The First Touch

It always has to be in your control, the first touch, it let's you know you're in control.

After 8 hours of code, I swap my laptop for a pair of boots, chasing a football under floodlights like I’m 13 again, Ronaldo in my head. The field’s patchy, the ball’s scuffed, and my legs ache from coding all day, but when it’s at my feet, I’m not a software developer anymore—I’m that kid who dreamed of stadiums, not screens. In India, where cricket is king, football was my escape, my passion. And though life had other plans, it’s never really let me go.

It started at 13, glued to YouTube, watching CR7 tear through defenses—those peak Real Madrid days when he was unstoppable. His step-overs, his free kicks—they hit me hard. Football became an obsession, a world I wanted to be part of. I saw myself on a pitch, scoring clutch goals, living that magic. That was the plan. But life, sneaky as ever, rewrote the script.

College was where it came alive. I found my hombres—my brothers, my squad. Every evening, we’d take over the field behind the hostel, playing until the sky went dark. Those days were gold—sweaty sprints, bad tackles, endless laughs. I’d try Ronaldo’s flair, usually tripping over myself. We took that chaos to inter-college matches—piling into rickety buses, cracking jokes, winning some, losing more, having a blast either way. Those are the days I’ll never forget, the ones that sting because they’re gone. We’ve scattered now—jobs, cities, lives pulling us apart. I can’t call them up for a game anymore. It hurts, but you move on, right?

The dream was always to play football, to chase that CR7 fire forever. But India’s reality—exams, engineering, expectations—pushed me toward code instead. I traded the ball for a keyboard, the pitch for a desk. It wasn’t the plan, but I adapted. Software development became my new game. Still, football didn’t fade. After work, I’m out there—5v5 with whoever shows up, under flickering lights, keeping the spark alive. Ronaldo’s 40 now, still scoring in Saudi Arabia, and I’m here, kicking after hours, refusing to let it die.

Going Professional

We lost because we didn’t win.

Never made it. The story ends here.

The Beautiful Game

I learned all about life with a ball at my feet.

Then came the futsal tournament at work—a chance to prove it’s not just nostalgia. I captained our team, a ragtag bunch of coders more used to commits than corners. I channeled Ronaldo’s grit (and maybe a little Neymar), barking orders, pushing us forward. We won—sweaty, grinning, holding that trophy like it was the Champions League.

Summary

Life swapped my CR7 dreams for a dev career, but the football never left—I just play it on my terms now, post-6 PM. I don't believe I'm ever gonna stop playing football. It's a part of me. It's my passion. It's my life.