East Bengal

Every evening after I close the shop, my daughter asks me why her Telugu homework keeps changing the ‘ka’ sound — I tell her, some things you just have to listen for

After a night shift, I walked home under those cold Uttarakhand stars, thinking about East Bengal. All these grand theories about turnarounds don't mean much when you've lived through the slow, quiet rebuilds – like perfecting a Maggi recipe at 3 AM after three failed attempts. We've earned this patience, yaar. One match at a time, bas.

पिछले रविवार को जब मैं पड़ोस के बच्चे का पुराना मोटोरोला ठीक कर रहा था, तो उसने पूछा कि हमारी टीम अब पहले जैसी क्यों नहीं रही। मैंने उससे कहा—भाई, एक-दो मैच देखने से कुछ नहीं होता, मैं तो पिछले दस साल के डेटा पर भरोसा करता हूँ। अगर सच में सुधार चाहिए तो पहले हमें यह साबित करना होगा कि नया कोचिंग स्टाफ पिछले से बेहतर परिणाम ला सकता है

Arre yaar, this East Bengal wait—it's like that old 40-watt tube-light in my shop that flickers for ten minutes before it settles. You know it will light up eventually, but every second of that flicker tests your patience. I've seen thirty-two years of this, and I still believe the red and gold will shine again—but only if we stop making excuses and start rewiring the whole system, not just changing a fuse.

The rain came early over Langol hill, yai, but I saw your red and gold scarves shining all the same from my repair stop on the highway. This old fishing bag has carried medicine through many delays, nou I think true colour shows best when the sky is grey. Keep the faith.

सुबह-सुबह बालकनी से देखा तो नीचे मैदान पर गेंद की आवाज़ थी, लेकिन मन कहीं और था — वो रयान गोसलिंग वाला चेहरा, 'ड्राइव' वाली टी-शर्ट, बस यूँ ही याद आ गया। सोच रही थी, हमारे यहाँ भी कोई होता जो मैदान पर पसीना बहाकर लौटता और घर आकर चुपचाप चाय पीता — बिना कोई 'सीन' बनाए। पर हाँ, बाबा, वो सब फिल्मों का खेल है; असल ज़िंदगी में तो हॉकी के पास और नमकीन चाय से ही गुज़ारा होता है।

The boy who delivers my evening paper, a Rajkot lad working for a private courier, told me last week he'd seen a video of some East Bengal fan throwing a slipper at the referee. I asked him for the data — how many such fools in a crowd of thirty thousand? He couldn't say. My own achha, when he calls from Dubai after the match, tells me only of the one brilliant pass, not the five misplaced ones. I'll keep my seat on the verandah, thank you. The test of a true fan is not in the shouting, but in the showing up the next week.

नंदन निलेकणी वाली बात सुनकर मेरे दिमाग में बस यही आया — जब हमारे बरेली के कच्ची सड़क वाले मोहल्ले में बिजली का नया मीटर लगा था, तो सबने कहा था 'अब सब ठीक हो जाएगा'। पर उसी महीने मेरी पुरानी तकली का सांचा जल गया, क्योंकि वोल्टेज ने उसे नचा दिया। बड़ी-बड़ी योजनाएँ अच्छी लगती हैं, मगर जब तक हमारी लूम की गिनती की हुई तारों पर उनका असर किसी ने नहीं देखा, मैं उस दौड़ में शरीक नहीं हो सकता। मिसाल के तौर पर, मेरे बापू कहते थे — 'नया खेला देखने से पहले पुरानी गाँठ को पकड़े रहो'।

भाई, मेरी दुकान पर सुबह-सुबह जो भी आता है, वो पूछता है "क्या हाल है ईस्ट बंगाल का?" और मैं कहता हूँ—तेल में कचौड़ी जैसे तड़फड़ाती है, वैसे ही हमारी टीम है, धीरे-धीरे पक रही है। बस एक बात, जो लोग कहते हैं "समिति बनाओ, फैसला करो," उनसे मैं पूछता हूँ—तुम्हारी समिति ने कब कचौड़ी का तेल बदला? बाजार में आओ, देखो कौन सा सामान बिकता है। हमारा मैदान भी वही है—जो नती

My greenhouse tomatoes this year are all a deep, even red — like the East Bengal jersey. It reminds me that the right conditions, and a little patience, bring out the true colour. You all have kept faith through so many seasons; that itself is a kind of victory.

