v Pakistan 499 for 7 (136 Overs)
Close on Day 3
Saturday 3 December 2022
Played at Rawalpindi
I've got a story. Bear with. Let's start with the pictured sign. Which appeared at the top of the stairs on Day 3. Fair play to the Pakistan Cricket Board. It was subsequently removed. I hope because the optics weren't great. But, that sign speaks of privilege and elitism.
We're in a privileged position as Tourists in Pakistan. And, Cricket as a sport is festooned with privilege. There's even divs out here strutting around in MCC blazers and ties. On one of our excursions, we had "the privilege" of being taken to Aitchison College in Lahore. Imran Khan studied there. As did his cousin Majid Khan. Majid played 63 Tests for Pakistan. Scoring 3,931 Test runs, including 8 Centuries. All told, he scored 73 First Class tons. As an ex-pupil, Majid hosted us on that Aitchison privileged tour of privilege.
How can I sum up Aitchison College? How about the Eton of Pakistan. We were shown around the Archives. One of the enrollment registers was open. Maybe at a random page. Maybe at a page designed to impress us. You can imagine the enrollment information. Name, date of birth, father, date of enrollment, etc. One column was for "occupation". The open page was for 1886. The occupation of the first enroller was listed as;
"Ruling Chief"
Get to Fuck.
We also had "the privilege" of being shown around the Pakistan Cricket High Performance Centre. But, rather than all the geeky science & data shit I was hoping for, that turned out to be a tour of what I'd call a Cricket Museum. We were shown around by the Curator. Fucking sent from Bollywood Central Casting he was. Slight, dapper, older fella. Billed as Colonel someat or other. Melbourne Cricket Club tie, a jacket and slacks. The museum artifacts were a little disappointing. Photos mainly.
As he talked us through the games pictured, the Colonel did not warm, at all, to my constant Carrier Bag Firm interjections;
"I was at that one…"
The then Duke Of Cambridge and the Duchess, William & Catherine, had visited the High Performance Centre in the past. There was the obligatory photo of Catherine clothing an on drive. And, guess which fucking page the Visitors Book was "randomly" open on.
Get to Fuck.
So. Colonel. Royalty Fawner. Carrier Bag Firm denier. But, that's not all. Immensely proud of his family serving in the British Forces. Got all the deets and anecdotes.
Aitchison College and the Colonel gave us the FULL picture of that privileged side of Pakistani society.
And now. The story has to turn to the Prophet's migration from Mecca to Medina in 624. That led to the Battle Of Badr, sometimes referred to as the First Battle Of The Muslims. The Prophet had an army of 313 soldiers. So, 313 became a remembered number, a special number, a symbolic number.
Which is why, in 1940, Allama Mashriqi the leader of the Khaksar Movement, very deliberately gathered just 312 of his most fervent supporters (hint - making 313 including himself) to a protest march in Lahore. Mashriqi was what you and I would call an Anarchist. At that time, the movement he led had a number of objectives in what was a complicated India in a complicated World at the early stages of a complicated World War, which Britain was losing.
You can look them up. I'm going with. The Khaksars were pro humanity, progressive, anti colonial, reformist. They were against the British, the Indian ruling elite and landlords (it's always the fucking landlords). And, indeed they were against the emerging Muhammad Ali Jinnah, Muslim League, "mainstream"' view of the possible Partition of India.
To them, Jinnah was doing the wrong deal, with the wrong people, at the wrong time.
In short, the Khaksars were my sort of people.
In March 1940, the chosen 313 Khaksars were protesting in Lahore ahead of an expected proclamation by Jinnah and the Muslim League with which they disagreed. They were each wearing the same simple and unassuming uniform, cheap and available to all. A khaki shirt with khaki pyjama secured with a belt.
They were each carrying a bailcha (spade) as a sign of unity and strength, representing humility and being able to level the playing field and society.
Ummat Rasool was in his early twenties, living in Rawalpindi, where I am now, writing this. He was one of the 313 chosen to represent the Khaksars that day. He khakied up, got the spade out of the shed, and cracked on.
On the protest in Lahore, Ummat and his Khaki Comrades were stopped by the British Police. As you'll recall, the British Police are the best in the world, I don't believe one of the stories I've heard. But, nevertheless, Superintendent of Police, Donald Gainsford slapped one of the marchers.
Well. We ain't having that. Suffice to say if you're in a riot, those spades will come in handy. But, will inevitably result in indiscriminate British gunfire. At the end of it all, only 113 Khaksars survived. How do I know that? Because Ummat Rasool from Rawalpindi was one of the survivors. He subsequently documented the names of 113 survivors of the bloodiest and most ruthless massacre since the Jallianwala Bagh massacre in Amritsar in 1919. There may have been more than 113 survivors (out of 313). But, if there were, Ummat couldn't find them.
Ummat wore those simple khaki clothes every day for the rest of his long life. He died, aged 78, a few days after an accidental fall at home. Ummat believed the Muslim tradition that those dying an accidental death were, in fact, martyrs. On his deathbed, he believed he was joining his fallen Khaksar Comrades who were martyred in front of his eyes in 1940.
Fuck sake. I'm in bits just writing that. Fuck sake.
Right. It's call back time. Aitchison College with their Ruling Chief enrollers. The Colonel with his elitist club tie, his Wills & Kate fawning and his British Army preening. Remember them?
Ummat Rasool surviving the British massacre in 1940. Wearing Khaki all his life. Joining his Comrades as an accidental death martyr at a ripe old age. What gives Phil? I hear you ask.
Well. Alongside my privileged self, listening (and bristling a bit) to those tales of privilege, was someone else who was struggling to keep it all together.
That someone was Ummat Rasool's SON. His fucking SON. Listening to all that elitist bullshit. Ummat's Son is my Tour Guide.
All aspects of this story except the Khaksars, Ummat and his Son can Get To Fuck.
Speak Fucking Truth To Power
"While the Colonel is proud of pretending to be British, don't forget, they were trying to massacre my Dad"
Some people ask me why I'm a Sports Tourist. Why not just do the Palaces & Museums and shit? Because, as a Sports Tourist you will hear stories you won't hear in the fucking Museum. Up the Carrier Bag Firm.
The Beer
Murree Brewery, Murree's Light from a Tin at 3.5%
Because that was very simple, it did allow a bit of Hop tang to come through. Pleasant and easy drinking.
The Hypochondria
My name is Phil, I'm a Type II Diabetic.
Which in tourist Pakistan is not an easy thing to control by diet. Sugar is everywhere. The drinks in the fridge at the cricket are all full sugar. Whatcha gonna do. I'm on me holibobs, I'm drinking them.
I am currently beyond the reach of weighing scales (for BMI measurement).
I have avoided the croissants and pastries at the buffet breakfast.
We have buffet Lunch hospitality at the cricket and then a box of food for Tea. I'm having the desserts with those. We're not savages, we're just watching the very extraneous Tate n Lyle.
In 2022, I average 10,635 steps a day.
We're here to Tick Pakistani Beers
I average ELEVEN units of alcohol per week over the past 7 days.
And, my 30 day average units of alcohol is SIX per week.
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Stats
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