and none in its hockey teams. This superiority attitude was about race, as the smaller, darker East Pakistani was regarded racially inferior and culturally different because they had their own rich language and culture. With the passage of time the East Pakistani was increasingly regarded as having doubtful patriotic credentials.

After 1971, Pakistan was left with an unbalanced administrative structure. Punjab had a population representing 65 per cent of the country with by far the best literacy rate and economic performance. Situated in Pakistan’s heartland, Punjab dominated the country politically, economically, educationally and in the control of natural reserves. This inevitably led to the smaller provinces of Sindh, the Frontier3 and Baluchistan reacting against Punjab’s domination. This was especially noticeable in the control of waters from Pakistan’s principal rivers that all flowed through Punjab, its representation in the armed and civil services based on its advanced education.

Cricket in Pakistan reflected a similar landscape. In the early years there was hardly any challenge to Punjab’s domination from the Frontier, Baluchistan or Sindh, except from its Mohajir, Urdu-speaking population that had migrated from India to settle mainly in Karachi and the larger towns of Sindh’s interior. This Mohajir population had brought high levels of education with them, a cultural superiority complex as they considered themselves the guardians of Urdu, the national language of Pakistan, and the vanguard of the Pakistan movement under the leadership of Mr Jinnah. The Mohajirs brought with them a love and expertise in cricket which presented the only rivalry to Punjab’s domination. This Mohajir–Punjab rivalry later became diffused mainly because the Frontier Pathans made sudden and impressive strides in cricket. Secondly Lahore ceased to be the cricketing fulcrum in the Punjab, with other towns like Multan, Faisalabad, Rawalpindi, Sialkot, Gujranwala and Bahawalpur coming to the fore. Karachi, though dominated by the Mohajirs, became a highly cosmopolitan city with large ‘settler’ populations from the Frontier (including Afghan refugees) and from the interior of Sindh and Punjab. Nowadays the Karachi teams are represented by the offspring of Pathan settlers like Shahid Afridi and Younus Khan, Punjabi ‘settlers’ like Zaheer Abbas and Asad Shafiq, and members of long-standing Karachi families like Danish Kaneria and Wallis Mathias. These rivalries are played out on a minor scale between the various communities settled in Karachi and on a national scale between Punjab and the rest. The sharpness and negative fallout of the rivalry has been substantially reduced because cricket has reached the smaller towns beyond Lahore and Karachi.

With my appointment, the need to balance the leadership in the PCB between a Punjabi- and a Karachi-based Muhajir had been fulfilled. But the basic reasons weighing in favour of my accepting the high-profile post was to improve the cricketing image of Pakistan. I loved the game and wanted to do my bit to clean the negative image of Pakistani cricket, and to bring about an air of decency, transparency, merit and financial probity in the Board and in the players.

So after consulting my immediate family, I gave my positive response to General Tauqir Zia and within a day my appointment was announced, my start date – 16 December 2003 – agreed and my meeting with the Patron scheduled. My son Omar’s wise words kept ringing in my ears – that however successful my efforts, my tenure would be seen by the public as a failure except in the unlikely circumstance of Pakistan winning the World Cup in 2007. Another reason for my accepting the challenge was that having lost my mother the year before I was in a state of inert melancholia, attending fleetingly to the publication of her book Memoirs of a Rebel Princess and my own account of the 1999 India tour called Cricket – A Bridge of Peace.4 Throwing myself wholeheartedly into the challenge would help me revive my zest for life. The allure of frequent travel, the good life when attending the International Cricket Council (ICC) and the Asian Cricket Council (ACC) meetings and what is enviously referred to as ‘foreign jaunts’ were definitely not factors in my decision to accept the post. Having served as a career diplomat in the Pakistan Foreign Service, I had travelled across the world for 40 years. As Ambassador and Foreign Secretary, I had dined with kings and presidents. Nor did I cherish the power of being Chairman of the PCB or the publicity that made the post as high profile as any in the country. I regarded the travel, perks and ‘high life’ as a chore and a necessary responsibility that went against my craving for a simple life.

On my flight to Rawalpindi to call on the President, I reflected on the task ahead. I was a cricket aficionado and had studied the game deeply, but I had no experience of cricket administration in Pakistan beyond my two stints as manager. The first goal that I set myself was to lift the performance of the national team that had underperformed and seemed to be riven by player intrigue. There had been rapid changes of captain with Wasim Akram, Rashid Latif, Moin Khan, Waqar Younis and now Inzamam-ul-Haq playing a form of round robin. Coaches and managers had similarly bitten the dust after every series failure. There was a need for continuity, discipline and unity in the team. Part of the problem was the loss of star players after the retirement of Imran Khan, Wasim Akram, Abdul Qadir, Javed Miandad, Saeed Anwar and Waqar Younis – six outstanding cricketers who had seen Pakistan’s performance raised to unprecedented highs in the 1980s and 1990s. Now only one player, Inzamam-ul-Haq, merited ranking among the top players of the world, especially after Saqlain Mushtaq’s performance seemed on the decline. Pakistan would need to bolster team morale and unity to regain status, and my hope was that rising stars like Shoaib Akhtar, Mohammad Sami, Yousuf Youhana, Shahid Afridi, Younus Khan and Danish Kaneria would knit together to form an effective unit.

