THE INCREDIBLE SQUASH BALL (Dawn Magazine, Friday, November 19, 1993)

Dawn Magazine, Friday, November 19, 1993

THE INCREDIBLE SQUASH BALL

By Adil Ahmad

"If music be the food of love, play on ....... Patak! Patak! Patak! Patak! ......" But then music, a bit like beauty, lies in the ears of the beholder. For some the sound of a squash ball hitting the front wall resembles more the booming of small artillery at close range. But for the warriors from Nuakilli in Pakistan it was, and still remains, the sort of music legendary love affairs are built upon.

Hashim, Azam, Roshan, Mohibullah Senior, Qamar, Jahangir and Jansher played the squash ball's love song as only inspired lovers could, each bringing his own creative genius to enthrall and hold captive an ever-increasing following. They mixed and matched their melodies with some equally inspired genius from distant lands. From Read and Butcher, to Amr Bey and Abdoul Karim, to Jonah Barrington and Geoff Hunt, to Chris Dittmar and Rodney Martin. Together they tangoed  and waltzed to their hearts content, playing their music on court ceaselessly, relentlessly, in a manner which elevated their love-affair with squash to the legendary proportions of Sassi Pannu, Heer Ranjha, or even Romeo and Juliet.

Hashim Khan's squash ballad began in the early days of that great romance which is Pakistan. The anguish and ecstasy of that period was reflected in his determination to persevere. That determination came not from any chip which Hashim might have acquired on his shoulder. It came from something much more profound. Hashim and squash harmonised well. It was a love-affair steeped in mutual admiration and respect. The ball was never an object of hate to be thrashed around the court. It was there to be gently prodded and lobbed, and intelligently manipulated, and sometimes sent forcefully to earn a clear winner. His music was not a rowdy, thundering collection of light artillery discharges. Hashim's music was varied. It was more in the nature of an orchestra with a multitude of strains. He commanded not just the light artillery, but the entire army, and deployed it in a manner which afforded him complete sway for seven long years.

The keenly intelligent minds at work in the Officers' Mess at the Pakistan Air Force base in Peshawar were quick to spot Hashim's talent, the product of his passion for squash. The airborne fighters put their collective shoulders behind this truly incredible specimen of the fleetfooted infantry, and squash reciprocated Hashim's sincerity in his love by making him a legend in his own lifetime, and a fine example to emulate. And emulate they did, from Nuakilli, Quetta, Karachi and Nuakilli again. The trail had been blazed, and Azam and Roshan kept the Nuakilli romance alive as they proved time and again that Hashim was not the only one to feel with a passion for that most demanding and rewarding of lovers, squash. Mohibullah Senior and Qamar Zaman followed suit, making their own inspired contributions, and establishing themselves as equally ardent in their courtship and pursuit.

But it was Hashim's great love affair which had caught and captured the imagination of all and sundry. This darkest of dark horses had run through the lives and drawing rooms of civilised society's upper crust. He was the toast of ballrooms wherever squash was played. Hashim's impact on the squash world would be hard to duplicate. Along came Jahangir. The conqueror. One whose dedication and sincerity of purpose to his beloved spawned a courtship that confounded and astounded even the most hardened of cynics. Jahangir, the docile, modest, unassuming youth from the countryside, would explode into an untameable force on court. It electrified the game throughout the world. Squash had taken a fancy once more, and the object of that fancy was proving more than equal to the task. Squash submitted to Jahangir completely. He was the absolute master, the only one.

The civilised world on either side of the Atlantic was staggered and stunned by this whirlwind affair which refused to subside, instead it gained in intensity with every passing moment. But in the land of the sufis and saints,  lovers and worshippers abound. Jahangir was taken pretty much for granted. But his music was heard and appreciated, and applauded, and sometimes revered. It was his unflinching faith in the Almighty Allah, which sustained Jahangir at the pinnacle of his success in his love affair, far longer than any before him.

The King is no more, long live the King. The mantle has been passed unerringly.  Jansher was there, waiting for the baton change. The overlap, the running together, and Jansher was off and sprinting ahead of the pack. Not very much ahead, but ahead nonetheless. Jahangir misses the sprint. He is restless. His love calls. Squash has reciprocated his love, and showered unprecedented fame and fortune on her beloved. It is time now to gently hold hands, and adorn gracefully the Hall of Fame.