Calcutta

The journalist James Cameron wrote of Calcutta that it was “dedicated to the maintenance of suffering”. That was back in 1974, when the city was struggling to cope with millions of refugees from the war in Bangladesh, just as it had struggled with millions of refugees from partition less than 30 years earlier.

On arriving in the city, it’s the crowds you notice first; you wonder how the place manages to sustain so many lives. But somehow it does, a feat achieved in spite of the British, whose use of the city was the ultimate cause of so much strife.

When the British ceded to Indian independence in 1947, they left behind great monolithic slabs of Victorian Gothic architecture and a bureaucratic system Indians seem to delight in making more impenetrable. But they also left behind a passion for football, one that has made Calcutta the unofficial capital for the sport.

It’s remarkable how far back the game goes here. Mohun Bagan, the team favoured by indigenous Calcuttans, was formed in 1889, while their great rivals, East Bengal, started up in 1920. A game between the two remains the principle derby in both the city and the country.

In 1997, 130,000 fans packed Salt Lake Stadium to watch them play, and although crowds have dropped in recent years, the derby still regularly attracts crowds of 90,000. The rivalry is good-natured these days, although post-partition it became a means of venting various cultural and economic frustrations, culminating in rioting in 1980 that left 16 fans dead.

Traditionally, involvement in football carried enormous prestige in West Bengal – at one point there was an unwritten rule at Mohun Bagan that members of the Board had to be, at the least, members of the Bar – but the local game is no longer regarded in such esteem by the middle classes, and consequently it is suffering from a lack of big-name sponsorship.

Part of the blame for this decline must again be attributed to the British, albeit via the benign pleasures locals now get from regular coverage of the Premiership on cable TV. Much to the dismay of the older generation of fans, young Bengalis are now more likely to be seen wearing the names of Rooney or Drogba than those of any local players.

For a kickabout, join the crowds at the Maidan, the main park in Calcutta (any attempt at street football would be suicidal given the congested, chaotic traffic). If you’d rather discuss teams and tactics, the restaurants and coffee houses are full of people who speak with knowledge and enthusiasm.

Discussing the style of Indian football, they’ll tell you they want to see their clubs playing with the swagger of vintage Brazil, but Argentina also enjoy generous support here, suggesting that this devotion to Latin American football has its roots in developing nation solidarity. Its great public outpouring came in the ’70s when Pele paid a visit to the city and more than 100,000 people came to watch him perform a few volleys and flicks on a dusty pitch.

Putting aside such aspirations, Bengalis will admit that any discussion of style belies the fact that this is a country still struggling with the basics of the game. If they get these right, this city could be the first in India to produce a genuinely world-class footballer. Given all Calcutta has been through, they deserve this small but significant honour.