Related to this issue was the negative image abroad of the Pakistan team. Match-fixing scandals, boorish, undisciplined behaviour by the players on and off the field, biased umpiring, accusations of ball-tampering and lack of social graces had tarnished the reputation of the Pakistan team. I recalled Ian Chappell’s comment that of all cricketing nations, Pakistan was the only team that he and his players found impossible to interact with socially after a day’s play. This was probably due to a general inability to converse in English because most of the players were drawn from the ‘maidaan’ (open space) and not, as in Sri Lanka and India, from English medium schools and colleges where they received a basic education. Taking cricket to the maidaans was, of course, a welcome development as cricket had been owned by the masses, but the negative side was that many of the players lacked social graces, maturity and balance that comes with education. Many who rose to the top were unable to find the maturity to bridge the gap between relative poverty and sudden riches. I realized that there was no easy solution to this issue because the malaise reflected the lack of education in the whole country, but short-term measures, like English courses in our cricket academies, teaching table manners and lectures on correct behaviour on and off the field, could help remove some of the rough edges, though barely scratching the surface of the problem.

Another task was the need to make the PCB an institution. A comprehensive constitution with every tier of the cricketing responsibility clearly earmarked was vital. The PCB needed to be democratic, representative and transparent especially in matters of financial probity, and free of nefarious influences that militated against merit.

I recalled some bizarre decisions in which our national leaders had nominated PCB Chairmen from their friends and colleagues as part of political favours, with scarcely a thought for the incumbent’s ability to manage a complex and highly technical game like cricket. These PCB chairmen included hockey players, business friends, civil servants and army generals. Perhaps the most bizarre of these appointments was the nomination as manager of the Pakistan team to England in 1962 of Brigadier ‘Gussy’ Hyder – a polo-playing, ‘tally ho’ type cavalryman who knew absolutely nothing about cricket. In the hallowed pavilion at Lords he startled MCC members when in a loud voice he joked ‘when do we start the next chukka?’. One morning the Brigadier insisted that since the nightwatchman had done his job the day before, he should be replaced by a ‘proper batter’. Javed Burki the captain argued that it was against the rules, to which the manager replied: ‘You are disobeying orders. I will have you court martialled!’ Press ridicule for the doughty brigadier came through thick and fast. Tongue in cheek, English media correspondents asked the most technical cricketing questions to which Brigadier Gussy Hyder would blandly reply in chaste polo terminology. In time our embarrassment gave way to mirth as the Brigadier charged his opponents like Don Quixote!

First-class cricket in Pakistan was also ailing because too many hotchpotch teams were lowering playing standards. Only a few departmental teams had adequate financial resources while regional teams were cash strapped and poorly organized. Test venues were reasonably well maintained, but other first-class grounds were obviously below standard mainly due to lack of funding.

As the PIA plane began its descent towards Islamabad airport, I thought also of the decline in grass-roots cricket in Pakistan – the universities, schools and clubs. It was evident that grass-roots cricket had been in the doldrums for the past two decades. The universities that were once the hub of cricket had ceased to play first-class cricket. The heyday of Government College Lahore playing Islamia College before daily crowds of 10,000 spectators was over. The last time the combined universities team was given first-class status was in the 1990s. The team proved to be so inept that it was soon deprived of its first-class status. The days of university graduate leaders like Hafeez Kardar, Javed Burki, Majid Khan, Asif Iqbal and Imran Khan were long gone, with Ramiz Raja the lone remaining graduate in Pakistan cricket to assume the captaincy.5

Schools cricket, which in the early days had seen the formation of the Pakistan Eaglets, was also in sharp decline. In Sri Lanka schools cricket is the main breeding ground for their Test players. Promising 12 and 13 year olds are picked up and coached to become rounded Test cricketers. There were no signs of organized schools cricket in Pakistan though it was evident that the Pakistani youth was full of enthusiasm and talent for the game.

Perhaps the decline of club cricket had been the most disappointing at grass-roots level. Club cricket had provided the conveyer belt for players who went on to represent Pakistan. The famous Wazir Ali League in Lahore and the Pataudi League in Rawalpindi had withered on the vine. The same was true of cricket in Karachi. Despite the general enthusiasm for the game, club cricket was in the doldrums, probably because financially club cricket had become difficult to sustain. As I landed in Islamabad, I realized that building up a sound financial base for the PCB was also an essential task that had to be undertaken.

