9-7, 9-1, 9-0: Killing em’ softly feat. Jahangir Khan!

You couldn’t be blamed for mistaking this for a rhapsody given the musical allure the line smacks of. While numbers and their inability to transcend mathematical boundaries are always lamented upon, the score line above could almost be Jahangir Khan’s significant other.

For starters, the Guinness World Records archive Jahangir Khan as the architect of 555 consecutive wins; the longest winning streak by any athlete in top-level professional sports, which spanned over five years, seven months and one day. Period.

Jahangir Khan of Pakistan with the trophy after becoming the men’s British Open Squash Champion at Wembley Arena on 10th April 1984. (Photo by Bob Thomas/Getty Images)

Just before touchdown at the Peshawar International Airport, a chance look out of the window and you might stumble upon a nondescript human settlement that skirts the airport on one side. There could be a hint of scorn in us while gazing at the eyesore, until we are told that this habitat by the name Neway Kelay has produced seven squash world champions.

Five of them hail from a single family. All of a sudden, scorn gives way to awe, and the once rickety looking Neway Kelay acquires meaning. A lotus in the slush or a diamond in the rough, either way, you end up feeling like this was one of your most enlightening touchdowns ever. From amidst the rough, we pick out the most dazzling diamond, Jahangir Khan, for special mention. And the past few lines were the 49-year old Jahangir’s native being put into perspective.

Jahangir knew that men from his family had caressed the acme of the sport before. A natural vein of thought would have him believe that he too had a bit of squash in him waiting to be harnessed. As a child, he was frail and unfortunately had an immune system he couldn’t brag about. Doctors had maintained that he must refrain from any physical activities. Nevertheless, after Jahangir underwent a couple of hernia operations, his father let him try his hand at their “family” game.

In 1979, he was overlooked by the Pakistani selectors for the World Championships as they believed his recent illnesses would have taken a lot out of him. Then a fifteen year old, the kid decided to turn up at the World Amateur Individual Championships and immediately struck paydirt.

He became the youngest ever winner of that event, and with it, quashed any doubts about his physical infirmities and maladies. The name Jahangir loosely translates as ‘the conqueror’, reminiscent of the namesake emperor. The player Jahangir, though, was still the proverbial new kid on the block, and had a fair amount of work to do before Jahangir and conqueror could be spoken of in the same breath.

I have always listlessly wondered as to what goes into the making of champions like these. Is it a waft of inspiration on witnessing a remarkable feat or is it rock-hard grit and gumption that sparks a quest for greatness? In Jahangir’s case, it was a tragedy that he witnessed which stirred him, moved him and astonishingly transformed him into a world beating machine. In November 1979, his elder brother Torsam Khan died during a tournament match in Australia. Jahangir slipped into the unenviable abyss of mourning and depression.

About 24 months later, Jahangir was heard dedicating his World Open win, against the much celebrated Australian great Geoff Hunt in the final, to his late brother Torsam. And he did this when he was all of 17, and in the bargain, became the youngest winner of the World Open Championships.

From then on Jahangir became a buccaneer, plundering anything and everything that came his way. The British Open, the World Open, the Pakistan Open; all very competitive tournaments in their own right, became his routine spoils. So much so that he had 10 British Open wins, 6 World Open wins, 13 Pakistan Open wins by the end of a game changing career.

A 9-7 result after the first game would have the opponent sensing a sluice gate to eke out a win somewhere. He might have been thinking of this game as a near-miss. 9-7 would give way to 9-1 and suddenly, Jahangir’s opponent would be clueless about what hit him. 9-1 would be followed up by a clinical 9-0, pounding the challenger into submission.

Jahangir played a game of attrition and was content to wear out players. His rallies would sometimes extend to over a 100 shots, but he wouldn’t wilt. The man’s game was like a swathe; the more you unwrapped him, the more there was to be discovered.

Jahangir had all the answers to anything thrown at him. His barrel-chested frame, with fitness levels among the best around the globe, malleable yet Kevlar-like wrists ensured he was physically a cut above the rest. He flitted around the court with a dancer’s grace, and kept snuffing out any competition hurled at him with his trademark score line. He was indeed killing them softly!

Jahangir Khan of Pakistan in action during the British Open Squash Championships at Wembley Arena on 20th April 1986. (Photo by Bob Thomas/Getty Images)

Such breath-taking pyrotechnics were conceived on the back of a rigorous training regimen. Jahangir pushed himself to the absolute outer limit of his abilities day after day. He would begin with a 9-mile jog, followed by endless court sprints and then sweating it out at the gym. Cross terrain running, encompassing customised surfaces, asphalt, and water, sand, hay, grass et al, interspersed with high-altitude training, completed him as an athlete and as a player.

It is said of Jahangir that the death of his brother clobbered into him the desire to win and win like no one before. He was silent and attentive as a child and lived the life of a Spartan; focused single-mindedly on the job at hand. Such steely resolve was rare, even alarming, for its sheer intensity.

Come 1986 and Ross Norman, a New Zealander, and Jahangir met his first bugbear. The 555-match unbeaten streak was stopped in its tracks after a loss to Norman. His loss made unprecedented headlines across sports bulletins around the world. He had shown, finally, that he was a human and could be beaten. The endless wins had stopped, but he still kept winning more often than not, even though new players emerged.

Jansher Khan proved to be a nemesis for Jahangir and their head-to-head record is a near dead heat. Jahangir signed off his glittering career shepherding Pakistan to a World Team Championship triumph in 1993, just before retiring that very year.

In the spring of 1985, Jahangir completed a “double” of squash titles involving a transcontinental expedition. This pursuit must rank as one of the most ambitious ones attempted in the annals of squash.

Less than 24 hours after trouncing Chris Dittmar in the final of the British Open, Jahangir checked-in at Manhattan for his first-round North American Open match. In the constricted time frame that he got, he travelled across the entire Atlantic to put himself to the test yet again.

In that six-day gruelling period, Jahangir won both tournaments against all odds, battling not just his highly fancied opponents but also fatigue, jet lag and adjustment problems so inherent in such a swift switch between these highly contrasting environs.

With such an encumbering array of achievements Jahangir surprisingly has no airs about him. The legend has been globetrotting for a long time, promoting the game wherever he goes. His modest persona makes him a “people’s champion”. He was bestowed with the prestigious ‘Sportsman of the Millennium’ award by the government of Pakistan. As the present President of the World Squash Federation, Jahangir is busy trying to get squash listed as an Olympic sport.

In a telling show of emotion, Jahangir remarked once that he would gladly trade all his wins for ensuring an Olympic berth for squash! And then he gave an endearing parting shot about how it is imperative to leave the game better than one found it. He had won hearts again, oh so softly!