NorthEast United

That pipeline reminds me of the old radio I fixed last month—some kid from Shillong who plays for the U-20 side dropped it off before he left for trials. Works perfect now, just needed a clean connection. Same as the football: the talent's always been there, we just got to stop treating these boys like toddy vinegar you can rush. Let them marinate proper, ho ji.

बिहानै चार बजे उठेर जब मैं पलामू किले के खंडहरों में बैठता हूँ, तो यहाँ के लड़कों को देखता हूँ — कोई सड़क के किनारे फुटबॉल खेलता है, कोई पुराने बरगद के नीचे गेंद को संभालता है। उनके पास कोच नहीं, कोई सुविधा नहीं, बस चट्टान और मिट्टी। अगर इनमें से कोई भी नॉर्थईस्ट के उस बड़े पाइपलाइन तक पहुँच सका, तो मैं समझूँगा कि हरियाली सिर्फ आँकड़ों में नहीं, बल्कि उनके घुटनों के घावों में भी छिपी है।

வடகிழக்கு இரயில் அட்டவணை பழையது கிடைக்குமா என்று தேடும் போது, Guwahati night match ஹைலைட்ஸ் பார்த்தேன். இந்த லீக்கில் பல கிராமங்களில் இருந்து வரும் இளம் திறமைகள் "quiet pipeline" மாதிரி, நம்ம ஊர்லயும் சிலர் government job-லும் அப்படித்தான் வந்திருக்கிறார்கள்.

I heard in Guwahati they cheer for Northeast players like we watch the monsoon clouds gather—quietly, but knowing how much depends on it. My neighbour’s boy from Sikkim trains with a club there now; his mother sends me *apricot jam* and says it is a hard road. Acha, if this pipeline is real, let it water the small gardens first, not just the big orchards.

Christopher Nolan building worlds from scratch—must be nice to have that kind of budget, na. Here in Meghalaya, my world is this rented room and the sound of rain on the tin roof, which I recorded yesterday for the fifteenth time. Every jingbam of a deadline I hit pays for my sister’s nursing books, and that’s my own quiet epic—nothing intercut, just one steady shot of bamboo waving outside my window.

Watching those boys from the Northeast play, I think of the fish seller’s son who delivers to my kitchen before dawn. He’s nineteen, fast as lightning on his cycle, and last month he told me his dream is to play for the big club in Guwahati. His mother packs his lunch in a dabba just like I do for my own kids—and that’s the real pipeline, isn’t it? The one nobody measures, but everyone depends on.

The boys from Shillong who pass through Guwahati on their way to trials — they sleep four to a room in a lodge near Uzan Bazar, same as my cousin did before he tore his ligament. That pipeline works because a boy from a village with one pair of boots has more hunger than the academy kid with three pairs. Let the clubs build hostels with proper physios near the stadiums first, phir dekhte hain how many actually make it.

અમારા ઘરમાં સીવણ મશીનની ટકોર વચ્ચે દીકરીનું ટ્યુશન ચાલે છે — એના ખર્ચા માટે મારા જોલા વેચ

अरे भाई, अभीजीत दीपके के बारे में सुना — अपने छोटे से गाँव से निकल के ऐसा खेल दिखाना, जैसे हमारे यहाँ कोई बच्चा स्कूल में छत्तीसगढ़ी कविता सुनाकर तालियाँ बटोर ले। मगर सोचता हूँ, हमारे यहाँ के नवा तालाब के पास शाम की सैर पर कितने लड़के गेंद को लात मारते हैं, पर कोचिंग का नाम नहीं — ये पाइपलाइन तो बस उन्हीं तक पहुँचती है जिनके पास पक्की छत है।

You know, when my son comes home from Guwahati for pujas, he talks about those floodlit nights at the stadium, how the boys from little hill towns run like they have the wind of the Loktak in their lungs. I think of my own loom—nobody watches me thread the warp at 4 a.m., but the shawl that comes out holds the pattern of forty monsoons. The pipeline is like that: quiet, patient, and it doesn't need a committee to know which thread is strong enough.

Sometimes on the radio, they talk about Guwahati nights and young footballers going to big clubs. It makes me think of our village boys leaving for the city mills, beta. The ones who send money home matter more than the trophy.

Last evening I was fixing a transistor for the haat’s chai-wala, and Rovers Cup commentary from 1975 was still crackling on its coil—makes me think. We talk of 'talent pipeline' like it’s a new pipe from the PHE department, but I saw a boy from my own bhaiti’s village, no boots, just lungi and chappals, nutmeg three city boys at the school field last xihor. That’s the pipeline: it’s always been there, only we were too busy bargaining for betel nut prices to notice.

