In Malippuram, a cosy hamlet in Vypeen which boasts a long and cherished football legacy, the Veli ground was an altar of the sport, where every evening, the children and the elders alike gathered for casual exchanges and a game or two.
So, when a plan was mooted last year to further improve the ground, the people here rejoiced. Indeed, there was good reason to. The plan — part of Kerala government’s ‘One Panchayat, One Playground’ initiative that aimed to build model playgrounds across the state — saw the allocation of Rs 99.4 lakh to Vypeen. Malippuram’s Veli ground was the chosen site for the upgrade in the constituency.
The idea was noble and the budget, generous. But when the first phase of the work began in late 2024, residents were perplexed to find boxy cement structures rising where once a green and open field was.
“Something had gone terribly wrong,” recalls Vimal T R, coach of a local football club who conducts regular training sessions at the Veli ground.
The foundation, which being laid for the proposed amenities was seeing the ground, once 3,725 sq feet in area, reduced to a mere 800 sq feet.
“As the walls rose and the open earth disappeared under cement, our confusion turned to concern. Four rectangular enclosures were created, with no grass, no turf, and no open field. Nothing! We had suddenly lost a playground,” he adds.
Swathish Sathyan, a local politician who’s part of a campaign to restore the ground’s former glory, concurs. “It looked nothing like a playground,” he says.
Apparently, the initial plan, put together by the Harbour Engineering Department, was submitted without extensive public consultation.
“It’s a classic case of top-down planning,” Swathish points out. “Projects meant for the community must involve the community. What good is a playground that no one can use?” he adds.
The recent fiasco at the ground, as several residents have already pointed out, is emblematic of bureaucratic disconnect. This ‘disconnect’ between planning and purpose has drawn sharp criticism from all quarters.
“It is a violation of public trust. People were never consulted,” says Rajeev C, another member of the people’s campaign. “What we got was an eyesore, not a sports facility.”
Political parties, youth organisations, residents’ associations and student groups have come together to demand accountability and change. And with it, the ground has, of late, become an epicentre of this politcally-charged discourse rather than a sports venue.
“This means children here have nowhere to play now,” admits Rasiya Jamal, a panchayat member.
“But that’s not to say that people here are against the development. They only want a few amendments to the current plan — i.e. to scrap the proposals to set up an open gymnasium and a parking area. There’s no need for those things there and that’s true,” she explains.
But when asked whether the proposed plan — even without the gymnasium and parking area — would mean the ground becoming unfit to play, she says, “Sadly, yes.”
“Earlier, it was a ground where sevens football could be played, and a lot of elders used to come and watch those games. I don’t think that’s possible now. The ground will indeed be smaller even without the gymnaisum and the parking area,” Rasiya elaborates.
‘But,” she continues, “there’s another open ground nearby.”
The community’s outrage has not gone unnoticed. Local MLA K N Unnikrishnan, who took the initiative to see the ground’s development, has reportedly agreed to a meeting with the community.
“It is expected that he will stand with the people and see our proposed changes implemented,” says a resident. The Harbour Engineering Department, which is overseeing the site’s development, will also be urged to make the final design blueprints public.
“Now that we have got their attention, we can get it right,” Rajeev says, sounding cautiously optimistic about the ground’s redevelopment prospects as work resumes this week.
“But can we play football there soon?” asks a worried Vimal. If all goes well, they will be able to by the end of the year.
