Welcome back to this week’s edition of Mag The Weekly, where we’ll resume our discussion on world-class batsmen produced by Karachi for the sport we all love. Bold, resilient, and street smart: How does Karachi produce such exceptional batsmen?

On March 7, 2015, in a crucial World Cup match, Pakistan faced South Africa. They chose to open with Sarfraz Ahmed, who had not played in the tournament thus far and faced criticism. Previously, Pakistan had preferred Umar Akmal as a temporary wicketkeeper to bolster their batting lineup. Doubtful of Sarfraz’s abilities as an opener, despite his past success, the management finally gave him a chance against the formidable South African bowling attack.

Sarfraz, stepping out of his crease and moving skillfully, scored an impressive 49 runs, providing Pakistan with their best start in the tournament against a top team. To casual viewers, Sarfraz’s bold improvisation resembled the fresh, exciting batting style emerging in the tournament. Yet, for this Pakistan team, it was unusual. Like outdated technology in the digital age, the team featured batsmen from an earlier cricket era. Sarfraz’s performance extended a distinctive tradition of Pakistani cricketers.

While this type of batsman is not unique to Pakistan, those fitting this description often come from Karachi. Think of Moin Khan, Rashid Latif, Asif Mujtaba, Mushtaq Mohammad, Asif Iqbal, and the quintessential Javed Miandad. Karachi has always been the most consistently tumultuous city in the country. Over time it has given rise to a specific response from its citizens: “Rather than coping with crisis,” Gayer writes, “they have learned to cope in crisis”. Survival instincts are honed that much sharper here.

It manifests itself in a couple of ways. One, as Moin Khan put it to me, is an inner competitiveness. “You are even told at home about the need for healthy competition, and it’s very important – if you don’t make someone your competitor, then who are you competing with?” These batsmen had a creative, non-traditional approach, always finding new solutions. Was this trait tied to growing up in Karachi? Perhaps it was romanticism, projecting my hometown onto the game I loved. Yet, considering innovations like the reverse sweep, proactive running, and fierce competitiveness, there seemed to be a connection, reflecting urgency and practicality.

That was not apparent in the cricket immediately. For the first few decades after 1947, Karachi’s main source of quality cricketers was its elite, colonial-era schools. They had access to the best facilities and established traditions, and played eagerly contested tournaments. The schoolboy cricketer, particularly one born to Muhajir (or immigrant, to describe those who moved to Pakistan during and after partition) families looking to establish themselves in a new land, was cast with certain expectations and incumbent responsibilities.

Hanif Mohammad epitomised Karachi’s cricket circuit until the 1970s. His 337 in Barbados symbolised relentless determination. It’s no surprise that the nation, particularly recent migrants, saw themselves in his efforts. His innings, marked by resilience, signaled a new type of batsman emerging.

As things would begin to change for both, the city and its cricket. Faced with a constantly restive population that defied the state’s directives, Ayub Khan, Pakistan’s first military dictator, decided in 1960 to move the capital from Karachi. The city continued to attract economic migrants from across the country, becoming simultaneously wealthier but also more unruly. Its centre gyrated to foreign bands and discos and bars, while its peripheries grew rapidly and informally, with the state too overwhelmed to keep up. It was inevitable that cricket would change, and by the ‘70s the conditions were in place for a new type of batsman to emerge.

Mushtaq Mohammad led a new generation, influenced by extensive play in the English county circuit, adopting a professional, competitive approach. Under Mushtaq’s captaincy, the team laid the foundation for modern Pakistani cricket – confident, explosive, and unpredictable. The peak of this transformation occurred in Karachi in 1978 against India. Indian captain Bishan Singh Bedi had already seen Pakistan achieve an improbable win in Lahore. In Karachi, needing 164 runs in 100 minutes, Bedi set a defensive field. Imran Khan responded with big hits, but the real highlight was how Asif Iqbal and Miandad countered Bedi's strategy with clever, aggressive running. This smart play, rather than relying solely on boundaries, captivated spectators, showcasing advanced "one-day running."

Modern fans celebrate finishers, but these batsmen used subtler methods. Risk-taking is essential to the Karachi approach, as Moin Khan explained: "One who doesn't take a risk is caught between two stools. You have to take a risk for your own success. And when you do, your approach is always positive." Moin emphasised the importance of pressuring fielders: "You have to make him fumble. You know how they say, 'Make it happen'? You have to play with the other's mind."

Jugaar, an Urdu and Hindi term, means an "innovative fix or simple work-around." A jugaaroo excels at lateral thinking, finding unconventional solutions. Karachi has a rich tradition of jugaaroo batsmen. These cricketers focused more on the meaning and purpose of batting rather than the process. They saw themselves as underdogs, lacking privileges, yet punching above their weight, challenging the opposition, and eventually succeeding.

The more I considered this, the more Miandad seemed to epitomise the Karachi approach to batting. His exploits, demeanour, and intelligence embodied the qualities we associate with the city. As Rob Smyth once wrote of him: “In a sense, all batsmen are doomed. They walk to the crease knowing that their innings is finite, and that it could end at any moment. It takes a very special person to relish that situation, but that's how Javed Miandad played. He had the mentality of a fugitive, content to live on his wits no matter how great the risks. In fact, he needed those risks in order to thrive. The anarchy stimulated him."

Yet Miandad also transcended this category because he was far too good a batsman, too blessed with skill and ability to be truly considered just a jugaaroo. By design, this approach comes to those who are not as gifted and must find other ways. Think of the innovation that came naturally to Mushtaq, who lacked at least the technique of Hanif. Rather than be daunted, he was creative, experimenting with pinch-hitters like Imran or sending Iqbal to open, and most of all with the reverse sweep, which he lays claim to having invented. That had come in a club game in England in 1964. The problem was Fred Titmus bowling on middle and leg with a midwicket and square leg in place; Mushtaq's solution was to reverse sweep through the vacant point- and third-man region.

None of this is to claim that such players are unique to Karachi, but it is often true that in a sport as traditionalist as cricket, such players often emerge from the hinterlands, from far-flung areas with self-taught techniques. Cricket's great cities on the other hand soon absorb young players into the sport's institutions, rationalising their approaches. If there is anything unique about Karachi, it is that its tumult and sway have created a propensity for throwing up these players.

It is difficult to see what the future holds for this sort of players. The opportunities of tape-ball cricket, the city's great love and invention, as well as the techniques it imparts, have affected the ability of local batsmen to adjust to regular hard-ball cricket. One of the links between Rashid's and Moin's era and that of Sarfraz is Shahid Afridi, whose influence on local batting ideals cannot be discounted. More significantly, batting all over the world has undergone a significant evolution, one that Pakistan has missed out on. International cricket is now gone, a further impact on the exposure afforded to local players. Then again, those are exactly the kind of odds against which Karachi batting might thrive.

About the writer

Shahzeb Ali Rizvi is a sports aficionado with a keen eye for the intricacies of cricket and football. He can be reached at [email protected]