Abadan Cricket Club

It was 1975 when I started studying for my chemical Engineering degree at AIT, Abadan, in Iran. Within a couple of weeks I was introduced to the Abadan cricket club. My seniors were looking for new cricket talent, since the cricket club needed young blood to sustain their passion for the game, and the Iranians had no love for cricket.

The chief patrons of the club were the National Iranian Oil Company, most of members of the club being employees Of NIOC. Besides that the other patrons were the two Nanjiani brothers who were settled at in Abadan, and doing a thriving business in export of dates, grown in and around Abadan, which basically consists of some islands straddling the waterways of Shat-al-Arab, and the brothers were ardent cricket players. The third important member of the team was David Mickelborough, our captain, an able organizer, who managed the affairs of the cricket club very well, from the weekend matches to the lunches after the match, the main attraction for us boys, since it provided an us opportunity, not only to whet our appetites for Pakistani foods, but also to socialize with Pakistani families.

Every weekend we used to have a practice match, after which our bodies used to ache from the whole day of running around. Sometimes we had also had matches with clubs from nearby cities like Bandar Mahsher, and Ahwaz, during which we got an opportunity to fraternize with people from other cricket playing countries who had come to work in Iran, and these events were a really a melting pot where we used to forget our nationalities, always trying to find common cultural values.

There was an interesting chap from Australia, who used to hold his bat in the air, the way baseball players do, since he used to play baseball in Australia, but the team valued him for his stroke-play. There was another interesting character named Fahim from Hyderabad, Deccan, who was always telling us hilarious joke, but always on the seamy side, When I tell those jokes to my wife, trying hard to recall them after so many years, she always bursts out laughing even now, always admonishing at my choice of words.

The things I noticed were the different words the people from the neighbouring country used for the same things. For example it took me some time to realize that the star fast bowler from Ahwaz cricket club was talking about the cricket ball, whenever he referred to gola. However at same the time the humour, the invectives, and some basic cultural values seemed to be the same. Later on after about ten years, in Manchester UK, my impressions were reinforced when I met a remarkable person named Piyoosh, who had a Ph.D. from India and a few patents under his belt. He showed me some family snaps, including those of his brother and sister-in-law, and they seemed like any other photographs of an ordinary Pakistani family.

Under the auspices of Abadan cricket, We played many remarkable matches, one was in which We won the Iran air trophy, and for which we travelled to Tehran, and a friend and I stayed with John Wilkinson, the first secretary of the British high commission, a fine cricketer and person both. Another was as a match we played at MasJid-e-Suleman for which we flew to the match venue on a small aeroplane, with me sitting just behind the pilot, and our cricket kit lying in the back of the aeroplane. .

In march 1978, a week after Nauroz, the Iranian New Year, symbolizing regeneration of life, my association with the Abadan cricket club was traumatically broken when I suffered a stroke, leaving me paralyzed on the left side. Even though I partially recovered cricket was out of question after that.

I did go back to watch a match and everybody was nice and sympathetic, but I did not have a heart to go back there again. Life has been a constant struggle since then. First finishing my studies amidst the upheavals of the Iranian revolution, on which volumes could be written, then coming back to Pakistan to work for five years studying for my Ph.D. in applied mechanics from U.K.

I had thought that my Ph.D. would be my last challenge of life. I did know that life would continue to be one long struggle for me. One can fight against odds, but what can one do against age old feudal mind-sets, which allows physically disabled only to succeed to the extents defined by a traditional society.

In the end, disheartened, I decided to try my first and last passion, that of self expression to perhaps give some food for thought to people. Words can be a powerful for bringing change, not only in deep-rooted biases, but also in bringing down old barriers. Words and the ideas conveyed through them help us to free us from a mindless existence dominated by our fears, prejudices, and instincts, to help us rationalize our behaviour in a sensible manner. I believe a silent war is being waged all over the world, without a single shot being fired, a war words and ideas, a type of war infinitely more desirable, if any war can be desirable.