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A Bengali Kid’s Journey

Growing up in India, football wasn’t something I encountered through direct exposure to European leagues. My introduction was through the television, spirited schoolyard debates about Messi versus Ronaldo, and my first vivid memory of a World Cup: 2010.

Football fandom rarely begins with analysis; it begins with a moment, unexpected, emotional, almost accidental.

For me, that moment occurred while sitting on my dadu’s (grandfather’s) lap in a typical Bengali household during the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

I was oblivious to tactics and the nuances between different leagues; I didn’t even know what “La Liga” was or that vast football universes existed beyond the local Mohun Bagan vs. East Bengal rivalry.

But I knew one name, whispered into my childhood by my dadu: “Messi.”

That single word started a journey to a club that would eventually shape the way I see football, identity, culture, and even history: FC Barcelona

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The 2010 FIFA World Cup in South Africa marked the first major tournament I genuinely watched with intent. The spectacle was unlike anything I had ever known: the Jabulani ball was famously unpredictable in flight, the incessant drone of the vuvuzelas provided an alien, buzzing soundtrack that reminded me of wildly played conch shells during a puja ceremony, and those late-night matches became the perfect, thrilling excuse to negotiate a later bedtime than usual.

My viewing experience was a ritual: I watched every minute of every game while perched comfortably on my dadu’s lap.

The tournament ended without an Argentinian victory; Messi didn’t score a single goal. Yet, the entire world, and especially my dadu, couldn’t stop talking about him. Spain ultimately lifted the coveted trophy, but something else entirely captured my burgeoning attention: the repeating chorus of names — Xavi, Iniesta, Puyol, Busquets, Pedro, Villa.

Then, one quiet morning, as I flipped through the pages of a local Bengali newspaper, a single line of text jumped out at me: “Spain’s World Cup heroes mostly play for FC Barcelona.”

That simple, informative sentence struck me with the force of a genuine revelation.

“So Messi and all these Spanish players,” I remember thinking aloud, “they all belong to the same club?”

In that precise moment of realization, a door to an entirely new universe swung open. I stepped through the threshold and into a world of football I never knew existed, a world that centered on Catalonia and a club called FC Barcelona.

Soon after, I did what any curious kid of our generation would do:

I downloaded FIFA 13.

That game became my football tutor. Barcelona in FIFA didn’t feel like a team, it felt like art. Pass–pass–through ball–Messi scores. Triangles, movement, positional play — everything made sense.

That was when football transformed from entertainment into logic, art, and emotion.

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Then came the treble-winning season of 2014–15. Everything I had learned in FIFA unfolded on live TV:

Messi, Suárez, Neymar

Xavi’s last dance

Iniesta’s magic

A team playing football like poetry

For me, that season was not just a memory , it was the moment I said:

“This is my club.”

Being an Indian Bengali, I grew up in a culture deeply rooted in language, identity, and political consciousness. So when I learned more about FC Barcelona, something clicked inside me.

Catalonia’s Fight for Identity

FC Barcelona’s motto, “Més que un club” (More than a club), is not a marketing slogan — it is a historical truth.

Catalonia has long fought to preserve its language, culture, and freedom. During Franco’s dictatorship, the Catalan language was banned. Cultural expression was silenced. Identity was under attack.

Yet there was one place where Catalans could still be themselves:

Camp Nou.

It became a safe haven, one of the few places where Catalans could speak, sing, and celebrate their identity without fear. Supporting Barça was not just football. It was resistance. It was rebellion. It was survival.

Connecting Through Orwell

Years later, when I read George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia, everything suddenly made sense.

Orwell described Barcelona during the Spanish Civil War as a city of courage, contradictions, revolutionary ideals, and cultural pride. A city fighting not for territory, but for dignity.

That book connected the dots:

Barça was not just a football club. It was the beating heart of a people’s struggle. It represented democracy, solidarity, social justice, and cultural identity.

As a Bengali who comes from a culture shaped by its own linguistic movement, political upheavals, and cultural resilience, I found myself emotionally aligned with Catalonia’s story.

The reason I love Barcelona is not limited to trophies or players. It is deeply personal and shaped by my own identity as an Indian Bengali.

I love Barcelona because:

I first heard of Messi from my dadu.

I watched the 2010 World Cup on his lap.

A Bengali newspaper introduced me to club football.

FIFA 13 taught me the science behind the magic.

The 2014–15 treble season sealed my devotion.

Catalonia’s story felt familiar to my own culture’s struggles.

Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia added depth to my admiration.

Barça taught me that football can be:

art,

resistance,

intelligence,

philosophy,

and identity.

And to this day, even through crises, humiliations, and rebuilding phases, my loyalty never fades.

Because I didn’t become a fan for the highs. I became a fan for the values.

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For me, FC Barcelona is:

a memory of childhood

a connection to my Bengali identity

a link to Catalan history

a philosophy shaped by Cruyff

a dream shaped by Messi

and a place where football becomes emotion

It is more than a club. More than football. More than a team.

It is home.

It is identity.

And it will always be a part of who I am.