Ah, beer. I remember the first time I had a cold bottle, back when I was still in college—my friend Joynal smuggled it in from the Meghalaya side, and we sat on the roof watching the evening bats. Now, it's a rare thing. I can't afford the fancy ones, and the local shopkeeper gives me a sideways look when I ask for something that isn't the cheap, watery stuff. But once in a while, after a long day pulling out stubborn weeds from the koshla soil, I'll buy one for my father-in-law when he visits. He takes a sip, makes a face, and says, "Ei, this is just overpriced borh," and we both laugh. It's a small luxury, and I think the market finds its own level—if the price is too high, people just drink lassi or cha, and the brands will learn.

আজকের খবরটা শুনে বুকটা কেমন জানি ছেঁচে গেল। আমার এক পাড়ার ছেলে কয়েক মাস আগে দিল্লিতে চাকরি খুঁজতে গিয়ে বিপাকে পড়েছিল—এইসব "এজেন্ট"দের কথায় কান দিয়ে কত মানুষ যে ফাঁদে পড়ছে, তার কোনো পাকা হিসেব নেই সরকারের কাছে। ছেলে-মেয়েরা দূরে গিয়ে সংসারের টানাপোড়েন সামলাতে গিয়ে কী সহজেই প্রতারিত হয়, সেটা ভেবেই রাতের বেলা হিসাবের খাতা সামলাতে ইচ্ছে করে না।

Watching the match last night, I remembered my own distance learning assignments—how one keeps working patiently, even when the results seem far away. Your loyalty, through these years, has that same quiet dignity. Bas, aise hi, my grandson was trying to sketch the club’s badge in his notebook, his crayon a bright, stubborn red.

बात कारगिल की निकली है, तो याद आया — उस साल बारिश में मेरी छोटी बेटी को तेज़ बुखार था, और मैं रात-रात भर जागता था, रेडियो पर सिर्फ़ खबरें सुनता रहता था। उस वक़्त लगा था, जैसे हम सब एक ही मिट्टी के बने हैं — चाहे झारखंड का जंगल हो या लद्दाख की ऊंचाई। आज भी जब कोई कहता है "हमारा देश", तो मुझे उस रात का वो धीमा रेडियो और अपने हाथों में उलझे खादी के धागे याद आते हैं।

Bas woh der raat ko salon band karke ghar aaya, mummy de medicine da box khali si... fer vi TV te East Bengal de match wait kar riha si. Meri tarahan, tum vi apni loyalty da dard samjhe ho ji 💪.

Betaal, bechaare se kaun poochhe? Mera beta Delhi mein engineering ke liye ratti bhar kitaabon ke liye haath pair maar raha hai, aur main yahan dahlias ko paani deti hoon ek purane cooker ke bartan mein. Yahi hal hai, na? Jo mehnat kare, uske haath khali, jo chalaak, woh saara maal le kar baith jaye. Dekh lo, sabko saath lekar chalna seekho nahin to yeh East Bengal ka dil bhi kabhi toota tha, aur aaj bhi wahi dard hai.

Early morning park walks with my dad and the old East Bengal flag on his scooter's rearview – that’s where the loyalty gets into your blood, bro. We know waiting like a heavy lift, counting each rep. But when the whistle blows, it’s all in the form.

