History's Child

I confess I am not a big football fan. I played football as a kid with friends in the colony, was a decent defender and managed to kick the basketball more often than dribble it on court. My following of football remains limited to watching David Beckham on and off the field and following the World Cups every 4 years. Over the years I have become a Messi supporter. My interest in tonight’s World Cup Final remains BTS’ half-time performance. Ironically, I also happen to be my father’s daughter, who, if the blogs over 11 years have not made it incessantly clear, is mad over football. And while he has written many a tale of his love for the game, this one is from the eyes of a heavily biased witness.

In my father’s world of insurance, the agents and brokers who procure the businesses for the companies are often pampered, with majority of them being in possession of heavily stamped passports. Many a times, the insurance companies also send a few of their own people from sales and business along with these partners on these jaunts. The year was 2018. Based on a business contest, a bunch of such people were selected to go to Russia for the World Cup. A few employees from the sales side who managed these partners were also shortlisted for the Argentina vs. Nigeria match that was to take place in St. Petersburg, Russia. As the Business Head, my father’s seat on the flight and stadium were all assured and booked. Being a student of history, to be able to visit the historically rich city of St. Petersburg, that too, for a World Cup football match was almost too good to be true. I was in Delhi, preparing for the final MD examination. I could hear the unfiltered, childish joy in his voice over the phone. So when he asked me if I wanted to come with him, the answer was obvious. Even if I did not have a ticket for the match, visiting Russia was a no brainer. And my exams would be done and dusted by then. Alas, every crime committed, deserves an equal punishment. The crime of joining the white coat army, comes with its set of trials and for me they came in the form of the announcement of the potential dates for the Senior Residency exam at AIIMS around the same time. One day I was sure that examinations are the cause of all ruin and there was no way I was going to sit for this one; the next day I would urge him to go to Russia without me. While heated telephone conversations and emotional wars waged for a few days, peace prevailed in the form of the most unusual circumstances. One night, one of the youngsters in his team from the Kolkata branch office called him up expressing his wish to go for the World Cup match since he had played a large part in achieving the business target. Seeing much logic in his demand, my father took up his case with the higher ups. But there was no way an extra person could be added to the list of travellers to Russia in view of the budget control. The boy was completely heartbroken when he told him that his request had been turned down. Next evening when I called, my mother handed over the phone to dad, “Your father wants to talk to you.” “M, the Russia trip is not happening. I have written to the organisers in office nominating the Kolkata boy to travel to Russia in my place.” Before I could launch a set of attacks, he continued calmly, “I could hear the boy crying on the other side of telephone. I have been fortunate to travel across the globe on work related assignments and there will be more in future. Besides, I can watch the matches on television.” And here I was claiming the martyr’s role, sacrificing either a trip or an examination. He watched all the matches, as usual, without an ounce of regret, pity or complain. The boy got him a beautiful Russian doll. It sits inside the glass cabinet of our living room, handled with care. Dolls are more fragile than a champion’s heart.

From childhood, I have heard the Man-U chant every English Premier League season, seen the ecstasy of the wins and the sulking face at the losses and poor performances. For an ardent fan, going to Manchester, the holy land of Manchester United, is a long nurtured dream. Exactly a year later, in the summer of 2019, India was to play Pakistan in a World Cup cricket match at Manchester. Once again, my father’s place was reserved. More than the cricket match, he was excited to visit the Manchester United stadium and kiss the grass that had produced some of the finest players under the watchful eye of Sir Alex Fergusson. Once again, history decided to do an action replay. This time, it was a member from the Delhi team who made the request. I rolled my eyes, mom mocked him as Karna, the giver. Nothing changed, except the name on the tickets. In years to follow, having visited Anfield and Wembley and clicked pictures with the busts of Liverpool legend Bill Shankly and Roger Moore, the captain of the 1966 World Cup, he still wishes to set foot on the haloed grounds of Old Trafford. Coaches and players retire, fans never do. 

One thing my father has taught me is that when you give away something, something even better comes your way. I would have said I have learnt this from life, but I was never one to believe in self-help gyaan. In 2022, my father finally boarded a plane to Qatar and saw Lionel Messi in the opening match of the World Cup against Saudi Arabia at Lusail Stadium. He won as he watched the GOAT score a goal, even though Messi lost the match. Messi went on to win the World Cup 2022. 

“Look who we are, we are the dreamers
We make it happen, 'cause we believe it.
Here's to the ones that keep the passion
Respect, oh, yeah
Here's to the ones that can imagine
Respect, oh, yeah.”

Now, as a retired person, he is the only one able to enjoy all the matches this year. He wakes up dot on time for the matches, mind you, without an alarm, does not feel sleepy for the entire 90+ minutes, clicks photos from the television screen to send me and watches the highlights with an unquenchable enthusiasm. “Jet lag is when people feel tired and yet find it difficult to adjust to sleep cycles after a long journey in a plane to a place with different time zone. I am unable to find an equivalent word for my state now after sleeping intermittently for the last 6 weeks. I will have no match to watch. Should I call it Soca-lag? Footlag?” Tonight, history may or may not repeat itself, but for history’s child, the football dreams will continue. 

MS