Religion and Pakistani politics have replaced Jemima, cricket and jet-setting for the former 'Lion of Lahore'. Mary Fitzgerald, in Islamabad, meets Imran Khan
Minutes after the call to prayer floats through the warren of gloomy rooms that make up his offices in the basement of a parliamentary building in Islamabad, Imran Khan politely excuses himself. He moves to a corner of the room, lays out a prayer rug decorated with an image of the Kaaba, the square stone building in the centre of the Great Mosque, and begins his prostrations towards Mecca. His desk is empty save for a photograph of his two sons, an empty cup and three mobile phones that ring constantly - mostly pundits wanting to hear his views on the scandals that have made this an annus horribilis for Pakistan's national cricket team.
It's a tableau that weaves together much of what has made Khan what he is today: cricket, politics and, most of all, faith. All that's missing is some reference to his rakish past as the dashing cricket hero who seduced his way through the Chelsea set in 1980s London before marrying the doe-eyed socialite daughter of the tycoon James Goldsmith. But the devout Khan, who recites his prayers in a traditional sand-coloured salwar kameez, is a very different man to the one whose exploits off the cricket field resulted in acres of gossip-column coverage and a paternity suit. In his mid-50s, he still cuts an imposing figure - tall, rangy and handsome - although age has left his proud features craggier, his eyes more hooded and his shaggy hair less of the bouffant mane it was in his playboy heyday.
This Khan prefers to talk politics, religion and ideas, holding forth on all he thinks is wrong with Pakistan. There are flashes of the old roue, though. When I ask about the contrast between the Khan of now and then, he cocks an eyebrow and says with a mischievous smile: "You mean the naughty Imran?" The transformation, he says, took place gradually, prompted by a chance meeting with a Sufi mystic when he was in his late 30s.
"He forced me to answer questions about myself and my life," Khan explains in bass tones, his accent an effortless layering of cut-glass English with south Asian inflections. The death of his mother from cancer was another factor. "I was born a Muslim and always did the rituals, but I didn't have what is called faith," he says. "That threshold you cross from thinking there is a God to knowing there is a God. When you have complete faith in God and the hereafter you will live your life differently.
"I crossed that threshold partly to do with my mother's death but also to do with a sense of not being satisfied up to then, not having that inner peace. I had all this success, but there was always something I was looking for. My life changed. I went from leading quite a selfish existence to the way I live my life today." He subscribes to a form of Sufi Islam, less rigid than the strict orthodoxies of what he calls "mullahism". "The message is basically about being a good human being," he says. "There is more emphasis on the spirit. One of the main problems with mullahism is that there is too much emphasis on the rituals, and people forget the basic message."
In conversation, Khan's faith is a continual point of reference, and he quotes constantly from the Koran. When reflecting on his racy past, he is obtuse. He was no angel, he admits, before launching into a lengthy discourse on the redemptive power of Islam. "There is an acceptance that we are human beings and that human beings are frail. In that sense Islam is actually quite forgiving," he explains. "It's a dynamic thing, a constant reformation of character. Even when I am dying in old age I will still be asking God to lead me in the right way. You try to move towards that ideal, knowing that there is always that battle going on with your own impulses and animal instincts. You are constantly asking God to strengthen you and help you deal with temptation." His spiritual reawakening did not just mean forswearing the pleasures of nightclubs such as Annabel's and Tramp for a life of piety. To the dismay of millions of fans who knew him as the Lion of Lahore, he retired from cricket after captaining Pakistan to its 1992 World Cup victory. Deciding to devote himself to philanthropy, he built a cancer clinic in his native city in memory of his mother. A nagging sense of noblesse oblige eventually led him to seek a career in the treacherous waters of Pakistani politics. "I realised I needed to help bring about social and economic change in this country," he says. "I realised there is a small, corrupt elite in this country that has captured all the resources and sucks all the blood from Pakistan. The only way to fight them is through politics, to challenge them and help bring proper democracy to this country."
But as the scion of a prominent Lahore family, wasn't Khan a product of this elite? "Very much so," he agrees. "I was very privileged, but then this is where spirituality comes in. It makes you selfless. You have a choice between materialism and spirituality. Spirituality demands selflessness. The more you have - and I have had more than anyone in this country - the more responsibility falls on you in terms of what you do for the rest, for your society. What I can do is raise my voice, stand up and talk about social and economic justice in this country. That is why I entered politics."
He set up his party, Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (Movement for Justice), on an anti-corruption ticket in 1996. Some saw in the cricket hero a real possibility to shake up Pakistan's political arena, where powerful feudal lords, army generals and firebrand Islamists jockey for position in a system rife with corruption and cronyism. Others were sceptical of his ability to translate sporting success into votes and questioned his political nous - one rival memorably dubbed him "Im the Dim". More than a decade later Khan has yet to prove his party anything more than a one-man show. Finally securing a seat in 2002, he remains the party's sole member of parliament, representing a hard-scrabble constituency that borders the badlands of the North-West Frontier Province.