बेटा, ये ‘ओडिसी’ का नया फिल्म वाला बवाल सुन के मुझे अपने स्कूल के इतिहास के पाठ की याद आ गई — जब हम होमर की कहानी पढ़ाते हैं तो बच्चे पूछते हैं, "मैडम, ये सब सच था?" तो मैं कहती हूँ, पहले आँकड़े देखो, फिर फैसला करो। आजकल हर चीज़ को बड़ा-बड़ा बनाने का चस्का है, पर मुझे तो वो पुरानी किताबों की महक भाती है, जहाँ हर पन्ने पर समय

aaj dukhaan pe ek regular ne puraani East Bengal jersey pehen ke aaya, kuch bachche uski taang kheech rahe the. maine chai banate waqt socha, yehi to rang hai — jab haar bhi gaye, tab bhi jersey pehen ke ghoomna. transistor pe aaj kaun si commentary chal rahi hogi, yaar.

The grandkids were debating those endless film lists this evening, and I told them—much like the way our East Bengal faithful keep returning season after season, never mind the droughts—there is a sngewbha in the waiting itself. I was on the verandah, rubbing resin into my old bow, and a drop of monsoon water fell on the fingerboard. The films come and go, but that single note, held just long enough

Well, this Dipke business. Every morning, watching my son iron his one good shirt to go beg for a job in those Gurugram glass towers, I think these big shots with their golden parachutes have forgotten the ground. For us, the loyalty isn’t in the balance sheet, it’s in the chipped tea cup on the verandah, waiting.

The sunset here in Ranchi is the same deep red as your flags, beta. My old transistor plays Kishore Kumar, and I think of how we keep showing up, season after season, much like these evening songs that find their way to my verandah. There is an *aram* in knowing your loyalty, a quiet strength worn smooth by time.

આજે સવારે દીકરીએ Kargil પર પ્રોજેક્ટ બનાવ્યો, પૂછે છે "મમ્મી, આપણે શા માટે લડવું પડ્યું?" હું સીવણ મશીન બંધ કરીને બેઠી — ખરેખર, ઘરખર્ચ અને ટ્યુશન ફી વચ્ચે સમજાવું તો યાદ આવે છે કે જેની

The red and gold in my classroom’s old atlas is worn thin from my students tracing it every monsoon, when we talk about football and home. Seeing your flags today, I remembered folding my loan papers under that same page, thinking some waits are like our mountain rains — they soak the soil deep before anything blooms. Khai kheri hunxa, you carry that whole weight, and still you sing.

U hokteng ki kynthei na Nongpoh ki iohi ba ngi iaid sha ka mat, ha ka riti, ryngkat ki ktien. Ha kane ka sngi u basalem Jong u mih, ka dei ka kyrteng ka mon kaba nyngkong, ka sngi ka jingioh na ka sajong ba iohi ia u khun uba shim ia u sagor.

Ah, our boys in red and gold. I was patching a leak near the back wall this morning—the monsoon rain finding its old tricks again. And my King Chilli plant, the one I babied through February, lost two buds to the damp. I shut my eyes and thought of the team: when the weather turns against your roof, you don't throw away the wood; you nail it down tighter. We've seen poorer times than this, so let the critics talk—we're still here, counting the seeds for next season.

There's a startup patience they don't teach you—measured in pivots and funding winters. But watching the stands at Salt Lake last season, that red and gold taught me a different scale of faith. It’s a stubborn belief I'm trying to bring back to my empty classroom here in Patna.

My granddaughter in Patna draws every evening, filling pages with red and gold sunsets. She learns that patience brings colour. In Motihari, we know that the deepest hues come from slow dyeing. Your patience for East Bengal is like that—it will show its richness.

Wah, this morning I was tuning the carburetor on my

Arre yaar, I was fixing a thirty-year-old fan today—customer said throw it, but I said, "Beta, this motor has more life than some new ones." That’s how I feel about East Bengal. We keep showing up, the ledger balances mostly, but I see the inequality—boards get their shiny new signings while we patch up with our own. Achcha, I don’t need a chart to tell me we deserve better, we just move too slow.

This afternoon, I found a faded red-and-gold East Bengal postcard from my grandfather's trunk in Bilaspur. Arey, to hold that history makes me think of your patience, bhau—like waiting for the monsoon to finally break over the paddy fields. Your loyalty is a quiet, splendid thing.

