Tribute: Siraj Bukhari, Unsung Hero of Karachi Cricket
In the stage that is Pakistan, political theater and its corrupt actors have dominated the narrative since the country's inception. As the musical chairs of government play out, progress in culture, sports, and the arts take a back seat.
Amidst all this, cricket, the unofficial national sport, has become a lucrative way out for talented young men hoping to rise from lives of difficulty and poverty. With the commercialization of the sport over the past decade or so, millions have been pumped into the sport, making its stars richer and more famous than any of their predecessors.
Behind the glitz and glamor of national cricket is an intricate system of under-funded city associations like the Karachi City Cricket Association (KCCA), that nurture and train young men who aspire to see national and international glory. The men working for organizations like the KCCA toil away in the beating heat setting up training camps and coaching clinics, work tirelessly to ensure seal-tight security for a test match, and work late hours to select the right team to represent their city with the hopes that a couple of them will make it to the international stage. International stars like Zaheer Abbas, Javed Miandad, Saeed Anwer, Rashid Latif, Shahid Afridi, and countless others owe their success to the KCCA.
At the helm of the KCCA for the past 40 plus years is Prof. Syed Sirajul Islam Bukhari, its current president, and my uncle. To many, he is Bukhari Sahab. To me, he is simply Siraj Chacha.
Yes, there is the chance that I could be biased in my opinion of my uncle, but I don't need to be, because his achievements speak for themselves.
So when Pakistan cricket's brightest stars assembled at Karachi's National Stadium to take part in a T20 benefit match for him, I brimmed with pride and happiness. Finally, the rooh-e-ravaan (moving spirit) of Karachi cricket got his due.
His career as a sports organizer goes back to 1953 when he and his brothers started the Clifton Gymkhana. He went on to become a member of the KCCA (then called the KCA) council in 1965. After serving in various positions on the council, he was elected as Secretary in 1983. Following almost two decades in the position, he was finally elected as President in 2010. His service to the KCCA was entirely on a volunteer basis, and he never earned a single rupee.
His resume doesn't end with his services at the city level. He served as a member of the PCB Domestic Tournament Committee, and served as manager of the national team's tour of Sharjah in 1999. He was a domestic umpire, and one of the first Urdu commentators. He maintained a close friendship with many of the world's cricket benefactors, including Abdur Rehman Bukhatir, the organizer of the Sharjah Cups of the 1980s and 1990s. He has attended 5 World Cups, and was in the stands as Javed Miandad hit his legendary last ball sixer.
For as long as I can remember, he has been the most vocal supporter for the inclusion of Karachi players in the national squad. When in recent years the likes of Mohammad Sami, Asim Kamal and Fawad Alam were unceremoniously dropped from the team, he spoke up for them.
While he has been an evangelist for his players, he has also ensured that they stay in line. Ever the strict disciplinarian, unfazed by his players' star status, meting out punishments for those out of line, and those with inflated egos. It doesn't matter if you are Shoaib Akhtar, Mohammad Sami, or Shahid Afridi.
He was also a distinguished educator, and served as a physics professor and college principal for over 40 years. I recall him coming home from his teaching job, and quickly heading out to the KCCA office or a tournament opening ceremony.
While his peers and contemporaries like Dr. Muhammad Ali Shah and Munir Hussain were rewarded for their services through multiple distinctions, including the conferring of civil honors, my uncle's services to the game have gone mostly unrecognized.
Until very recently, he lived in a cramped 2-bedroom apartment in Gulshan-e-Iqbal with his wife and three daughters. That same apartment has seen many late night KCCA meetings with endless rounds of chai flowing from the kitchen. It has hosted many young men on their way to cricket notoriety and ascendance. With such a storied career, one would think that he would be living quite the life of luxury, but the reality is quite the contrary, which is why the benefit match really will make a difference.
Beyond just the monetary benefit of the match, the show of respect he received from many of the players he helped groom was probably more rewarding for my uncle. For players like Shahid Afridi and Younus Khan to honor him in their own words was indeed heart-warming.
Having myself played against Afridi at the start of his career in the KCCA Under-14 tournament back in 1993, I know very well the impact my uncle had on his career. When I talked to my uncle right after Afridi's record-breaking century in 1996, he joked about the suspicions raised about his real age, and went on to talk about how proud he was of the Pathan kid from Karachi, the "nursery of cricket" as he fondly calls it.
Even Shoaib Malik, who played his early cricket in Punjab, upon being thanked by my uncle for playing in the match, said to him, "Bukhari Sahab, aap buss hukm karein" ("Mr. Bukhari, you just say the word").
I owe much of my passion for cricket to my uncle. At a very young age I got to meet some of world cricket's biggest stars. I met international legends like Brian Lara, Desmond Haynes, Curtly Ambrose, Kepler Wessels, Hansie Cronje, Wasim Bari, and countless others.
There were a few times where I took advantage of his name, perhaps inappropriately. After a one-dayer against the West Indies at National Stadium, somehow I found my way to the locked door of the Pakistan dressing room. As I waited for my hero Wasim Akram to appear from it, out came an angry Javed Miandad wearing impossibly short shorts. As I approached him for an autograph, he yelled at the security guards for letting random people in. A bit embarassed, I said, "Javed Bhai, main Bukhari Sahab ka bhateeja hoon." (I am Mr. Bukhari's nephew), to which he replied, "Oh, tho pehlay batana tha na yaar (Oh, you should've told me that earlier), and gave me one of the most coveted autographs in my collection.
Then there was the time I actually got to meet my idol, Wasim Bhai. After a function to celebrate the 1992 World Cup win at the Baaradari in Karachi, I made my way to the team hotel next door in search of him. Stopped at the entrance to the hotel, I told the guard I was with Bukhari Sahab, and he immediately let me in. I scurried to the elevators just in time to catch my childhood hero heading up, just in time to get my most prized autograph.
I might owe my love of cricket and my stack of autographs to my uncle, but I believe Pakistan owes him much more.
While the match did much to honor the services of my uncle, I honestly don't think it is enough. A true acknowledgement of his services would be the conferral of a civil award. For a man who has selflessly given his whole life to the sport and the country he loved, it's the least the government can do to repay him.
Many before him have gone unrecognized while government yes-men and cronies have received undeserved honors. The same shouldn't happen to the man who has run Karachi's cricket for more than half his life.
Photos of Prof. Bukhari: Top to bottom: Pakistan team photo as manager in Sharjah, 1999; in a KCCA publication, 1967; with family at the author's first birthday (right, in gray), 1981
