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Journalism of Courage
I had heard a lot about Bangladesh’s love for football. With some luck, I managed to put it to test today.
Having returned to my hotel room earlier than expected after the wash out in Fatullah, I switched the telly on and there, on a local sports channel, was a game of football. Not just any game of football, but a World Cup 2018 qualifier between Bangladesh and Kyrgyzstan. It was taking place in Dhaka. At that very moment. Barely a kilometre away!
Before I proceed, let me explain why football is such a great spectator-sport: because it never frustrates you in a manner cricket does. Come hell or high water, you can keep playing it. And keep watching it and enjoying it. And I was keen on getting my daily dose of entertainment, having been denied by the heavens at Fatullah. So I picked up my camera and made a dash to the Bangabandhu National Stadium.
After wading through a sea of humanity, I reached the venue. It’s bang in the heart of Dhaka, next to a hockey stadium. And shares a boundary with Baitul Mukarram — the national mosque of Bangladesh, the equivalent of Delhi’s Jama Masjid. I noticed a billboard at the stadium’s entrance. It was of PM Narendra Modi. Right under it, a bunch of guys carrying a paintbrush stopped me, and before I could say anything, painted the Bangladesh flag on my hand. “Sir, we are art students, now you pay us,” one of them told me, whatever the heck that meant.
After escaping them, I ran into a man who seemed to be a tout selling “VIP” tickets in black. A VIP in black sounded prohibitively expensive, so I didn’t even bother to ask. I was looking for a cheaper stand. Possibly a free entry. I tried to talk my way through what I suspected was the entrance to my kind of stands. Turned out it was the “VIP stand”.
“You need to buy a ticket, sir,”’ the security guy told me. And where could I get one? He directed me to that very tout. He asked for 100 taka, and I paid him. I looked at the ticket and it said 100 taka.
Give no quarter
It was the second half and Bangladesh were trailing 3-1. But the surprising bit was that the stadium was not even a quarter full. The second Kyrgyzstan goal was off a penalty, and everyone in the stands (although few, but extremely noisy) were cursing India. The referee was a turbaned gentleman.
Most of the action took place near Bangladesh’s goalpost and there were no more goals in the second half. The referee blew the final whistle. Almost simultaneously the muezzin at Baitul Mukarram called the faithful to prayers.
The Bangladeshi fans, meanwhile, were taking off the posters. One of them read: “Faith! Believe!! Trust!!” Two guys walked past me shaking their heads. “We won’t make it 1000 years,” they said.
As the referee left the pitch, he was booed and more anti-India slogans raised. I saw the funny side of it though. The ref, after all, was from Singapore.