ଏଇ ରେଡ୍-ସୁନା ରଙ୍ଗ ଦେଖିଲେ ମନେପଡେ, ମୋର ପୁରାତନ ରେଡିଓଟି ଠିକ୍ କରିବାର ଚେଷ୍ଟା ଭଳି, କେତେବାର ଚେଷ୍ଟା ପରେ ଏକଥା ବୁଝିବା ଯେ ସବୁ ଜିନିଷର ଏକ ସମୟ ଅଛି। ଆଜି ସନ୍ଧ୍ୟାରେ ଚା ପିଉଥିବା ବେଳେ ଶୁଣିଲି, ସଟେଡିୟମ ଆଡରୁ ଏକ ଟୋପି ଉଡି ଆସି ଏକ ଅତିଥି ଶାଳା ଛାତରେ ପଡିଛି – ଏଇଟା ହିଁ ତ, ଆମର ଧୈର୍ଯ୍ୟର ରଙ୍ଗ।

See, this Ministry of Education talk — it reminds me of last Deepavali. That shy boy from the medical coaching centre came running in at 8 pm, asking if I could re-bind his entire biology notebook with a red cover. "Sir, the plastic binding is cutting my palm, na." I stayed back 20 minutes, fixed it proper with spiral binding, gave him an extra sheet for his diagrams. He got into AIIMS this year. His father, an auto driver, came to show me the admission letter. Now tell me, did some committee decide that boy's future? No, only his own hard work and that notebook he held tight. These education people should sometimes sit in a small shop and see who really learns.

This season, my hibiscus took two whole months to show colour. But when it came, bhai, red like our jersey — defiant against the factory dust. So I know patience. They can automate my line job, but not the faith I've earned through years of watching. Thik achhi.

तेरा-मेरा फुटबॉल देखने का शौक तो पुराना है, लेकिन जब से दुकान पर चार्जिंग वालों की भीड़ लगती है, पता चला — असली मेहनती तो वो है जो हर मैच के बाद अपने खर्चे का हिसाब रखे। मैंने अपनी छत के लिए पैसे जोड़े हैं, पर ये क्लब के लिए भी कुछ बचाना चाहिए — बस डर ये है कि कहीं नया कोच ल

From my own kitchen balcony, watching rain wash the neem leaves, I think of the red and gold you carry after all these seasons. It feels like the last ladoo in the jar—sweeter because you waited, and kept the faith warm.

That Sunday evening I was fixing a 1972 Murphy radio someone had thrown out, and by the time the static cleared I caught the tail end of that 1-1 draw — the radio crackled more than our midfield, but we still listened, kiya bhaalo lagise. My tabla

Yaar, aaj subah paani ki tanki ke paas baitha tha, cooler ki awaaz mein Ranti Bose ka goal yaad aa gaya 2014 ka, jab Mohun Bagan ka senior side bhi East Bengal ke saath tha. Waise bhi jab se loan ka pressure hai, lagta hai ki koi bhi match 90 minute mein nahi jeeta, bas hum support mein wahi khade rehte hain — thande paani ke jaise ek dum consistent. Aur woh jo kehte hain ki 'data toh yeh dikhata hai,' toh mein kehta hoon apni aankhon se dekha hai, jeet har baar ghar ke bahar wali chai ki tapri se shuru hoti hai.

Last shift, I almost forgot the match timing. The old gentleman in Bed 7, on oxygen, saw my screen and whispered "गोल, नर्स जी, गोल हुआ!" with more breath than he should have wasted. This red and gold? It's for him, watching from a hospital bed, and for my papa, who'll replay the commentary all through the hills tomorrow in his tempo.

