The sport has a billion fans in the country, yet the heartbreak is endless and the system in a perpetual crisis. 

Naume Basu

If you ask almost any teenager in India who watches football, they will tell you the same thing. We spend our late nights watching the English Premier League or Champions League, supporting clubs like Real Madrid, FC Barcelona and Manchester City, but deep down, all we want is to see our national team in the blue jersey at the FIFA World Cup. With a population of over 1.4 billion, India cannot possibly lack talent or passion for the sport. Visit Kerala, West Bengal, Goa, Mizoram or Manipur on any evening, and you will find children playing barefoot on open grounds, using plastic bottles or some other handy stuff as goalposts. The potential is immense, yet supporting the Indian national team feels like an eternal heartbreak: we begin believing in a big dream, only to watch it fall apart again.


The Plight of Indian Football 
To understand this frustration, we must look back at India’s long history of World Cup qualification attempts. Everyone recalls the famous story of 1950, when India was invited to the Brazil World Cup but withdrew because of travel expenses, inadequate preparation time and the prioritisation of the Olympic Games. The popular rumour that FIFA barred India from playing barefoot, however, is untrue. In 1962, Indian football reached the peak of its Golden Era. Under legendary coach Syed Abdul Rahim (Rahim Saab), and featuring P.K. Banerjee, Chuni Goswami, Tulsidas Balaram, Jarnail Singh and goalkeeper Peter Thangaraj, India defeated South Korea 2–1 to win the Asian Games gold medal in Jakarta. India was then considered the “Brazil of Asia”. Yet, we have never fulfilled the dream of reaching the FIFA World Cup.

The emotional power of football is what makes this dream so compelling. Watching Lionel Messi’s farewell match for Argentina against Benin, where he scored a goal and provided two assists, reminded me how deeply a legend can connect with his country. Similarly, whenever I play football with friends or economically disadvantaged children, a spectacular goal or knuckleball invariably brings the same name echoing across the field: Cristiano Ronaldo! He is my ultimate idol and theirs, a symbol of how relentless obsession and hard work can take someone from poverty to the pinnacle of world sport. Even at 41, he continues to represent his country with extraordinary commitment.

Ronaldo, Messi and Neymar are household names because children everywhere can watch them play. That makes the plight of Indian football even more painful. Ask an ordinary sports fan to name five current Indian national-team players, and many will struggle. We adore foreign icons while our own players remain virtually invisible in their homeland. Grassroots coverage, media attention and superstar marketing are inadequate. How can children dream of wearing the Blue Tigers jersey when they don’t even know the heroes representing them? We need domestic legends whom children can celebrate in every street and alley.

I remember my father showing me a photograph in his book Shades Of Kashmir. It featured Kashmiri children wearing Messi’s No. 18 jersey, now quite rare to find, while playing cricket. The image was an oxymoron: the GOAT was represented on the field, but the children were playing cricket.

Cricket, in fact, consumes much of India’s sporting oxygen, funding and media attention. Football is steadily growing as the second-most popular sport among urban youth, but cricket is treated as a religion. Children grow up with bats in their hands, round-the-clock television coverage and billion-dollar corporate leagues. When the national cricket team plays, the country comes to a standstill, prime-time headlines take over and sponsors rush to invest. Meanwhile, the national football team fights for scraps. Until football receives even a fraction of cricket’s institutional backing, prime broadcasting slots and cultural attention, our players will struggle to be noticed. I am convinced that more Indians are fond of football than is generally acknowledged.

World Cup Failures

Since formal Asian World Cup qualification groups were introduced, India has never come close to reaching the main tournament. Every four years, fans become excited after a couple of victories against lower-ranked neighbours. But against Asian heavyweights such as Australia, Qatar, Iran and Uzbekistan, our tactical weaknesses are exposed. We draw matches we should win or lose through avoidable mistakes in the closing minutes.

What makes the situation particularly disappointing is that Indian football recently appeared to be turning a corner. In 2023, the Blue Tigers played with courage and belief, enjoyed an impressive unbeaten home run, won the Intercontinental Cup and lifted the SAFF Championship in Bangalore before a packed, roaring stadium. Those victories helped India return to the FIFA top 100, reaching 96th place. Football pages on Instagram and YouTube were full of celebratory edits, and my school friends genuinely believed World Cup qualification was possible.

