The Hero Pakistan needed - An ode to Misbah ul Haq from across the border

Misbah ul Haq - the name became familiar to every Indian on one evening in 2007. He had rescued Pakistan from a difficult position against arch rivals India in the inaugural world T20 final - after losses in each 50 over world cup game between the two foes stretching back 15 years to 1992, here was a man who looked like he'd finally put one past the enemy... Until he played THAT shot.... Scooping a length ball from Joginder Sharma into the rather nervous hands of Sreesanth at fine leg. It would launch the celebrated captaincy of M.S.Dhoni; while looking at the distraught Misbah hunched down and leaning on his bat, hence forth to be taunted by the cruel chant "Mis-bah-4 runs", one would hardly believe he would play again for his impertinence, let alone lead his side one day. 

And yet, the man who made his national debut at the rather ripe old age of 27 would do just that. From being the villain of the World T20 final, he would resurrect himself as a hero - the knight in shining armor - to redeem and restore Pakistan cricket from the actions of the real villains - the 3 rogues who sold their country under the lure of money. Pakistan cricket was already in infamy - from being the original hotbed of match fixing, to being perennially plagued by internine strife,to controversy, to star tantrums to the terrorist attack on the Sri Lankan cricket team, things had come to such a state that no team would tour the country. And just when Pakistanis had been robbed of the chance to view their men in action in the flesh, just when it seemed like things couldn't get any worse, came the moment when Mohammad Amir overstepped by a foot at the hallowed Mecca of cricket - Lord's. A tape of a bookie vulgarly laying out currency notes on the table in his hotel room followed and Pakistanis were on the verge of losing faith in their team for ever. 

That's when the second and glorious act of our hero's career commenced. Amidst the king-sized egos and self-anointedstars, in the post-Inzamam era, with the retirement of Shahid Afridi (from test cricket) the selectors chose the unassuming man in the room - Misbah ul Haq - to be Pakistan’s Test Captain. This cool, calm, soft spoken man was the one entrusted with the onerous task of shepherding that talented yet rowdy bunch back from the wilderness. His task wouldn’t be easy. Admiration or appreciation wouldn’t be instantaneous. Despite leading Pakistan to a drawn series against South Africa and a series win against New Zealand in New Zealand, Misbah would yet again be vilified for the semi loss to India in the 2011 world cup for having batted too slowly. Named ODI captain as well the following year, he would work gradually towards building back the team and earning the affection of the fans. Robbed of their home venues, Pakistan under Misbah would make the UAE their fortress – achieving series wins against Sri Lanka, England and Australia. A hallmark of Misbah’s captaincy was the way in which he utilized whatever resources were available to him and ploughed on. Early in his tenure, he would lose the services of Shoaib Akhtar and later, when it seemed like Saeed Ajmal was at his peak, he would be cast aside due to a suspect action thereby robbing Pakistan and Misbah of their frontline spinner. Yet – Misbah would take under his wing the prodigious talents of Wahab Riaz, Mohammad Irfan, Yasir Shah and Azhar Ali to name a few, and seek to mould a fighting unit. It would seem that this was the perfect practical application of Misbah’s MBA degree – efficient and stoic use of all the resources at his disposal.

His tenacity coupled with his own anchoring of the team through performance would lead him to become the most successful Pakistan test captain, surpassing even a certain other leader with the last names ‘Khan Niazi’. Misbah might not have had the flamboyance of the ‘cornered tiger’-rousing Imran but in his own understated way, inspired similar awe and commanded authority from his unit. The level headed, serene demeanor serving as the perfect counterfoil to the brashness personified by an Ahmed Shehzad or an Umar Akmal. Colleagues current and past would run their mouths on Television, each with an opinion on how they would have done his job better and yet rarely did Misbah stoop to retort. Not for him the headline grabbing soundbites. Bouquets and brickbats off the field were dealt with as straight a bat as bouncers on it. 

Yet in the shorter format of the game, his captaincy would continue to be clouded by losses in the 2014 Asia Cup, to Australia at their adopted ‘home’ and the forgettable performance of the green team in the 2015 World Cup, with Misbah choosing to retire from ODIs after the event. Albeit on the test front, Pakistan would score series victories over England in the UAE and Sri Lanka in Sri Lanka, thereby boosting Pakistan up the ladder in the Test rankings.

