<p>It was yet another embarrassing moment for Indian football. At the Asia Cup qualifiers on Tuesday, June 10, Hong Kong, ranked low at 153, beat <br>India, marginally ranked higher at 127. But in a bizarre twist, this awkward <br>defeat opened up a chest of happy memories for me.</p>.<p>Some of my fondest childhood memories are associated with football. </p>.<p>Growing up in football-crazy Kerala helped, but it was my father’s love for the beautiful game that made those images indelible. He wouldn’t miss a match for anything. And for years — from the time I was four — he never watched a game without me by his side at the University Stadium in Trivandrum.</p>.<p>The stadium, built in the 1940s, could house 20,000 people. The colosseum-like atmosphere, the stadium packed to the rafters and the deafening roar of tens of thousands, remain alive in my memory even after all these years.</p>.<p>Kerala’s first international cricket match was held here in 1984. I was there too in the torrential rain, among jostling fans seeking to get a glimpse of the then cricketing heroes, still riding high after their ’83 World cup win. The match was sadly washed out. </p>.<p>But cricket aside, the stadium was known more for the football matches it hosted. </p>.<p>India was a football force to reckon with in the 60s and early 70s. We won the gold in the 1962 Asian Games and the bronze eight years later (alas, for the last time). A couple of Indian players featured in the Asian all-star eleven. The Japanese even nicknamed Inder Singh, the forward from Punjab “bullet train” - dazzled by his lightning runs. There was reason to hope. </p>.<p>Unfortunately, standards began to slip. India started losing and losing badly - often with score lines resembling tennis matches - against bigger Asian rivals, including South Korea. From then, the decline spiralled. </p>.<p>The decline was so precipitous that stadiums that would fill and over-<br>flow even for local matches started to see large swathes of emptiness. Television brought international matches into living rooms, and fans got a taste of what skill levels were like at the international level. Local heroes who were once household names slowly lost their sheen.</p>.<p>In a way, life has imitated sport. Falling into disrepair, the stadium is a pale shadow of what it was during its glory days. </p>.<p>Its decline in a way mirrors Indian football’s slow decay, marked by pitiable performances, tracking its decline from soul-stirring theatre to a soul-crushing spectacle.</p>.<p>But the stadium still ties me to some of my most precious memories. It has been 33 years since my father left us. Some memories fade with age. Some flicker and dim, flitting in and out of the mind’s realm. An innocuous trigger, and some rush in like a river hurtling down after a dam opens sluice gates.</p>
<p>It was yet another embarrassing moment for Indian football. At the Asia Cup qualifiers on Tuesday, June 10, Hong Kong, ranked low at 153, beat <br>India, marginally ranked higher at 127. But in a bizarre twist, this awkward <br>defeat opened up a chest of happy memories for me.</p>.<p>Some of my fondest childhood memories are associated with football. </p>.<p>Growing up in football-crazy Kerala helped, but it was my father’s love for the beautiful game that made those images indelible. He wouldn’t miss a match for anything. And for years — from the time I was four — he never watched a game without me by his side at the University Stadium in Trivandrum.</p>.<p>The stadium, built in the 1940s, could house 20,000 people. The colosseum-like atmosphere, the stadium packed to the rafters and the deafening roar of tens of thousands, remain alive in my memory even after all these years.</p>.<p>Kerala’s first international cricket match was held here in 1984. I was there too in the torrential rain, among jostling fans seeking to get a glimpse of the then cricketing heroes, still riding high after their ’83 World cup win. The match was sadly washed out. </p>.<p>But cricket aside, the stadium was known more for the football matches it hosted. </p>.<p>India was a football force to reckon with in the 60s and early 70s. We won the gold in the 1962 Asian Games and the bronze eight years later (alas, for the last time). A couple of Indian players featured in the Asian all-star eleven. The Japanese even nicknamed Inder Singh, the forward from Punjab “bullet train” - dazzled by his lightning runs. There was reason to hope. </p>.<p>Unfortunately, standards began to slip. India started losing and losing badly - often with score lines resembling tennis matches - against bigger Asian rivals, including South Korea. From then, the decline spiralled. </p>.<p>The decline was so precipitous that stadiums that would fill and over-<br>flow even for local matches started to see large swathes of emptiness. Television brought international matches into living rooms, and fans got a taste of what skill levels were like at the international level. Local heroes who were once household names slowly lost their sheen.</p>.<p>In a way, life has imitated sport. Falling into disrepair, the stadium is a pale shadow of what it was during its glory days. </p>.<p>Its decline in a way mirrors Indian football’s slow decay, marked by pitiable performances, tracking its decline from soul-stirring theatre to a soul-crushing spectacle.</p>.<p>But the stadium still ties me to some of my most precious memories. It has been 33 years since my father left us. Some memories fade with age. Some flicker and dim, flitting in and out of the mind’s realm. An innocuous trigger, and some rush in like a river hurtling down after a dam opens sluice gates.</p>