Last week at the chai tapri I saw a young chokro from Mizoram trying to explain to the auto driver why he needed to reach the practice ground before sunset, and the driver kept saying "next round". This D vid Jonsson story, no, the real talent pipeline is that boy who will get a trial next year because someone spotted him in a Shillong league match — while the big clubs fight over foreign signings, half our best players still travel four hours on a local bus to train on a ground with no floodlights. My father built our house with his own hands; these kids are building the league with their own feet.

एक बार मैंने गुवाहाटी में देखा था, स्ट्रीट लाइट के नीचे कोई लड़का साइकिल की ट्यूब चेक कर रहा था—उसी एरिया से निकलते हैं ये जो नॉर्थईस्ट के खिलाड़ी. लेकिन असली सवाल ये है कि कितनों को मौका मिलता है बनाम कितने बीच में ही छूट जाते हैं. मेरे हिसाब से पाइपलाइन की तारीफ करने से पहले उसका ड्रॉपआउट रेट निक

All this film list talk reminds me of the Kollywood poster I restored last month for a client in Chennai. Meanwhile, half the lads in our local league here have faces I first drew for club flyers years back—now they're getting picked by those big teams. The pipeline starts on our muddy fields.

Our factory team lost to a lad from Dimapur last season, bhaina—he danced through our defence like it was nothing. When I saw him signing for a big ISL club later, I just smiled into my tea. The best ones always come from where people don’t think to look.

Harmu market mornings, my Surbahar’s dusty case, Guwahati nights… they feel like the same thread. We keep our riyaaz in small rooms, just like those boys from Diphu or Imphal do, before the league spots them. My landlord’s son in Mumbai doesn’t know he funds my wife’s medicine, but maybe he also funds someone’s new football boots back home. The pipeline is just family looking after family, really.

Lock Upp season 2 start aachu. En passenger orutharu sonnaru: "Idhu enna lock up? Namma auto-la road jam-la daily lock up irukom." Aama. Rear axle rattling sound ku mechanic solution solli kudukka mudiyala. Aana, 5 AM shift la tea shop la Ilaiyaraaja paati kekkum podhu, problem ellam marakkum.

Last week, a boy from a Guwahati mohalla came for a haircut before his trials, and yesterday I saw his assist on TV. It’s like our league runs on these quiet Guwahati nights, yaar. That pipeline must be as carefully kept as a perfect henna line.

Ka jingrwai ïa kiba dei ban leit Guwahati da ki match ha Highlanders’ room, hynrei katto katne ki guitarist jong nga ki la jop ïa ki jingstadio ha Shillong market lane. Ki dang thaw ia ka jaka ba kham bun ïa kiba ieid jingrwai.

Meri ek client Guwahati se aayi thi, usne ek zari wala sada satya geela khane ko order diya tha. Baat chalti-chalti talent pipeline pe aa gayi, toh usne kaha ki hamare block ka doctor bhi Shillong ke ek college se aaya hai. Yeh soch kar accha laga ki kitni khoobiyan pahadon se seedha hamare ghar tak pahunch rahi hain.

અમારી દુકાન પર એક નોકર છે બिप್ಲબ, સિલીગુરીનો. એક દિવસ એની કિક્વારીનો વાર્તાપટ જોઈને મને સમજણ પડી, NE સાથી તો આખી લીગનો સપોર્ટ સિસ્ટમ છે. આંહીના યુવાનોની મહેનત અને discipline બોલે છે પછી ભલે એ Ahmedabadમાં હોય કે Goaમાં. ઝુંપડીમાંથી શुरુઆત કરનાર એ ફૂટબોલર જાણે છે – જેમ ફિલ્મમાં કહેવાય છે, "करके दिखाएंगे!

I saw a boy from my own village, just a slip of a thing, kicking a ball with no shoes on the wet road near the market. Last year he was running after a Lajong match, and now I hear he is signed with a team in Goa. God bless him, but I wonder if the big clubs will remember the damp fields and the stone-walled houses that grew his feet.

ek guwahati ki raat suna hai, ki wahan bhi subah se pehle chulhe ki awaaz uth'ti hai. mere purane radio pe kabhi kabhi assamiya geet aate the... unhi awaazon ke bachche aaj league ko raushan kar rahe hain. yahan aloo ke gutke ko tel garam karte waqt sochta hoon, humare pahad ka bhi koi beta kisi dhabe mein aise hi subah jagata hoga.

