4 min readMar 1, 2026 06:00 AM IST
First published on: Mar 1, 2026 at 06:00 AM IST
Cricket legends Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev have pleaded for the humanitarian treatment of their former colleague and Pakistan’s former Prime Minister Imran Khan in jail. As he faces corruption charges, the petition is a reminder that the man was once an icon and bigger than the sum of his smaller, frail, unlikeable parts. Maybe 50 shades of grey.
Devilishly handsome, charismatic playboy, a perennial bachelor (he married at 42), desirably urbane, the rakish Pathan became much like the Marlboro Man for women across every border. Yes, he had his escapades, publicly said he was “no saint”, and would have checked every box of toxic masculinity. But before Instagram, he was the “thirst trap” that made commercial sense.
Nobody understood this better than socialite and the first lady of India’s leading corporate house, Parmeshwar Godrej, who cast him in the iconic Godrej Cinthol soap advertisement in 1987. Shot in slow motion, it captured Khan during the run-up to the crease, almost stallion-like, delivering his trademark inswinger. Then it showed him freshening up with the soap and striding out in a casual green T-shirt. The tagline, “Imran’s freshness soap”, came scrawled with his signature and a booming voiceover describing Cinthol as the secret of the “Irresistible Khan.”
The ad created a mini-revolution among women everywhere. Kolkata was no exception. As a teen, I was moony-eyed. Since parents generally discouraged filmstar posters, Italian footballer Roberto Baggio was the only poster boy in my cupboard. Till Khan blew him like a gust of wind. So, when he led his team to play an ODI at the Eden Gardens in 1987, we were determined to see him up close. A classmate’s sister managed the front desk at The Oberoi Grand where the teams were staying. She sneaked in information a night before that the hotel had booked a car for a certain VIP to step out at a certain hour. If we could accidentally hang around in the porch area, we might get a glimpse of him.
In school, we told the stentorian nuns that we needed to be excused for two classes to prepare for an intra-school project that they had thankfully chosen us for. Post-lunch, we sneaked out and assembled at the Oberoi arcade. Turned out a crowd of fan-girls had spoiled our chances at the gates.
And just when the weight of expectation was almost wearing us out, there he was, in a suit and black shades, zooming out in a chauffeur-driven car, waving his hand and flashing a killer smile. For all our convent-bred sense of propriety, we squealed, whooped, died. What we didn’t know was that the guard had snitched about “girls in school uniform” to the manager, who had in turn reported us to Mother Superior about acting totally out of line with what our uniform represented. A phone call went to dad.
Meanwhile, there were small changes at home. Cinthol replaced Mysore Sandal as the soap of choice. Dad wondered why the women in the house were reading Sportstar inside out. Or why we weren’t missing any cricket game being telecast (the ads came in between). My aunt visited us one afternoon and recorded the Cinthol ad on a video cassette recorder (VCR), wiping out an entire episode of the BBC’s Yes Minister. That afternoon, my mother and my aunt gave me confidence that there was nothing wrong with having a female gaze. Or fancy. My mother subscribed to Femina, which advertised a cover story for the next issue, an interview with Imran Khan. Guess what? It had a photo of him in a white bathrobe, hair tousled and wet. The vendor ran out of issues by Day 2.
So, here is my very politically incorrect take. Whatever his transgressions, the law will decide. But Khan conquered hearts effortlessly despite Indo-Pak sensitivities, blurring lines of national pride and prejudice. For that bit, he was a beautiful man in a soap bubble, sparkling and effervescent.
The writer is Senior Associate Editor, The Indian Express
National Editor Shalini Langer curates the fortnightly ‘She Said’ column
