ON a drizzly afternoon, as the sun plays hide and seek, a man sporting an elegant goatee and a loose track suit watches keenly from the empty spectator stands. Groups of boys in yellow jerseys dribble white footballs, shuffle to fake a circular move as they hit a pass, then attempt to rest a flying ball on the chest before it drops down perfectly on the toe. It has been three years since coach Juan Marcos Troia arrived in Kashmir, during which he helped a ragtag team of school boys fall in love with their traps, dribbles and kicks. That’s unusual for a region whose stadiums, when they reverberate, do so with fiery slogans and political speeches. But when Marcos left his home in Argentina and arrived in Kashmir with wife Priscila Barros Pedroso and their three little daughters Brisa, Dafne and Amanee, he instinctively knew football would keep him back.

As Marcos speaks, a tall teenager attempts a bicycle kick, his body moving in a dazzling summersault. “This is the boy,” Marcos whispers. “Our captain, Basharat. He is 18 and an exceptional player and a natural leader.” But the coach is pained. His star player was among the three from his academy who were selected for a special professional training by clubs in Spain and Brazil. But Basharat can’t make the trip—he was denied a passport because his father was a militant.

Three years in Kashmir and Marcos is slowly beginning to realise that he can’t insulate himself from the larger story of Kashmir, however hard he tried. “I know my boys are here to play football and not pelt stones or take up guns. Their sole aim is to become professional players. They are working hard but sadly, that’s not enough. How can one change his family’s past?”

... contd.