<p>As the football stadium mayhem in Kolkata played out on the television screen, my grandson was incredulous. “You mean to say thousands came just to see Messi, even when he was not playing himself?”<br>I said yes, for football heroes, it is normal. This hero-worship was something my Gen Z boy could only associate with rock stars. After some discussion I had to tell him that I had also undertaken a ‘pilgrimage’ to (then) Calcutta in 1977 to see another ‘great’ footballer, Pelé. </p>.<p>I hid the next part of the tale, however, for he would have thought that his grandpa was nuts. The trip to Kolkata was not to see Pelé play live but to watch the match on television!</p>.<p>We, a bunch of pilot officers, had been despatched after commissioning to Air Force Station Kalaikunda (KKD), located 150 km from Kolkata (Cal). The combination of the newly acquired freedom and the thousand-odd rupees pay in our bank was heady, resulting in escapades at the drop of a hat. In came the news that THE Pelé was coming to Cal for a match on September 24 between his NY Cosmos team and Mohun Bagan.</p>.<p>Remember, we are talking about 1977 – no personal phones and travel agents, so getting tickets was impossible. There was no television set in KKD’s Officers Mess, as Door Darshan’s signal did not reach there. There was, however, a senior officer who had one television in storage – the word spread that his squadron would watch the match on it at some picnic spot closer to Cal, where the signal was available. But what about us? </p>.<p class="bodytext">Well, Pelé’s <span class="italic">darshan </span>had to be done. Two of my friends and I decided to go to Fort William, the huge army establishment in Kolkata, and stay at any army mess that had a television. And this is exactly what we did a day before the match. In the evening, a stroll in the bustling New Market area showed that Pelé mania had gripped Cal, with posters and buntings everywhere. Suddenly, a rumour that Pelé had stepped out of the Oberoi Grand almost caused a stampede as people made a hysterical rush towards the hotel.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Match day arrived. The TV room in the Army Mess was packed with officers and families; we, outsiders, managed to get our foot in. The stadium erupted when Pelé entered the field, and every time he touched the football – which was not often, as he seemed to be protecting himself. And then, halfway, the television started smoking. In those days, every television set had a voltage regulator box that had to be manually operated to keep voltage within limits. With Pelé on the television screen, who would look at the voltage regulator screen? In front of us, the TV tube melted.</p>.<p class="bodytext">And so ended my Pelé <span class="italic">darshan</span>; the radio told us later that the match was a 2-2 draw. But for the 22-year-old me, Pele’s darshan was done, courtesy of a television set!</p>
<p>As the football stadium mayhem in Kolkata played out on the television screen, my grandson was incredulous. “You mean to say thousands came just to see Messi, even when he was not playing himself?”<br>I said yes, for football heroes, it is normal. This hero-worship was something my Gen Z boy could only associate with rock stars. After some discussion I had to tell him that I had also undertaken a ‘pilgrimage’ to (then) Calcutta in 1977 to see another ‘great’ footballer, Pelé. </p>.<p>I hid the next part of the tale, however, for he would have thought that his grandpa was nuts. The trip to Kolkata was not to see Pelé play live but to watch the match on television!</p>.<p>We, a bunch of pilot officers, had been despatched after commissioning to Air Force Station Kalaikunda (KKD), located 150 km from Kolkata (Cal). The combination of the newly acquired freedom and the thousand-odd rupees pay in our bank was heady, resulting in escapades at the drop of a hat. In came the news that THE Pelé was coming to Cal for a match on September 24 between his NY Cosmos team and Mohun Bagan.</p>.<p>Remember, we are talking about 1977 – no personal phones and travel agents, so getting tickets was impossible. There was no television set in KKD’s Officers Mess, as Door Darshan’s signal did not reach there. There was, however, a senior officer who had one television in storage – the word spread that his squadron would watch the match on it at some picnic spot closer to Cal, where the signal was available. But what about us? </p>.<p class="bodytext">Well, Pelé’s <span class="italic">darshan </span>had to be done. Two of my friends and I decided to go to Fort William, the huge army establishment in Kolkata, and stay at any army mess that had a television. And this is exactly what we did a day before the match. In the evening, a stroll in the bustling New Market area showed that Pelé mania had gripped Cal, with posters and buntings everywhere. Suddenly, a rumour that Pelé had stepped out of the Oberoi Grand almost caused a stampede as people made a hysterical rush towards the hotel.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Match day arrived. The TV room in the Army Mess was packed with officers and families; we, outsiders, managed to get our foot in. The stadium erupted when Pelé entered the field, and every time he touched the football – which was not often, as he seemed to be protecting himself. And then, halfway, the television started smoking. In those days, every television set had a voltage regulator box that had to be manually operated to keep voltage within limits. With Pelé on the television screen, who would look at the voltage regulator screen? In front of us, the TV tube melted.</p>.<p class="bodytext">And so ended my Pelé <span class="italic">darshan</span>; the radio told us later that the match was a 2-2 draw. But for the 22-year-old me, Pele’s darshan was done, courtesy of a television set!</p>
