Football in Pind

At Phagwara station, we virtually dragged ourselves out of the train. The rush was overwhelming. It was a Saturday, and most Delhiites hop onto this particular train to head to the Golden Temple in Amritsar. But unlike our co-passengers, we got off at Phagwara. Traveling with a group of young footballers, we wanted to visit the pind (village) where football is next to religion.

We had so far heard about the football cultures and traditions of Calcutta, Goa, and Kerala. But Punjab seemed different. As the bus weaved past vast agricultural lands on our way from Phagwara station to Rurka (about 15 km from Phagwara), we were thrilled. It was the end of April, yet the heat was tolerable.

Rurka, a village in Tehsil Phillaur in Jalandhar, is entirely different. It is quiet, serene, and sleepy. Neighboring villages include Bundala, Kahna Dhesian, Dhinpur, Bir Bansian, and Pasla. In fact, Hans Raj Hans’ song “Pind Diyan Galliyan” comes alive as the bus moved deeper into Rurka Kalan, which lies on the Jandiala-Goraya road.

A youth football academy in a village? That sounds fascinating. But before introducing the academy, let me tell you about Gurmangal Dass Soni. Soft-spoken and affable, Gurmangal is not a former footballer or a coach who boasts about past achievements. He is neither a referee nor an official who talks endlessly without action. Interestingly, he is an electronics engineer with a deep passion for football.

In 1998, this young man, now in his late 30s, decided to create a football platform to help and promote the children of his village. He left a cushy engineering job in the US and dedicated himself full-time to football, selflessly. Another remarkable fact: Gurmangal does not draw a salary from this project, which has 14 paid staff members and an annual expense of Rs 24 lakh per year.

He formed the Youth Football Club (YFC) in 1997, which soon became actively involved in promoting football at Rurka Kalan. With the support of local villagers and NRIs, he secured significant funding to run the project. Starting with around 15–20 footballers, Gurmangal began participating in tournaments—and even started winning them. Prize money from the tournaments was deposited in a bank, and he soon accumulated Rs 80,000. His family also supported him, contributing Rs 1 lakh per year. Villagers joined the effort, helping promote the game at the grassroots level.

The YFC has produced six international players, from Anwar Ali (India and Dempo) to Surjit Singh Sandhu, Narinder Kumar Kaushal, Narinder Kumar Gill, Kulwant Singh, and Baljinder Singh. Today, the club boasts a Youth and Sports Complex, which houses a hostel for 24 players, a computer laboratory, a multi-purpose gymnasium, and a well-manicured ground. The club has also partnered with two schools, where students receive free education.

Currently, the academy has 125 players across U-12, U-14, U-17, U-19, and senior club categories. All trainees are provided free boarding, lodging, kits, and education. The Sports Department covers the expenses of 15 students. The club has employed four coaches: Jatinder Sharma, Amarjit Dari (a former JCT player), Kulwant Bunty (a former international player), and Mandeep Kumar from the Sports Department.

RIP Kallu Mian

Nahari

I was sad to hear the death of Mohammed Rafiquddin, 60, legendary nahariwala, who was popularly known as Kallu Mian in Old Delhi.

I had tried nahari at several pockets of Old Delhi including Bada Hindu Rao and Quraishnagar, but I was convinced none could beat the taste that’s available at Kallu’s.

Nahari involves slow-cooked meat along with bone marrow and garnished to taste and was first developed during the Mughal Empire.

I was introduced to the dish by some Walled City football fans. I was also told ‘a plate of hot and spicy nahari can give you relief from the biting Dilli ki Sardi’, which, in fact, turned out to be so true after those visits at Kallu's. 

It became a daily routine to walk down to the eatery at No. 80, Chattan Lal Mian behind Delite Cinema along with my elderly friends after covering the Vijayans and Okories at the Durand Cups, DCM Trophy's and I-Leagues, held during the Capital's coldest months.

Kallu smoked bidis and, very occasionally cigarettes. After several visits, I found him to be very punctual as he would remove the lid from the huge copper degh (pot) at 5pm. The rush was inevitable because of the huge demand and the stock would be over in flat one hour.

Most of his customers were from daily walks of life which also included officials from Old Delhi’s two famous football teams — City Club and Indian Nationals.

In those eras, these clubs had fierce rivalries on the field just like East Bengal and Mohun Bagan in Calcutta, but one thing I couldn’t ask him if he was a City or Nationals fan. 

“Kya kar reea hai. Sahab logon ka jagah de (give space to these gentlemen),” Kallu shouted instructions in his old Delhi dialect.

We were lucky to find a tiny space inside the shop. Sitting at arm’s length to the tandoor (oven) and next to the bread-maker, the forehead glistened with sweat, but the warmth was a protective cover to the freezing January winter.

Kallu, who had a thin physique, guarded the oval-shaped degh, but he would only instruct his boys on how to scoop the thickest portion from the pot as it involved some kind of technique.

The nahari arrived, glistening in a pool of oil. The roti was fresh off the tandoor and the extra plate of lime wedges, chopped chillies and slivered ginger completed the meal. The boneless mutton nahari was supple and succulent while the meat chunks already parted from the bones.

Thanks to Kallu Mian and football, I was introduced to the mouth-watering dish.