गुवाहाटी की रातों की बात सुनती हूँ तो मुझे अपने पिता की दुकान पर उस पुरानी मशीन की याद आती है जो कभी बिहार से आई थी—जैसे नॉर्थईस्ट से खिलाड़ी आते हैं, चुपचाप, बिना शोर के, फिर पूरी लीग की रीढ़ बन जाते हैं। मैंने देखा है कि जब कोई कपड़ा फटा हो तो सबसे अच्छी सिलाई वही करता है जो वहाँ पला-बड़ा हो, बस यही बात फुटबॉल पर भी लागू होती है। हर बार जब मैं कोई चिकन का नया टाँका सीखती हूँ, तो

My neighbour’s boy used to sleep with a football under his pillow, dreamed of being the next Syed Rahim Nabi. Now he drives an auto in Raipur, because his father’s knees gave out and the academy fees were half a month’s salary. Everyone talks about the pipeline filling the league, but nobody asks what happens to the boy who leaks out of it.

Ai, my eldest was telling me just yesterday—her classmate from St. Agnes, that tall boy from Shillong, he’s now assistant referee for the second division up north. Made my heart glad, because you see, these boys and girls from the Northeast, they don’t come with fanfare, they come with skill. My own kitchen garden taught me that—the best chillies grow quiet, not loud. If the Ministry wants to do something useful, let them make sure every promising lad from a village in Meghalaya gets a good football ground to play on, not just a desk to sit at.

Bhaisaab, I see these young boys from Shillong and Aizawl come to our gym in Ahmedabad, no fancy gear, just raw fire in their eyes. It reminds me of my own 5am starts—before any big chain woke up, the only sound was the iron plates clanking. Same energy, chab? The league runs on their hunger, not on some corporate budget sheet. We just need to build more local grounds near the riverfront, quick—har din rukne se koi runner nahi banta.

Every time I sort old filmi booklets here, I find a new talent from Assam on the back page—such quiet, skilled names. My daughter says their engineering colleges feed half the league's discipline, yaar, like my little methi patch feeding our family.

మన ఈశాన్యం నుండి వచ్చే వాళ్ళు లేకపోతే ఈ లీగ్ గంట కూడా మోగదు. నిన్న రాత్రి షిఫ్ట్ లో ఫ్యాక్టరీలో పనిచేస్తూ ఫోన్లో ఓ రిపోర్టు చూశాను—ఈ సంవత్సరం టాప్ స్కోరర్స్ లో ఏడుగురు నార్త్ ఈస్ట్ నుంచి వచ్చిన వాళ్ళట. మా అమ్మాయికి కంప్యూటర్ కొనడానికి నేను ఎలా లెక్కలు వేస్తున్నానో, ఆ బడుగు బృందాలు తమ పూరి గుడిసెల్లో కూర్చుని ఫుట్బాల్ నేర్చుకుంటున్నాయి—ఎవడికీ నచ్చకపోయినా సాధించి చూపిస్తాయి. కానీ ఈ రోజు పేపర్ చూస్తే ఓ సబ్సిడీ కట్ చే

একটা পুরোনো পাঠ্যপুস্তকৰ দামেই গুৱাহাটীৰ এটা মাহৰ কোচিংৰ ফি। ইয়াতে থাকিলেও, শনিবাৰৰ ৰাতি ৰেডিঅ’ত লাইভ কমেণ্টাৰী শুনোঁ, আৰু ভাবো — আমাৰ ইয়াৰ পৰাই ওলোৱা খেলুৱৈবোৰেই যে গোটেই League খনি চলাই আছে। মায়ে আনি দিয়া চাহৰ কাপটোত ইমান আশাৰ ছবি কেনেকৈ ভাঁহি থাকে।

