Chapter 107: Go Pro, Young Man!

Delhi

September 28

In the late afternoon of a quiet day in New Delhi, the cool autumn air drifted through the open veranda windows of the Prime Minister’s private residence at 1 Teen Murti Marg. Sunlight filtered through the dense green canopy of Neem trees outside, casting dappled golden patterns across the polished wooden floorboards of Ram Prasad Gupta’s private study.

Ram sat behind his mahogany desk, reviewing a series of domestic agricultural reports. Sitting in comfortable leather armchairs around the room were Deputy Prime Minister Sardar Patel, Foreign Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, and IB Director B. N. Mullick.

Standing somewhat awkwardly near the centre of the room, holding his tweed cap in his hands, was Sarangapani Raman. The 28-year-old forward from Madras, the undisputed star of the Indian Olympic football team that had taken Europe by storm just weeks prior, looked remarkably humble despite his sudden international fame.

"Sit down, Raman," Ram said warmly, gesturing to a leather chair directly across from him. "You are not appearing before a disciplinary board. You are among friends who listened to every minute of your heroic matches in London with absolute pride."

Raman smiled modestly, taking his seat at the edge of the cushion. "Thank you, Prime Minister. Sardar-sahib, Pandit-ji."

"We received the formal dispatch from our embassy in Paris yesterday," Nehru said, setting down his teacup with a pleasant smile. "The management of OGC Nice has formally ratified their offer. They are offering you a multi-year professional contract to play in the French First Division, a contract that includes a generous monthly stipend, furnished housing in Nice, and full professional bonuses. It is an extraordinary offer, Raman. The first time a Western European professional football club has extended such an invitation to an Indian athlete."

Raman looked down at his tweed cap, his fingers tightening slightly around the fabric. He hesitated, clearly torn by a heavy inner conflict.

"You seem hesitant, young man," Sardar Patel observed, his sharp eyes examining the footballer’s face with quiet empathy. "A young man who scored two magnificent goals to eliminate the French national team from the Olympics should not look so burdened when the French come offering him a fortune to play on their turf."

Raman took a breath, looking up at the three leaders. "Sardar-sahib, Prime Minister... I am deeply honoured by the offer. But over the past three weeks, since returning to Madras, I have spent sleepless nights thinking about it. I... I am completely undecided about whether I should accept it."

Ram leaned back, placing his hands flat on the desk, giving the young athlete his total, undivided attention. "Tell us what troubles your mind, Raman. Speak plainly."

"There are three major issues, Prime Minister," Raman began, counting them off on his fingers. "First, the language barrier. I speak Tamil and basic English. I do not know a single word of French. Moving to a foreign country where I cannot communicate with my teammates, my coach, or even buy basic groceries fills me with dread."

"Second," Raman continued, his voice laced with athletic anxiety, "is the matter of playing with boots. All my life, in Madras and across India, I have played barefoot. My ball control, my balance, my quick turns, they are all attuned to feeling the leather ball directly with my bare feet. At the Olympics, when the rain turned the pitches into mud, we were forced to wear heavy, studded leather boots. It felt like tying lead weights to my ankles. My natural rhythm was completely disrupted. In France, professional rules strictly mandate boots for every match. I am terrified that once I put on those boots permanently, I will lose the very skill that made Nice scout me in the first place."

"And third?" Ram asked gently.

"Third, and most importantly, is my duty to India," Raman said, his voice carrying genuine patriotic emotion. "Under the current regulations of international sports federations, signing a professional contract with a European club means I will be classified as a professional athlete.

"That means I will be permanently barred from representing India in the Olympic Games and the upcoming Asian Games, which are restricted strictly to amateur players. I love my country. The thought of never again wearing the tri-colour jersey at the Olympics breaks my heart."

Silence settled over the study for a long moment. Ram listened carefully, absorbing every word without interrupting, assessing the psychological and practical weight of the young man’s dilemma.

Finally, Ram leaned forward, his calm voice carrying that unbroken, monumental weight that instantly brought total clarity to the room.

