Irfan Pathan and Wasim Akram: Rivalry and Respect in Cricket
Irfan Pathan, Wasim Akram and the thin line between rivalry and respect
In early 2004, a young left-arm quick from Baroda walked into a commentary box in Australia carrying both nerves and admiration. Irfan Pathan was on his first tour Down Under, the new hope of Indian fast bowling. Waiting there, microphone in hand, was the man he had grown up watching: Wasim Akram.
By then, Pathan had already announced himself. His Test debut at Sydney in 2003 had been electric. He sent Steve Waugh on his way, then produced a reverse-swinging yorker to castle Adam Gilchrist – the sort of delivery that instantly draws comparisons with the great left-arm artists. In the ODI tri-series that followed, he ripped through line-ups for 16 wickets in 10 matches. A few months later in Pakistan, he took eight more in three ODIs.
India suddenly had a left-armer who swung it late, ran in hard and looked eerily familiar. With Zaheer Khan and Ashish Nehra established, Irfan Pathan’s rise gave Indian cricket what many had long craved – their own echo of Wasim Akram.
The apprentice meets the master
Akram remembers that first proper conversation vividly. Pathan, he says, was not just another youngster seeking a selfie or a quick hello. He wanted to learn.
“Irfan met me in 2004 on his first tour to Australia, I was commentating for ESPNStar. He was a big fan. Grew up watching us,” Akram recalled on the 1 Mint podcast. “I gave him a few tips here and there, but he did well early on in his career. His action was similar to mine from the very beginning.”
The talk, as Akram tells it, wasn’t about ripping up techniques and starting again. At that level, the action is already good enough to play for your country. The nuances live elsewhere.
“What you tell them is mostly about the mindset,” he said. “Action and all is fine, because at that stage, you have reached that level where you’re representing the country. Things like wrist position and how to suss out a batsman. When to use variations, when not to.”
Those are the small edges that turn a talented left-armer into a genuine new-ball force. For a time, Pathan became exactly that. He took the new ball for India across formats, swung it both ways, and gave them balance with the bat. His Player of the Match performance in the 2007 T20 World Cup final against Pakistan remains one of Indian cricket’s defining nights.
Then came the familiar fast-bowler’s story: injuries, tinkering, a new generation of quicks snapping at his heels. The rhythm went. The pace dipped. The career that had begun in a blaze faded earlier than many expected. Pathan finally called time in 2020.
He didn’t vanish, though. He simply moved platforms.
From new-ball bowler to new-age voice
Pathan’s second act has unfolded in studios and on screens. As a broadcaster and an active presence on X (formerly Twitter), he has become one of the most forthright voices among former Indian cricketers. He doesn’t duck the big topics, particularly when they involve Pakistan.
“Irfan is a good boy; he still keeps meeting me,” Akram said with a wry smile. “It’s a different thing that he keeps tweeting some or the other thing against Pakistan. But our fans are ready too. They don’t have the tendency to ignore either. They just have to reply.”
That last line cuts to the heart of the modern India–Pakistan dynamic. The rivalry has always been intense. Social media has turned the volume up to deafening.
Pathan himself thrived in that cauldron. Across formats, he claimed 67 wickets in 36 internationals against Pakistan – 27 in Tests, 34 in ODIs and 6 in T20Is. He swung it under lights, nipped it around with the new ball, and often seemed to find an extra yard of bite when the opposition wore green.
Yet the man he once idolised, and later picked the brain of, keeps returning to a simpler message.
‘It’s only a frikkin game’
Few cricketers understand the weight of an India–Pakistan fixture like Wasim Akram. He has lived through packed stadiums, political undertones, and matches that felt bigger than tournaments. He has also watched the narrative around the rivalry twist into something even more combustible in the social media age.
Akram, though, refuses to romanticise the hostility.
“People have too much time. Why can’t they understand? It’s only a frikkin game,” he said. “At the end of the day, it’s just a match. Somebody has to win, somebody has to lose. And move on to the next one.”
The word “revenge” irritates him.
“But no, what happened many moons ago still lingers. Revenge and all is so 1970. It’s the classic ‘an empty mind is a devil’s workshop’ thought process.”
There is a sting in that assessment, but also a challenge. If a man who built his legend in the white heat of India–Pakistan clashes can strip the contest back to bat, ball and result, what excuse do the rest of us have?
Pathan’s journey, from a wide-eyed admirer of Akram to India’s spearhead, from World Cup winner to outspoken pundit, sits right in the middle of that question. He embodied the rivalry on the field. Today, he often amplifies it online. Akram, once the storm at the centre of it all, now urges calm from the sidelines.
The next time India and Pakistan meet, the noise will be deafening again. The old clips of Pathan’s swing and Akram’s magic will do the rounds. The timelines will rage.
And somewhere in between, 22 players will walk out to do what both left-armers insist it really is – just play a game of cricket.