ਇੱਥੇ ਲੁਧਿਆਣੇ ਵਿੱਚ ਮੇਰੀ ਮਸ਼ੀਨ ਦੀ ਆਵਾਜ਼ ਸੁੰਨ ਹੈ, ਪਰ ਗੁਹਾਟੀ ਦੀ ਰਾਤ 'ਚ ਜੋ ਨੌਜਵਾਨ ਖੇਡ ਰਹੇ ਹੁੰਦੇ ਨੇ, ਉਹ ਸਾਰੀ ਲੀਗ ਨੂੰ ਸਿਲਾਈ ਦੇ ਧਾਗੇ ਵਾਂਗ ਜੋੜਦੇ ਨੇ। ਮੈਂ ਵੀ ਹਰ ਮਹੀਨੇ ਜ਼ਰੀ ਦੇ ਭਾਅ ਦੇਖ ਕੇ ਸੋਚਦੀ ਆਂ — ਕਦੋਂ ਇਹ ਸਿਸਟਮ ਉਹਨਾਂ ਪਿੰਡਾਂ ਦੇ ਬੱਚਿਆਂ ਦੇ ਹੱਕ 'ਚ ਕੰਮ ਕਰੇਗਾ, ਜਿਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦੀ ਤਾਕਤ 'ਤੇ ਤਾਂ ਸਾਰਾ ਖੇਡ ਟਿਕਦਾ ਏ?

Mon, the news about Sonam Wangchuk—it reminds me of the time I saw him at a small talk in Tezpur, years ago, when I was still in college. He spoke about Ladakh’s bamboo bridges and how they survived centuries of snowmelt without a single committee meeting. That afternoon, I sat under the Jolpai tree behind my school and wrote a letter to my father about how we might fix his auto-rickshaw’s axle without replacing the whole thing—just like those bridges, using what we already have. Sometimes the quietest solutions are the ones that last.

बीबी जी बोलीं, "तेरे फिक्स किए साइकल जितने मजबूत ही नहीं, नॉर्थईस्ट के छोकरे भी उतने ही मजबूत निकलते हैं।" गुवाहाटी की रातों में जो लड़के खिलखिलाते हैं, वो पिछले दस साल से हर क्लब के साइकल की चेन बदल रहे हैं — बिना किसी कमेटी के, बस मार्केट की ताकत से। पर मेरा मन कहता है, जो बच्चा अपने गाँव से निकलकर शहर की फैक्ट्री की शिफ्ट में फँस गया, उसकी गोलगप

Chalo, mainu taan eh NorthEast pipeline bahut sahi lagdi hai. Mera bada, ek chhota mundaa from Mizoram, last season mere gali de cricket team vich khedda, fer usnu Punjab FC de scouts ne utha laiya. Har roz subah canal de naal turda, ohdi chhokri da rhythm yaad aa jaanda — just like my machine's hum, steady and sure. Kise ne keha talent nahi hai? Market ne apna kaam kitta, committees ne ki khalo.

I was reading the data on how many boys from the Northeast start in the ISL now — it’s a solid number, not just a rumour. On my morning walk yesterday I saw a young man from Nagaland doing drills at the park near the methi patch, all alone, no coach, just his own discipline. That’s the real pipeline, yaar — not some grand theory, but the boy who gets up in the dark to practice on a wet field. I just hope the league doesn’t burn him out before he sees his first proper contract.

My grandson was solving his maths tuition sums last night, same time I watched a Highlanders match. That quiet pass from their new midfielder—so much like a young boy concentrating, no fuss, just the right thing. Jehri lorh, oh rondi nahin. The whole league is warmed by these Guwahati nights, I think.

Anu ithe basle ahe, Kolhapur madhe, aani me podina chi fresh chutney banvli ahe—aata Neha Bora chi khup aathav yete. Mazi ek khari sakhli hoti, ti Dokyam maans gheun yaaychi ani tasach khushal rahaychi, jaise ti pan khelat asta. Porga zopla ki mi embroidery kadun ghete, ani taichi mehnat baghun vatate, kasa ek tide ghalun dusre kadhe gheun jaila? Tichya shivay kasa hoil ha talim kasa?

Summa, a father from Nagaland came in yesterday to copy his son's academy forms. He asked about scholarship from the new education scheme. I saw his worn hands and thought, all these plans look good on paper, but the real test is whether they reach someone like him. The pipeline from Northeast isn't just on the pitch—it's in every village school that needs proper funding first.

Last night I was out on the verandah late, sipping black tea and watching the rain hit the streetlight, and I thought about how many of those NorthEast United boys come from lanes just like this—muddy, cramped, but full of xokha. The talent pipeline isn't some grand theory, it's just a boy from my old school who now plays for the reserves and sends money back to fix his mother's leaking roof. That's the only metric that matters to me: one less monsoon worry.

evaraina postcards lo Guwahati niluvalani chusa, andaru ilaantive anukunna. ippudu e room lo chusthe, meeku aa dorala talent ni league ki icchedi entho telusthundi, mana classroom vanta.

bohot achha lagta hai jab morning bus me purane ghazal sunte hue in hills ki sketch banata hoon...aur Guwahati ke nights ka naam sunkar laga ki mere beech night shift jaise hi honge, chai ki tapri pe sabke saath thandi hawa me planning karte honge. wahan se jo talent nikalta hai, woh pure league ko apne ghar ka bana leta hai.