Misbah was probably the best man to handle the sensitive task of reintegrating the tainted Mohammad Amir back into the test squad. 6 years after being banned, Amir would again appear in his country’s whites at the very venue of his act of infamy, a turn of events not wholly approved of by certain members of the Pakistan Team. And yet Misbah would keep the focus on the game. His century at Lords at the age of 42would make him the oldest captain to score a test century, en-route to a memorable win for Pakistan, who would eventually square the series 2-2 and go on top of the world rankings for the first time. His celebration of his century in the first test by doing a series of push-ups was a rare display of showmanship from the otherwise sedate statesman.

The first signs of fatigue would show at the end of a difficult tour of Australia, where Pakistan were outplayed by the Aussies. The normally reticent Misbah conceded that he was seriously considering his future. And yet, he would decide to stay on till the tour of the West Indies the following summer. 

And so here we are – with Misbah leading his country for one last time. Irrespective of the result, he will retire as the most successful Pakistani Test Cricket captain, surpassing even the great Imran Khan and Javed Miandad. If in Younis Khan, Pakistan will lose one of their all time great batsmen, in Misbah, they will lose a leader, an elder brother figure who kept the flock together and mentored a whole generation of cricketers who will do well to imbibe lessons of attitude and fitness from the master. Misbah’s crowning glory lies not just in taking Pakistan to the top of the test rankings, but in also choosing the time of his departure, a privilege not often accorded to other Pakistani cricketers. And yet – the man will probably not show much emotion or make too much ado about his impending retirement. He will soldier on as he has always done, till the end. The curtain will fall and the protagonist will bow out.

We Indians have our own heroes – none more so than M.S. Dhoni. His own cool and calm exterior no matter what the situation, his folksy, cheeky responses to tricky questions from the press and his confident leadership winning us the biggest prizes in all formats is the stuff of legends, worthy of worship. Yet in Misbah, I saw a man who personified the old fashioned charm of what it was to be a test cricketer and a captain. A leader of men, who exuded leadership without the need to be assertive or authoritative. A captain who was never bigger than the game. He never went looking for the role; leadership sought him out.

In the line of mercurial Pakistani captains, Misbah was an exception, almost too sedate for the hot seat. While his more illustrious predecessor from Mianwali went out in a blaze of flashbulbs holding aloft the World Cup trophy, Misbah will trudge off in that thoughtful manner of his, into the sunset. Because with him, it was never about Misbah; it was always about Pakistan. Because he was just what Pakistan required back in 2010. He was the hero Pakistan needed.  

Avinash Raghu

Me, My dad, and Tetris

Music …. There’s something about it that tugs at the heart strings and jogs the cerebral cortex unlike anything else. Memories, buried deep underneath layers laid upon by time passed, burst forth all of a sudden – euphoria, pain, loss, gain …. Upon hearing a particular song or tune. A moment of triumph, crushing loss, the first time you fell in love, heartbreak – a shuffling of emotions … all due to the shuffle in your playlist, really.

One of my fondest recollections from childhood is hours spent playing video games, especially the music accompanying them. Not today’s electronic overload, but the simple 8 bit chip tunes (to indiscernible Japanese characters on screen). The pulse racing theme of Contra, that made you feel like Rambo, to the gentle albeit peppy tune of Super Mario, to the thumping beats of Street Fighter, making you (almost) believe you could bash up the class bully the next day. So I was on YouTube, listening to the tones of my childhood, when I chanced upon the theme of the game ‘Tetris’, as it appeared on the handheld console Gameboy from Nintendo. As the digitized version of the Russian folk song ‘Korobeiniki’ rang out, wafting along with the notes came a plethora of emotions that swept me up and took me back in time. A time when life was simpler, a time when I was a child, pure, innocent, thoroughly adoring of my mom and, patently terrified of my dad. My dad, Appa - The strapping young man with flowing hair falling down his forehead; a thick, bushy moustache and a fearsome temper. The guy whose return from office in the evening would fill me with a sense of foreboding. I was mostly a good kid growing up, not getting into much trouble, and yet even the remote thought that I had committed an infraction would make me shudder and beg mom – “amma, don’t tell appa, please!”  And yet – the memory of Dad that came to me at that moment wasn’t of the guy with the imposing manner that I was scared of. It was of a version of my dad that I didn’t experience much during my formative years, a version that I desperately wished had been there more often during my adolescence, a version that would manifest itself years later – on a wonderful evening in an alien setting (ironically, a place where I would be referred to as an ‘alien’, but more on that later) – my dad, the friend.