"Raman," Ram began, his gaze steady and reassuring. "I want you to listen to me very carefully. You must take this contract. You must go to France."

Raman blinked, surprised by the absolute firmness in the Prime Minister’s voice.

"There is no shame whatsoever in admitting that European professional football is currently played at a higher tactical, physical, and organisational level than what exists in India today," Ram said plainly. "Admitting a reality is not an admission of inferiority; it is the first step toward mastering it.

"In France, you will train on world-class pitches, under tactical managers who have perfected the modern game, against some of the finest athletes in Europe. You will grow as a player in ways that are simply impossible if you remain in local provincial leagues."

Ram pointed to the dossier on his desk. "Furthermore, the financial terms offered by OGC Nice will provide you with a salary that will set up your future and secure your family’s financial independence. An athlete’s career is short. You have earned this reward through your sweat, your skill, and your discipline. You should accept it without a trace of guilt."

"As for the language barrier," B. N. Mullick chimed in from his corner chair, adjusting his glasses, "that is the easiest problem on your list to solve. The Intelligence Bureau and the External Affairs Ministry will arrange for a dedicated Indian liaison, a fluent French speaker and tutor, to travel with you to Nice for your first six months. He will live alongside you, handle your administrative paperwork, translate your coach’s tactical instructions, and teach you conversational French every evening until you are fully independent."

Nehru smiled warmly, nodding in agreement. "You see, Raman? The state will ensure you are never isolated in a foreign land."

Ram turned to the second issue. "Now, regarding the boots. Raman, international football is evolving rapidly. The days of playing barefoot on dry monsoon turf are coming to an end. Modern pitches across the world are wet, heavy, and require studded footwear for traction, power, and safety against severe injuries.

"Any temporary inconvenience or awkwardness you feel wearing boots is merely a matter of habit and muscle memory. You are a world-class athlete. Work with your trainers in Nice, practice in boots every single day, and within three months, you will find that boots do not limit your skill; they enhance your striking power and protect your feet. Learn to master them."

Finally, Ram addressed Raman’s concern regarding national representation.

"On the matter of being a professional athlete," Ram said softly, his voice imbued with profound strategic vision. "Signing a professional contract does not mean you are turning your back on India. Quite the opposite! It means you are being acknowledged by the world as one of the very best, a pioneer who can make a dignified living purely on the strength of his talent and skill on the pitch. By taking this step, you will open the door for dozens of young Indian footballers who will follow in your footsteps in the decades to come."

Ram leaned back, smiling faintly. "Yes, it is true that under current amateur rules, we will miss your presence on the field during the Olympic and Asian Games. That is a sacrifice the national team is willing to bear. But remember: FIFA World Cup qualification matches are open to professional players! When the time comes for India to march into the World Cup qualifiers, we expect our seasoned professional forward from OGC Nice to lead the national attack on the world stage!"

Raman’s eyes widened, a wave of pride and sudden clarity washing across his face. The heavy burden of doubt that had weighed on his shoulders for weeks seemed to vanish instantly under the Prime Minister’s words.

Sardar Patel leaned forward, resting his hands on his walking stick, a rare, approving smile touching his lips. "The Prime Minister has laid out your pitch, young man. Go to France. Score goals against their clubs just as you scored against their national team. Show them the steel of Indian youth. And when you return home on break, bring back their tactical books so our local academies can learn from them."

Raman stood up, bowing deeply to Ram, Patel, Nehru, and Mullick, his posture straight, his eyes gleaming with clear determination.

"I will sign the contract, Prime Minister," Raman said, his voice firm and steady. "I will learn French, I will master the boots, and I will make India proud in Europe."

"Well said, Raman," Ram replied, standing up to shake the young athlete’s hand. "Go forth with confidence. The Republic stands behind you."

A/N: Let me know your thoughts in the comments and reviews. Add the story to your library/collection to receive update notifications. Power stones are welcome as always.