Watching a young lad from the Mising community dance through three defenders in Guwahati last weekend, I thought of how the league quietly runs on these local rhythms, like my old scooter on pure petrol. It feels right that a club’s roots water the whole garden, not just one pot. A system that finds talent in the hills and valleys has a certain shaanta fairness to it, don't you think?

একবার দেখলাম, নর্থইস্টের একটা ছেলে—নাম ভুলে গেছি—গুয়াহাটির মাঠে বল কন্ট্রোল করে যেভাবে ড্রিবল করছিল, মনে হলো আমাদের বর্ধমানের রাস্তায় সাইকেল চালানোর মতোই সাবলীল। কিন্তু ওই ট্যালেন্ট পাইপলাইনটা যে কতটা ভঙ্গুর, সেটা বোঝা যায় যখন ওই ছেলের বাড়ির লোকেরা এখনও ভাবে, ফুটবল খেলে পেট চলবে না। আমার বাবার সাইকেলের দোকানের তেলের ক্যানের পাশে বসে যখন দেখি, কত ছেলে ছোটবেলায় ফুটবল খেলতে এসে শেষমেশ পেটের দায়ে অন্য

My son in Guwahati tells me the players come from places like Tinsukia and Diphu, sleeping three in a room near the stadium, their families sending *masor tenga* money each week. I see them sometimes at the *bazaar*—quiet boys buying *chira* and *doi*, not the flashy ones the city expects. The pipeline is long and not very kind, but it works because these boys know how to weave a life from thin threads, just like we do on the *xarai*.

अरे भाई, मैं अपनी दुकान पे एक पुराना कमॉडोर एम्प लगा रहा था, तभी एक बच्चा अपने बाप के साथ आया, हाथ में फटा स्क्वायर नेक गिटार लिए, डिमापुर से। पूछा तो बोला "सर, धीमा सुर चाहिए, नगाड़ा जैसा"। उसकी उंगलियों में चाय की दुकान के झुमका गीत की लय बसी थी, लेकिन पोजीशन पक्की थी। ये ईशान का असली खजाना है — यहाँ के बच्चों में वो मिट्टी का संगीत है जो कोचिंग में नहीं मिलता, बस मंच चाहिए और थोड़ा भरोसा।

Saw David Jonsson’s name in the listings and it made me smile, remembering the Guwahati night I spent tuning my radio to a crackly interview with some midfielder talking about fish markets in Shillong. That whole pipeline has a susegad genius to it—Highlanders’ scouting finds a gem where everyone else just sees a kazari of hills.

Every time I watch a match and see one of those lads from Mizoram or Manipur gliding past defenders, I think of the Anjuna market on a Sunday—tourists haggling over beads, but the real treasures are the old jazz LPs some uncle brings from Shillong. The league talks a lot about “talent pipeline,” but I notice the numbers don’t lie: the academies in the Northeast have been producing the highest pass completion and dribble success rates per rupee spent for three seasons now. My shop’s barely running, but I still have a stack of wedding *kazar* cards waiting for the *susegad* afternoon rush, and I know that kind of quiet, unglamorous work is what builds a proper team. If we’re serious about fairness in football, we should be sending more scouts to Tura and Aizawl instead of printing another glossy brochure about “grassroots.

Ah, this Northeast talent business... Every time I stitch a new blouse for a customer with that sturdy, quick-witted build from up there, I think of the Assam silk I once got from a travelling vendor — strong weave, no nonsense, held the shape even after many washes. You see it in the league too, no? All those boys from Shillong, from Aizawl, running like the wind doesn't touch them, but do our own local boys get the same chance to learn the stitch before they are sent to the big city? My worry is the same as with my thread from Chennai — if we keep buying the finished piece without minding the loom, one day the loom itself will fall silent.

My father showed me an old Highlanders jersey—the fine, tight weave in the border reminded me of our *khapra* pattern. Seeing so many players from small towns here reminds me of our own Kosa silk; the real skill is grown in quiet places, often overlooked until the whole league wears it. It gives me *umeed*.