Walled-in

Inside the said court,the encroacher stretched and loosened his muscles elaborately,looking at every corner with meditative poise,and then shadow-ghosted an imaginary opponent by taking lateral strides. For minutes on end,he went up and down with his toes rooted to the T-intersection,much to the chagrin of the now-seething club member. A marker told the agitating gentleman in whispers that the occupant was a foreign player in town for the PSA (Professional Squash Association) Masters starting the following day.

In some time,the member had found himself an empty lane in an adjoining court with a fellow business acquaintance. The moment passed without him knowing that he had just watched Gregory Gaultier — the world No 2,and till only a couple of days ago,the top-ranked squash player on the planet — going through his warm-up preparation. The moment also lapsed without the Frenchman realising the precise extent of his own anonymity — squash’s damning bane for many years.

RECREATION vs COMPETITION

In a country now obsessed with fitness,and hitting squash courts at exclusive clubhouses with gusto,the unrecognised Gaultier’s lack of celebrity on the eve of the PSA Masters — one of squash’s most prestigious tournaments — points to just how forlorn this sport is. The irony lies in how it is accessible to the affluent at facilities with six-figure membership fees,even though competitive squash attracts only those prepared for the most punishing treatment the human body can endure in the name of sport.

Many of the top names in Mumbai for the December 5-10 mega-event — Egyptians Amr Shabana,Ramy Ashour,Briton Nick Matthew,Aussie David Palmer,and Frenchman Gaultier (who exhausted himself dry by the time he reached the No 1 spot) — would tell you how hard training is in one of the world’s fastest-paced sports. This disconnect is not only Indian,but squash’s struggle to rise in the sporting hierarchy in the country is compounded by troubles that are specifically domestic.

There are the usual villains:

* Lack of infrastructure and dearth of coaching expertise,even in pockets where squash talent ought to thrive — the armed forces nurseries like the NDA,prestigious boarding schools like Mayo College,and privileged clubs like Bombay Gym.

* Government apathy when compared with top squash nations such as Egypt,Malaysia and England.

* The lack of role models since India never had one until a few years ago.

Ahmed Yousuf,the Egyptian trainer at CCI’s squash facility,says: “Funding needs to come in because it gets too much for parents in India.” A player has to shell out a lakh a month if he wants to travel on the PSA circuit,and a single coaching session in Egypt can cost as much as $200.

Anil Nayar was arguably India’s best player in the 70s until he left for the US. Those who followed — Raj Manchanda and Adrian Ezra — either chose to study further or take jobs that took them away from the sport. Raj Arora,who oversees squash at the CCI and Bombay Gymkhana,says: “A lot of Indian squash juniors chased the university dream on squash scholarships,landing in US colleges but slowly forgetting about the game.” Things could be changing with Indian Nos 1 and 3 Saurav Ghosal (Leeds) and Sidharth Suchde (Harvard) choosing squash over regular careers. “People say Sidharth is nuts to not take up a job after Harvard. But he’s passionate about the sport,” Arora adds.

Politicking,selection controversies and bitter bickering between Delhi,Mumbai and Chennai — three of Indian squash’s top centres,have prevented a unified development programme from taking off in the country,even as sporadic junior successes and fitful wins from the country’s top pros — Ghosal,Ritwik Bhattacharya,Joshna Chinappa and Dipika Pallikal — attract small headlines,but never a deep perusal. “Once we have a Top-10 or even Top-20,the game’s profile might get better. Right now,things are improving,but it’s not optimum,” Arora adds.

Also,for a country never lacking in touch players with supple wrists,finding deft hands should never have been a problem. “India has talent,but getting the right mix of good wrists,sturdy legs and bottomless stamina will take time and focus.”

NEIGHBOUR’S PRIDE

For years,what got Indians frowning with envious curiosity was Pakistan’s phenomenal success in the same sport. Squash wasn’t as big a deal as cricket to pine after the neighbour’s secret mines that yielded fast bowler after fast bowler,but,to a lesser degree,the question was always asked: Why couldn’t we find any great squash players when they could?

The lives of pioneer Hashim Khan,and two stunning super-athletes in Jahangir Khan and Jansher Khan,spanned the stupendous era of Pakistan’s domination in the sport. Their success story started in the 50s at Nawakille in NWFP — or if you go by the little-known legend,in Bombay,where a distant relative of Hashim Khan called Abdul Bari was sponsored by the Indian government to travel to the British Open and finished runner-up. Spurred on to chase a greater destiny than his Indian relation,Hashim,who had started as a ballboy at a British defence facility,and gone on to become a coach at the British Air Force officers’ mess,went a step ahead the next year by winning the crown. Along the way,he spawned a culture of squash excellence,based on refined technique and top physical conditioning.

The Khans of Nawakille weren’t blessed with the power of the Pathans,but worked harder than others to make up for it. Extended families,and distant relations of Hashim Khan,took to the sport in the frontier-military environment of Nawakille and Quetta,where courts were never too far away. Squash finally reached Jahangir Khan through his father Roshan.

Jahangir extracted every ounce of energy from his body to go on a 555-match winning streak,clinch the world title six times and the British Open 10 times — a benchmark zealously chased by Jansher in the next decade. Several other talented Pakistan players paled,but only in comparison,as they continued to be a handful for the rest of the world.