Then came the collapse. Following crucial qualifying defeats and failure at the Asian Cup, India plunged to 136th in the FIFA rankings. A fall of 40 places in such a short period was a slap in the face for supporters who thought we were finally moving forward.

The gap becomes clearer when we examine performances against stronger opposition. Against Panama, India secured a 1–1 draw, but our players struggled under a high pressure and surrendered possession too easily. Against Brazil, we lost 0–4. India maintained a reasonably organised defensive low block for the first 25 minutes, but once Brazil increased the tempo of their passing, our defenders lost track of runners and appeared exhausted before half-time. The 6–1 defeat against Uruguay was an even harsher reality check. Anirudh Thapa’s equaliser made it 1–1 and briefly sent Indian fans into a frenzy, but the team ran out of energy in the second half. Uruguay’s players sprinted past our defenders, demonstrating that technical ability means little without the stamina to sustain it for 90 minutes.

Is There Any Hope?

If India wants to climb back above 96th place rather than languish at 136th, serious changes are needed in team selection, coaching and fitness. Consider what Ranjit Bajaj and Minerva Academy have achieved by taking young Indian players to Europe to compete in major youth tournaments such as the Gothia Cup and Helsinki Cup. Their teams have produced extraordinary results, including a reported 19–0 victory over Brazilian opposition. Bajaj’s winning mentality, emphasis on discipline and record of developing youth champions make him a compelling candidate for a leadership role in Indian football, potentially even as head coach of the national team.

The goalkeeping position also needs fresh competition. Gurpreet Singh Sandhu has been a legend, saving India on countless occasions, but concerns about his speed off the line, distribution and handling of high balls make it essential to give younger, quicker goalkeepers opportunities. India needs players capable of reacting faster and building attacks from the back under pressure.

We also desperately need more aggressive, hungry attackers such as Ryan Williams and Edmund Lalrindika. Edmund demonstrated his potential with a remarkable hat-trick in the Durand Cup final, helping his team secure a major victory. Such fearless finishing is precisely what the national team will need as it prepares for a future without Sunil Chhetri, who has long been its dependable source of goals.

Above all, physical endurance must become a priority. European and South American players maintain their intensity for 90 minutes, whereas Indian players often appear exhausted by the 60th minute and begin committing needless fouls. Academies must embrace modern sports science, high-tempo conditioning and tactical education from an early age. Otherwise, India will continue to repeat the same story: enormous potential, but an inability to keep pace with the rest of the world.

There are, however, reasons to remain hopeful. Regional powerhouses and grassroots clubs such as Real Kashmir FC are changing the domestic landscape. Watching a Srinagar club rise through the league divisions and build a passionate following amid freezing snowfall has shown that Indian football is not confined to Kolkata, Kerala or the Northeast.

Kashmiri players are also making their mark. Danish Farooq Bhat, nicknamed the “Kashmiri Ronaldo” by local fans, illustrates the potential of talent from the Valley. With proper scouting and exposure, players from Kashmir can shine at major clubs, including Mohun Bagan SG, East Bengal, Bengaluru FC and Kerala Blasters, and earn national-team caps. Community-driven clubs and youth academies can help bring local talent into the wider footballing mainstream, while Kashmiri players can contribute physical grit and aerial strength to midfield battles.

Ultimately, we must stop looking for talent only in traditional football centres. Kerala, West Bengal, Goa and the Northeast are undoubtedly football-mad regions with outstanding players, but a genuine football powerhouse must draw from the entire country. Punjab, Maharashtra, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Jammu and Kashmir, and even small towns in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar could be home to exceptional players who never receive a proper trial or attract a scout’s attention.

At present, an overreliance on established football hubs means thousands of athletic, ambitious youngsters are overlooked simply because of where they were born. Organising grassroots scouting camps from Kashmir to Kanyakumari could dramatically expand India’s talent pool, bringing different playing styles, greater resilience and fresh hunger to the Blue Tigers.

The dream of seeing India at the FIFA World Cup will remain distant unless we turn our passion into a proper system: one that discovers talent nationwide, develops players scientifically, gives domestic football the attention it deserves and builds a team capable of competing for the full 90 minutes.

Naume Basu is a student and an avid football buff. 
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