Once again, Imran Khan has decided to pull the plug on his protest movement, in which he had threatened to lock down the very capital of Pakistan. Once again, the question “what was he thinking?” is racing through the minds of millions of Pakistanis, with equal amounts of adoration and bewilderment. The question is important. Love him or hate him, Imran Khan has established himself as a larger than life political leader in a country that loves larger than life heroes. But it seems even those closest to him have been unable to explain his ‘feisty’ behaviour. Make no mistake: Imran Khan is my hero. I was at the Civil Services Academy in 1992 when our 19th Common watched Imran Khan lift the World Cup, catapulting himself from a great hero to a demi-god. The most effulgent of Pakistani stars was born on that day. He has shone ever brighter with his marriages, peccadillos, foibles and grand gestures, the apex of which is a well-run cancer hospital that treats impecunious patients. If millions of women fall in love with him, can you blame them? Or him? Fast forward to the 2013 elections that his party lost. Ever since, we have seen a metamorphosis in him, unfolding blow-by-blow in view of the public. We saw his amazing avatar during the four-month long dharna (sit-in) in 2014, charming hundreds of party workers, supporters and fans every evening. He would hint at his upcoming marriage; he would talk to them as if he were talking to people close to him; he would strut on stage as if he were walking in the comfort of his home. He fired angry broadsides at Nawaz Sharif, he inveighed against the corrupt police, and he railed against his enemies whose pants were becoming “wet.” And then, one day, he called the entire show off, and tied the knot with the lovely Reham Khan. Fast forward to November 1, 2016. Khan had announced that he would lock down Islamabad with a million people. A few thousand gathered. They were treated to a sumptuous breakfast for a few days. All TV channels were abuzz with the usual hype. And then, just as suddenly, the entire lockdown was cancelled by Khan, forcing us to ask again: what is it that drives Imran Khan? Does he want an end to corruption? Probably yes, but then, two of his closest aides have been ‘exposed’ in the Panama leaks. Does he want to turn Pakistan into a Shaukat Khanum-style entity? I think that the roots of his political behaviour must be sought neither in his political ambitions nor in his social work but in his personal psyche. We need to reconstruct his innermost monologues, and delve into the deepest recesses of his soul. Sure it seems psychoanalytic, but what is that compared to the roller-coaster of a ride that Khan has given to his admiring public? The scene: Day 1, Bani Gala. Khan says to himself: “I have been the best captain that Pakistan will ever have. I have set up the best healthcare organisation [SKMH] that Pakistan can ever have. I was married to one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the world, and I have two beautiful sons. I have befriended some of the most gorgeous women in the world. Should I not be happy?” On Day 5, this train of thought takes a more melancholic turn and existential loneliness creeps in. Then comes Day 10, when Khan is inevitably confronted with the stark fact of death. “Yes, I am not a moron. I know all must die but why me, the most handsome, highest-achieving man in Pakistan? Why me? Can I outlive my death? Yes, I can, but only if I became prime minister and brought reform to this godforsaken country. Then I, along with Jemima and the boys, can meet the Queen, and in the process, will add the Koh-i-Noor to my crown.” These feelings of loneliness and mortality, combined with noble ambitions, lead to frustration on Day 15, and to resentment and even anger on Day 20 when faced with a system that is large, unresponsive and brutally oblivious of Khan’s nobility of soul. This lasts a few weeks, even months, until the rage reaches a boiling point: he must call his confidantes for a meeting and discuss, nay, announce a new dharna, a new lock-down, a protest so mammoth that it will paralyse the entire country. They look at him in disbelief, they mumble a few words of advice, but they cannot do much against a demi-god in a high tower. The battle lines are etched in stone. The dharna starts on Day 90. Ah! As he is surrounded by small gatherings of acolytes, he enters into a family-like talk with them. He chats with them, bonds with them, smiles at them. Of course, he excoriates his enemies with invective. But within days, the rage subsides, the boiling point comes down and he regains his pre-Day 1 equanimity. But by this time the crowd is hyped, waiting for the word ‘go’, and yet he is thinking: “What have I done?” Suddenly he can hear the old murmurs of his terrified confidantes. They make sense. He pulls the plug on everything, telling the breakfast-eaters waiting outside to go home. He plans to rest, and then fly to the UK, the US, or Dubai. He is happy, satisfied, back to normalcy. This lasts a few weeks, even months. Then it is Day 1 again. “I have been the best captain.” It is déjà vu, all over again. Of course, the others – Dr Tahir-ul-Qadri, Sheikh Rashid, the anchors – all adjust their activities according to his Groundhog cycle. I love Imran Khan. More than that, I understand him, as I am single like him. The writer is a former Rhodes scholar, and can be reached at aamir3123@gmail.com