“Pakistan was the first country to take squash seriously and develop the hardest training schedules. They also started travelling the world and had two individually brilliant figures in Jahangir and Jansher,” says Lee Beachill,a former No 1.

Ritwik Bhattacharya,the first Indian to go pro a decade ago,says: “We have as much talent,but it’s tough to have the same attitude,structures and techniques that have been perfected and passed down the generations in Pakistan. A player there can sit with his father,who himself has played at a highest level,and know how to tide over problems. They’re never clueless.”

It’s a fact acknowledged recently by Pakistan’s brightest hope Amir Atlas Khan,who secured a memorable win against then No 1 Gaultier. In an interview to The News after his win,Atlas,with Jansher Khan as an uncle and a British amateur championship finalist for a father,had said: “I kept focusing on what my father had told me during the whole match,that I was lucky to belong to such a squash family. That really carried me through.”

Squash tricks seemed to be passed down in families in Pakistan,and are well-guarded,like the exact method to brew the perfect kahva. Indians,in comparison,missed out on sheer pedigree. “Squash was always about fitness,and with their fitness base,the Pakistan players took their skills to a different level,” Arora says. “India needs a very strong system to start producing them on the conveyor belt.”

SPECTATOR UNFRIENDLY

But overall,the game itself has been walled-in,quite literally,rendering itself rather spectator-unfriendly when viewed within the confines of a club court with concrete walls on three sides. It’s also not the best of sports for TV,even when it is played in an all-glass court (like the one that has been air-dropped at Bombay Gym this week) as the nuances of soft strokes tend to get buried under a heap of flurried pace and poor viewing angles.

Unlike tennis,there’s nothing spectacular about a squash kill. Nobody plays the boast shot (off the side wall) for bread-and-butter,and there’s little that is irretrievable on a small court in which the players are able to return everything. The gradual drama of the railing drive,played at the good length,and then slowly forcing it to the tight corners of the side walls,is a battle more exciting for the players than a spectator.

A winner looks exhausted and beautiful,rarely effortless and beautiful,even as the game has become a power-slug demanding supreme fitness. There’s beauty in sheer labour,not the lushness of a stroke.

“The winner here will end up making a touch under $23,000 (roughly Rs 10.5 lakh). Even a scratch golfer or tennis player gets more. It’s a pity that recognition — monetary or otherwise — evades squash players. They are the fittest of super athletes,as you’ll see,” says Arora of the uncalculated,but sizeably high,sweat-to-dollar ratio. “They’ve got to make the presentation and the rules TV friendly. If you’re not on TV,you are nothing,” says Egypt’s most iconic contemporary player Amr Shabana.

GIZA GIZMOS

The Egyptians are a squash mammoth in resurgence,and with President Hosni Mubarak himself a former player,over the last decade the country has reclaimed its domination from before the Pakistan players took over. Three channels beam a world-level tournament in Egypt,and the roll-call starting with FD Amr Bey and Mahmoud Karim (whom Pakistan’s Hashim Khan beat to start their own juggernaut) was resumed with their young,mercurial player of 90s,Ahmed Barada. With three in the top-five — Shabana,Karim Darwish and Ramy Ashour — the north-African nation now lords over all else in depth.

“We have lots of top players,and always someone to follow. We’ve looked up to Amr Shabana,who was No 1 for three years. Watching them train,taking their advice is what makes all the difference,” says upcoming player Mohammed El Shorbagy.

Not something India can seek to possess in a hurry. “We’ve never had top-level guys,so we’re still learning — technique,skills,the right shot at the right time,” says Saurav Ghosal,ranked 32nd in the world.

Like Shabana says: “You are as good as the people around you.”

NEVER NO 1

The squash world is split in two — those who hope to erode the cricket fan-base,and others who find football’s pre-ponderance a menace. In Egypt,too,squash is at an elevated No 2 behind football. But still second.

France woke up to Gregory Gaultier’s enormous struggle from No 3 over the last two years,and he remained largely unknown till he demanded attention by cornering the No 1 title for a month.

Briton James Willstrop,the current world No 7 and a former junior world champion,throws his hands up in resignation. “The press back home is obsessed with football. The Commonwealth Games gets squash some attention,but even though Peter Nicol won the gold,it wasn’t the main story. It’s tough because even at the height of the Peter Nicol vs Jonathan Power rivalry,which was like Bjorg vs McEnroe in tennis,squash didn’t take off,” he says.

“Nobody knows about me in England,maybe a few people recognise me in my small town of Pontefract. I take my anonymity for its positives — I can have my peace. But we could be recognised more,you know,” he adds.

Under the weight of a uni-sport celebrity culture across the world,with relative obscurity and little material gain to show for their hard-work,squash,the sport,sadly lives up to its dictionary meaning of being beaten to pulp.

Through THE GLASS

THe 32 x 21 ft glass court has been transplanted onto the Bombay Gymkahana pitch in a 50-foot container trailer.

Tickets priced at Rs 200

1,200-capacity arena that gives fans proximity to the action. “You must experience squash from all corners. From the side wall,you can appreciate length,from the back-court,the quality of play,and from the front the deception and expression,” says squash afficianado Raj Arora.

“It’s not easy to get into a glass court. People with faulty techniques get shown up in glass courts. The first time,it’s a test of nerves and confidence,”
says Saurav Ghosal

Iconic squash court images are those in Cairo with the Giza Pyramids in the backdrop from 1999-2006 and at the Grand Central Terminal in New York