Imran Ahmad Khan Niazi was born in Lahore in 1952, but long before his entry into the tempestuous theatre of Pakistani politics, he was known simply as Imran Khan – the country’s most celebrated cricketer, a man whose effortless elegance with bat and ball inspired a generation.
In a cricketing career that spanned from the early 1970s into the early 1990s, Khan was one of the game’s greatest all-rounders. A fast bowler of guile and a batsman of flair, he led Pakistan to its first and only men’s Cricket World Cup triumph in 1992. That victory wasn’t just sport; it was national myth-making, a moment of collective exultation for a country forever wrestling with political and economic turmoil.
But sport, as it often does, provided only a prologue. After retiring from cricket, Khan channelled his fame into philanthropy – most notably the founding of the Shaukat Khanum Cancer Memorial Hospital & Research Centre – and eventually into politics. In 1996 he launched Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), a party built on anti-establishment rhetoric and promises to purge corruption from the Pakistani body politic. By 2018 he had become the country’s prime minister, a hero to millions who saw in him the same steely confidence that had won them glory on the cricket pitch.
Yet the nadir of Khan’s political career came with almost dramatic inevitability. In 2022 he was removed from office following a parliamentary no-confidence motion; his fractious relationship with Pakistan’s powerful military elite – once a source of support – fractured irreparably as he sought to assert civilian authority. Accusations and counter-accusations flew; Pakistan’s fragile economy floundered; and rallies that once drew tens of thousands increasingly drew scrutiny instead of applause.
Today, Imran Khan’s life bears scant resemblance to the one he once led. The accolades, the adulation and the cricketing triumphs are a distant memory. Instead of the lush green outfields of international cricket grounds, he now occupies a small cell; instead of commanding the nation’s government, he languishes behind bars.
In December 2025, a Pakistani court handed Khan and his wife, Bushra Bibi, 17-year prison sentences in a graft case tied to the under-priced purchase and allegedly improper sale of luxury gifts received by state officials – charges Khan has vehemently denied as politically motivated.
But it is not only the verdicts that have drawn scrutiny. The conditions of his imprisonment have become a cause of international concern. According to reports, Khan is being held at Attock prison in overcrowded conditions far removed from the preferential treatment once afforded to high-profile detainees. His legal team has described cramped cells with basic facilities amid sweltering heat.
Perhaps most haunting are the accounts from his own sons – Sulaiman and Kasim Khan – who spoke to The Times in London with an anguish rarely aired in public. They describe their father’s incarceration as “barbaric,” detailing prolonged solitary confinement in what they call a “death cell”, denying him basic amenities and even human contact.
“What they’re doing to our father is barbaric,” one son told The Times. “He has been in solitary confinement for over 28 months … denied basic amenities and communication with family.”
Their fear is compounded by a lack of transparency. Visits and calls have been severely restricted, and there are deep worries among family and supporters about Khan’s welfare and the potential psychological toll of isolation.
Even Khan’s former wife, Jemima Goldsmith, has raised alarm, reporting that prison authorities have stopped family visits, shut off lights in his cell, and left him in near-total isolation. She argues those actions are part of a broader effort to suppress not just Khan but all political dissent in Pakistan.
Amid these reports, there have been occasional reassurances. A recent family visit after weeks of no contact saw Khan’s sister state he remained in good health -an attempt to quell rumours swirling among supporters and critics alike.
But the transformation from sports legend to political prisoner raises questions that cut deep into Pakistan’s national psyche. How does a figure so emblematic of national pride become so embattled in his own homeland?
Part of the answer lies in Khan’s political choices once in power. His early tenure earned admiration for attempts at economic reform and anti-corruption measures. But as tensions with Pakistan’s military grew – especially after Khan sought greater control over key army appointments – the alliance that had helped bring him to office disintegrated. That rupture proved fatal to his tenure and, arguably, to his political survival.
To critics within Pakistan, his downfall is seen less as a judicial necessity and more as the result of a man who overreached – believing that charisma on the pitch could translate seamlessly into political dominance. To supporters abroad, his incarceration represents a cautionary tale of democratic fragility in a nation where civilian leaders who challenge entrenched power structures can find themselves isolated and overpowered.
Whatever one believes about the legal merits of the charges against him, the larger narrative is unmistakable: Imran Khan’s life has moved from privileged global stages – whether leading Pakistan to world cricket glory or addressing world leaders – to the stark, unyielding reality of a Pakistani prison.
Some whispers among his supporters speak of martyrdom; others of eventual vindication. But as his sons put it, the uncertainty of his fate – of whether they will ever see him again – has become its own form of torment.
For a man who once stood at the pinnacle of both sport and politics, Imran Khan’s present existence in a cell is a striking testament to the chaotic intersection of personality, power and politics in modern Pakistan.