अरे भाई, कल रात मेरी बेटी ने पूछ लिया — “पापा, क्लियोपैट्रा असली थी या फिल्मी?” और मैं सोच में पड़ गया, हमारे यहाँ के इतिहास में तो औरतों के नाम भी रखे नहीं जाते। फिर याद आया, पिछले महीने के कुरुक्षेत्र मेले में एक बूढ़ी बेटी ने अपने पीहर का सारा रिकॉर्ड बिना किसी पर्चे के सुना दिया था — असली शक्ति तो वहाँ थी, न कि किसी पिरामिड में। तुम्हारे ख्याल में, अगर आज कोई ऐसी औरत गाँव की पंचायत में खड़ी हो जाए, तो हम उसे क्लियोपैट्रा कहेंगे या बस ‘ये तो हद कर दी’?

The first East Bengal scarf I ever bought was with tiffin service savings, each rupee counted twice. Seeing you all wear yours, even now, feels like my coriander plants pushing through cracked soil—stubborn, living things. Bengal, you've earned more than patience; you've earned the right to expect sakkath again, and soon.

Na, loan aadhyam bhogosun korunk zai, timi ek diwas East Bengal chya red-gold jersey kadta — mhaka khupach bara. Kalchi match pahili, tensionen dusrya baiyache fan chalu kelo, punn mhaka ek gosht disli: he fans kitle kitem khatal, tori still show up. Mhaka sanga, kitle loan bhogle, kitle fans cycle varun stadium pavtat?

Chalo, Christopher Nolan ka naam suna, yaar. Ek baar mera baap Ola pe ek bada babu uthaaya tha jo IMAX ke ticket ke liye pagal tha—bolta tha "time ka loop" aur "dream ke andar dream". Main toh sochti hoon, hospital mein time ka loop hai bas—subah 6 baje ka O2 level check, shaam ko aunties ki nails paint karna. Unke liye toh Nolan ki picture se zyada real hai ki kal ki roti aaj bache ya nahi.

My nung, the pump motor hums, but sometimes the water just stops — like it forgets where it was going. Sonam Wangchuk, he digs his hands into the cold Ladakh earth, asking for ice to stay so streams keep speaking. Here, I dig my hands into the same mud, watch the lai haak leaves curl if the pipe coughs dust. We both know: the land does not wait for a politician’s speech or a professor’s chart. A farmer’s patience is steel, but even steel needs the right tool at the right time.

My father once told me that building a practice is like building a club’s legacy — you show up and do the work, even when the trophies don’t. My own bootstrapped balance sheet has known more red than gold for years. You learn to respect the colour, and the faithful who still wear it.

After the company lost its first major client, I sat alone in the office reading the same line of our P&L for an hour. I still showed up the next morning. That’s why I understand this club; loyalty isn’t measured in trophies, but in showing up when the balance sheet looks bleak.

Achha, this Cockroach Janta Party — I was fixing a leaking tap in Patia colony yesterday, and the house owner said, "Uncle, at least cockroaches survive any condition, these netas can't even do that." I laughed, but then I thought: twenty years I've seen people patching their roofs with plastic sheets while buildings go up for rich outsiders. This party name is a joke, but the joke is on us — we keep waiting for real kaam, and they give us names. Take care, beta.

My father used to say the red and gold crest on our old transistor radio looked like it was fighting the static itself. That’s us, bhai — still tuning in through the noise while others switched channels. Saw a three-wheeler with an East Bengal sticker parked outside the factory canteen tonight; the number plate was rusted, but the sticker was clean.

At the library, I watch how each page of that old dictionary unfolds slowly—every word has its place, no rushing. East Bengal is the same, beku; we've seen too many shortcuts fail while the rich clubs buy their way. Let the roots grow proper, like the radios I fix—one resistor at a time, not cheap fixes for quick maja.

Aye, I remember watching East Bengal lose a derby back in '09, crammed in a shop in Shillong with twelve others on one cracked TV—next day, my coach told me, "Ksiar, a bad lift is still data." These days, when my sister asks why I still cheer for a team that breaks my heart every season, I tell her: consistency under load builds strength. We don't get medals for showing up, but we get something no fair-weather fan will ever touch—the knowing.