I waited with bated breath as my dad opened his suitcase. Appa had just returned from a business trip to America! What gifts had he brought for me? Out came a white remote controlled car (Yay!), a set of plastic cars (No wonder, upon me joining the automotive industry years later as a young man out of grad school, one of my aunts remarked, “Oh … You were always meant to end up there !”) and a brick like grey colored box with pink buttons on it with a little slot in the back for a cassette. I quickly lost interest in the box, and spent the next few days happily terrorizing my mom by operating the RC car all around the kitchen floor. Soon enough though, along with the battery, my interest in the car ran out as well. My desperate curiosity piqued, I turned my attention to the grey box. I had seen my dad fiddle around with it early in the morning with some funny yet catchy sounding music emanating from it. Now, I noticed the words Nintendo GameBoy on it. Game? Now that sounds like fun! Why didn’t I look into this before? My dad saw me fiddling around with it and excitedly came over and showed me how to play “Tetris” – a game in which blocks of varying shapes fall from top and your job is to arrange them in a way in which ‘rows’ get formed and therefore vanish, reducing the height of the stack of blocks, thereby freeing up space on the screen and increasing your points. The goal of the game was to make sure the screen didn’t fill up, thereby ending the game. With every 10 lines cleared, the level would increase and so would the speed at which the blocks came down. Simple enough. At first it seemed rather tough and not so exciting but gradually as I got better at it, the game started to extend a certain obsessive grip around me. The driving force was two pronged – a desire to better my own score and also to beat appa’s score. Gradually, from dreading appa’s return home from office, I started looking forward to him coming home, setting down his office bag and beaming at me saying” Alright Abbu (my dad’s nickname for me), what score did you reach today? Gimme that console now!” We were friends in competition, spurring each other on to outdo the other, and yet secretly wishing that we would win. And this went on for days and months on end, father and son competing at a game of Tetris. Till time passed, we both grew out of it, life happened and we gradually fell back into the more formal nature of our father-son relationship. And my dad remained just that – appa. The guy who enquired about my studies, my plans for life and supported me through it all, as a father would his son. Not the friend who would put his arm around my shoulder to check on how I was dealing with the vagaries of growing up, the troubles of adolescence, the worries of young adulthood. Sure – over the years, there were the odd moments that transcended our formal relationship; Like the day I got home from successfully clearing my first job interview, when I put out my hand to shake his hand(yes – that’s how formal we are) and he actually gave me a hug or when just before I walked into the airport terminal before flying off to the states for the first ever time, when he caught up with me just out of earshot of mom and said “You re on your own now, son. Just live your life! (Wink-wink).” I suppose he did have it in him, he just didn’t know how to express it often enough.

It went on that way, through high school, college, grad school and ultimately till I became my own man (so to speak) and settled down into a routine 9-5 life of my own in the US. While my family as a whole visited me on 2-3 occasions, just once, he came over to the US on yet another official visit and we got to spend a whole weekend together exploring Chicago. Just father and son, talking about random things, walking along the waterways through downtown Chicago, and bonding over a glass of …. Let’s just say – good stuff ;)  And having downed it with the panache of a seasoned campaigner, my dad leaned over conspiratorially and said “Abbu … don’t tell amma !” J  I looked at him - the flowing hair long since thinned and receded, the moustache grey and the demeanor, while still fiery at times, largely mellowed with age, and just smiled and shook my head. The child had become a man and the man had become almost child-like. And yet – it was those childhood days all over again. Here was the friend I had longed for  and missed for years. I wished for time to stand still then and there.

In today’s hectic life, with us being on opposite sides of the world, I and appa hardly get to interact. There is no real excuse for it; that’s just how we ve always been. Dad has never been a man of many words. It’s usually mom that monopolizes my interaction with home, relating every single little happening of the day, just to make me feel like I am still there with them and not missing out. But every now and then, Appa does go beyond the cursory “Hope you re doing ok. I ll give the phone to amma”, enquiring about my cricket matches or some post I put on Facebook, or sharing pics of a rocket launch that he captured from the beach in Chennai. But typically after a couple of minutes, we both relapse into awkward silence, not quite knowing what else to say. I guess that’s just how we will always be.

When I look back over all those years, I can perceive the influence my dad has had on me in so many ways – some tangible, many intangible. From the walking style to his ‘classy’ bearing to being there selflessly for the family, putting our needs and happiness over his, and equanimity in joy and sorrow, struggle and success; I would say – if I could be one-hundredth the man my dad is, I would consider myself accomplished.

 Inspiration, guide, living example …. He’s been everything a good father can be. The everyday life I lead today is testament to that. And yet – whenever I listen to the GameBoy version of the ‘Tetris’ theme, I will always remember, with a certain wistfulness, that version of my dad that was, is and will always be my favorite – Appa, my friend. 

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