In the shadow of Manali’s snow-capped peaks, where the Beas River cuts through the Himalayan foothills, a group of teenagers gathers each evening on a scrap of land that barely qualifies as a playground. No goalposts, no grass—just stones, tree roots and thin mountain air at 6,700 ft. For boys from a government school, it is a football stadium, a training academy and a promise. Their constant is a coach who trains them for free, convinced talent can bloom even on rough ground. Thirteen-year-old Naksh Thakur speaks with rare conviction: “I want to play for India one day.” Then comes the caveat: “My parents want me to focus on exams. Football feels like a dream they don’t understand.”
Manali excels at tourism—skiing, paragliding, postcard views—but not at nurturing athletes. There are no proper grounds, no academies, and professional facilities lie far away in Chandigarh or Delhi. So the boys improvise: fallow fields, school courtyards, a taped-up ball. “We pool pocket money to buy balls,” Naksh grins. “They don’t last long on these rocky plains.” Their year peaks during May-June, when clubs like Brahm FC and Manali FC compete. “That’s where the fire comes from,” says 20-year-old Ansh Thakur. “When I’m on the field, I feel free. I feel like I can be someone.” Winter snow shuts everything down; they wait, watch matches online and dream.
At the centre of it is 28-year-old coach Hemant Thakur, a former player. “The journey was tough,”he recalls of his own barefoot beginnings. “Football is a different world.” He played for Manali’s local teams before moving through the I-League, Delhi Premier League and Orissa FC in the ISL, eventually returning home. What frustrates him now isn’t talent but the absence of support: “The players have immense passion, but the system isn’t professional.” What he cannot fix is policy. Himachal Pradesh’s 2025-26 budget of `58,514 crore is silent on sports, while football at the national level remains an afterthought, having received just `8.78 crore in 2024-25—only half of it utilised. Tourism continues to dominate Himachal’s priorities, leaving grassroots football to fend for itself. Thakur is blunt: “If they truly care about sports, they must prioritise football. Pahadi athletes are unique—they just need an opportunity to shine.”
There is evidence they can. Himachal has produced players like Vishal Kaith, now in the ISL and with Senior India, and others who held their own in the Santosh Trophy. On the women’s side, initiatives like the Inter-college Women’s Championship and Techtro Swades United FC have created new role models. Yet, in Manali’s villages, girls still lack grounds, academies and safe spaces. “Schoolgirls have shown interest,” Thakur says, “but I can only do so much without institutional support.”
As evening settles, the makeshift pitch slips into shadow. Stones still mark invisible goalposts. Naksh takes one last shot; the ball clips a rock and veers wide. He grins anyway: “One day, I’ll score on a real field.” Until then, they play on—fuelled by stubborn passion and a belief that refuses to shrink.