Much of this has to do with the fickle nature of Khan's ideas and political alliances, the chopping and changing of which have led many to wonder if he is driven by opportunism and ambition rather than by his much-vaunted principles. He supported the military coup that brought General Pervez Musharraf to power and claims he was later offered the prime minister's job by a grateful president. Now, however, Khan is a vitriolic critic of Musharraf's alignment with the US, an approach that has seen him drift increasingly towards alliances with Islamist politicians. In 2002 he voted in favour of a pro-Taliban candidate for prime minister and has sided with religious hardliners over issues such as reform of madrassas, or religious schools, and criticism of army operations against al-Qaeda-linked militants in Pakistan's tribal areas. Last year he was put under house arrest for attempting to organise protests against President Bush's visit to Pakistan. Most notoriously, in 2005 he drew attention to a story - later retracted - in Newsweekmagazine alleging that a copy of the Koran had been desecrated at Guantánamo Bay. Islam was "under attack", he declared, a widely publicised gesture blamed for sparking a week of riots in which at least 16 people were killed.
Such violence is regrettable, he says, but he insists these sentiments stem from anger at US policy rather than from religious motivations. "What is happening is anti-Americanism. The only reason the religious parties have support is not religion but because they are seen as anti-American. There is a reaction against the United States because of what it did and is still doing in Afghanistan. Thousands and thousands of people killed. The same in Iraq. Look at the way the US has treated Islam in their so-called war on terror, which in my opinion is giving birth to a lot more terrorists." Muslims feel their religion is under attack, Khan says, because US policy encourages the idea of a "clash of civilisations" between the West and an Islamic world portrayed as violent and backwards.
But what about the perpetrators of attacks such as 9/11 and the London bombings? Have they not damaged the image of Islam by claiming to be acting in its name? "Stalin butchered millions of people in the name of communism. Would you blame communism for that? Or democracy for the fact Bush and Blair are murdering people in its name? Would you blame Christianity for the Crusades or the Inquisition? All that was done in the name of Christianity, but it wasn't the fault of the religion itself. Every ideology and religion can be misused by people. Islamic communities are just the same as every other human community. We have our moderates, our extremists and our fanatics, but the vast majority is moderate."
Khan finds few Muslim countries worthy of praise, however, bemoaning the fact that so many labour under corrupt regimes propped up by the West. "The fact that our societies have not evolved is because there has been stagnation in the Muslim world, not just about issues like women's rights but the whole area of Islamic thought. We haven't had thinkers to take Islamic thought forward," he says. "But what we don't want is westernised puppets, people like Musharraf, who don't understand their own religion or culture but try to impose western values on us. That just triggers a reaction against any kind of reform. It distorts the whole debate. We don't want the West to impose its values on us. Let us evolve in our own way."
He is more subdued when talking about the breakdown of his marriage to Jemima Goldsmith, which ended in divorce three years ago. He was twice his wife's age when they married, in 1995. She famously converted to Islam, moved to Pakistan and learnt Urdu. At the beginning, their East-meets-West marriage, with its odd mix of glamour and piety, made the couple something akin to Posh and Becks in Pakistan. But Khan's political opponents soon began a smear campaign, pouncing on Jemima's Jewish roots and accusing her of being a Zionist agent, among other things. She later faced trumped-up charges of smuggling antiques out of the country. The long hours he devoted to building up his political career also caused their marriage to suffer, he admits.
"When you have a cross-cultural marriage it takes more time than a normal marriage, because someone is coming to a live in different country and adapting to another culture. Unfortunately, in politics you have less time than if you have a normal life. Plus it was difficult for her to get involved in that part of my life, because she was attacked immediately. They couldn't attack me, because I was the biggest hero in this country, so they attacked her instead. It made everything very difficult, and eventually she found it impossible to stay. We knew that once she could not live here that the marriage was over." And you wouldn't have considered leaving Pakistan? "Of course not. How could I leave?" Khan says. "I mean, she fell in love with me because she saw me as an idealist. She didn't fall in love with a socialite, someone who did the social circles of the world. What would I ever have done living in England? I can't imagine living some kind of fashionable life. I have never been motivated by making money, and I'm not someone who has ever been interested in great cars or clothes or fashion or things like that. It's a different life. I can't imagine living anywhere else but Pakistan. I'm too rooted here."
Jemima is now a regular fixture in the British tabloids because of her relationship with the actor Hugh Grant. Asked how he feels about her moving on, Khan sighs. "That's her life . . . If it wasn't him it would be someone else. She is young, she has to get on with her life and get married again at some point. That's her life." He prefers to talk about their two sons, Sulaiman and Qasim. "We might have divorced a few years earlier, but we tried for the children's sake to make sure. We agonised over it, so they would not suffer, but everything has worked out very well. They spend all their holidays here with me. They are Muslim but completely bicultural."
Does he regret that his marriage did not work? "That's not how I view life. I'm an idealist. I have always believed that, no matter what happens, I would be able to overcome it, to win. That's how I was made. When I married her I knew I wasn't going in as a young guy who got carried away. I knew it was going to be difficult, but just because something is difficult it's not in my psyche not to at least attempt it. You try your best, and in the end you just accept the result as the will of God."
As for the future, Khan's eye is firmly on the parliamentary elections set for later this year. It is obvious from the way he talks up his party's chances that he believes 2007 could mark the end of his struggles with the ignominy of being little more than a political voice in the wilderness. The sparkling optimism he affords his political ambitions fades somewhat when he muses on his personal life, and he turns solemn again. "Would I marry again? I can't say either way, to be honest," he says. "I gave up thinking about that a long time ago, because I realised that you might plan your life but it doesn't always go like that. The Koran has a beautiful verse about how man might try to make plans but God makes plans too."