For my first briefing, President Musharraf met me with his customary geniality and, after an exchange of courtesies, underlined that my primary task was to prepare the national team to win the World Cup in 2007. He added that discipline and merit should be strictly enforced and that I could rely on his support over the restructuring of the Board. He had appreciative words for Ramiz Raja and then produced statistics that suggested that some players had not been selected on merit. The Patron had obviously done his homework before meeting me. Significantly, Musharraf emphasized the political importance of winning the next World Cup. Cricket would provide a huge fillip to any government that was in power at the time as Musharraf intended to be. The general health and development of cricket were subordinated at the very outset to the political benefit of winning the World Cup. I thanked the President for his guidance and added that it would take me a few weeks to assess issues in some depth after which time I would give him my plan of action. He ended the interview by saying: ‘Be guided by your conscience and do not be influenced by the media who will be out to criticize you at every step.’

I then proceeded to Lahore for a long briefing with General Tauqir Zia. He was extremely welcoming and we discussed the numerous cricketing issues that he had faced. I recall especially General Tauqir stating that there were some experiments and appointments that he had made which turned out to be failures. General Tauqir graciously offered to pass orders on his last day, correcting these errors so that I would not be burdened with their legacy. I thanked him for this selfless gesture and said that, guided by his advice, I would take the decisions myself in due course and that it would not be right for him to issue such important orders like the cancellation of provincial bodies or the removal of the Treasurer on his last day.

The next few weeks were spent on a roller coaster ride across the country’s main cities, during which seminars, workshops and interviews were held with Test cricketers, administrators, umpires, journalists, district and departmental representatives, selectors, referees and coaches. As a result, within a month I had a fair understanding of the administrative and cricketing issues that were faced by the PCB. I was disappointed to note that most of the criticism addressed to the PCB was personality based and not issue oriented. For instance, the Karachi representatives complained bitterly that in team selections, appointment of officials and in development activity, the Lahore-based Headquarters had discriminated virulently against Karachi. Now that a Karachi-based Chairman had been appointed they wanted PCB Headquarters to be moved to Karachi with a fairer dispensation of loaves and fishes. Many other issues were given a personal angle, but at the same time some invaluable suggestions were aired like Sadiq Mohammad’s idea that video cameras should be installed at first-class matches that would monitor player performance and behaviour, umpiring and curator standards.

During this initial period, a spate of critical articles on my appointment appeared in the media. The criticism was based on two counts. Firstly, that by appointing another ad hoc Chairman, the Pakistan team and Board’s downward spiral was bound to continue. The only saving grace of my appointment being that I was not a military man but a civilian. This criticism was essentially political, aimed at the President by his opponents for continuing his autocratic hold on Pakistani institutions.

Secondly, criticism was aimed at my lack of cricketing knowledge, as I had not even played first-class cricket. According to these critics, only a former Test player could take Pakistan out of the doldrums. I did not respond to this criticism as it would have been a brazen act of immodesty and in any case it was pointless arguing against shallow and ill-informed criticism. The fact is that the running of cricket in a country demands more than international cricketing experience. It requires experience and ability to organize a huge enterprise that encompasses development, financing, media relations, marketing, human resources, diplomatic interaction, and a comprehensive understanding of the rules and regulations that are part of the International and Asian Cricket Councils. The requirement is therefore of a person who has a basic understanding of cricket as well as experience of supervising a large organization like a bank, airline, ministry or multinational. If my critics had done their homework, they would have recognized that not a single national cricketing board from the West Indies to New Zealand was headed by a Test or even a prominent cricketer. Even the ICC’s Chief Executive at the time, Malcolm Speed, cut his sporting teeth on basketball before moving to cricket administration. None of the ICC Presidents of the recent past – Richards, Dalmiya, Ehsan Mani, Percy Sonn, Ray Mali, David Morgan and Sharad Pawar – have played cricket at the representative level. I can safely state that Test cricketers today are best suited to becoming selectors, coaches and administrators of cricketing issues and would find themselves ill-equipped to supervise the disparate demands of a huge multinational corporation like a country’s cricket board. In the immortal words of C. L. R. James: ‘What do they know of cricket who only cricket know?’

As regards my cricketing credentials, my love of cricket was born in me through the influence of my uncle – the Nawab of Pataudi – who played cricket for England and later captained India. Uncle Pat was a regular visitor to Bhopal where hockey was the primary sport, but his reputation and skill imbued in me a love of the game that grew into a passion.

My passion for cricket as a player and as a student of the game and its history has never left me. I could have played first-class cricket but opted out because of my responsibilities as a Foreign Service Officer that limited my cricketing stints to Headquarters assignments or when I was posted as a diplomat to a Commonwealth country. I became a playing member of the MCC in 1962 and captained an important English club – Wimbledon – during my diplomatic assignments to London, continuing to play serious club cricket in Islamabad until the age of 65. I am one of a few Pakistanis who, as a 14 year old in 1948, watched Don Bradman from the stands at Lords, Headingley and the Oval.

With due modesty, I felt I had sufficient insight of cricketing issues, just as I also had the necessary administrative experience as head of the Pakistan Foreign Office, which I supervised as Foreign Secretary for four years, and as the UN Secretary General’s Special Representative in Rwanda between 1994 and 1996.