![]() More than those of politicians and actors, it’s the faces of Ronaldo and Messi that peer at you from the shops, T-shirts, and even sling bags. The heroes that adorn their walls range from Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi to Sunil Chhetri and Abdul Sahal Samad, the brightest contemporary footballing talent from Kerala. Their worlds jostle between Brazil and Argentina, Real Madrid and Barcelona, Kerala Blasters and Gokulam FC, Manchester United and Liverpool. In a sense, the fans here are football citizens of the world. Salam Haji with his grandchildren “Ronaldo kuttan” and “Messi mon”. Even those matches that don’t feature the home side are reasonably well-attended. Most of the 25,000 seats for the Kerala versus Bengal game were sold out days in advance, most in the audience have purchased season tickets. To them, it sits alongside the European league competitions, the Champions League, the World Cup and Euros, and now the Indian Super League (ISL) in fervour. But it never fails to fascinate the audience in Kerala. Forget the country’s best footballers, even the second best hardly appear for Santosh Trophy, even if they are not tied by club duty. “How can I focus on my work when my hometown is hosting a football match? If you lose a job, you will find another but if you miss a game, you can never recreate that experience,” Majeed reasons.Īll these sacrifices are for the Santosh Trophy, a tournament that lost its grandeur and glamour long ago - a national tournament that faces an existential pang. When football fever grips, everything else pales. Local boy P N Noufal celebrates after scoring a goal. He wanted to be a footballer, but now satisfies himself playing drums on the football field around Malappuram, the most football-mad district of the football-mad state. “When the elephants played cricket and leopards leapt around,” he says, bursting into peals of laughter. Bhaskar ettan used to play the drums for a circus group. He has elastic wrists that he contorts to his will. ![]() The self-designated conductor of the band is Bhaskar ettan (elder brother), a spry man in his late fifties in a Castro hat, the ends of his long hair hugging the shoulders. Seized by a ceaseless flow of energy, the chants become louder and the beats become thunderous as hosts Kerala search frantically for a deadlock-breaking goal in the Santosh Trophy game on a soggy outfield, where the players slipped and stumbled. Eighty minutes into a scruffy encounter between Kerala and West Bengal at Manjeri’s Payyanad stadium, amidst a billowing mass of humanity, the fans have not stopped chanting and the bands have not stopped playing.
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