A businessman’s quiet football dream in Kashmir

Srinagar, Jul 11: It wasn’t the roar of the crowd or the glitter of league auctions that pulled Gazi Shakeel into football. It was something far quieter, a childhood memory, a worn-out ball, and the silent resolve of a man who believes sports can shape lives in ways statistics never will.

On a recent July afternoon, Gazi Shakeel speaks not like a franchise owner but like a father figuring out how best to protect his children’s dreams.

“I am not a celebrity,” he begins, tapping his mobile phone with a smile. “I am just someone who has been in love with sports for as long as I can remember.”

That love, stubborn, self-made, and enduring, has now taken the shape of a football team—Greenend Heros FC, one of the new entrants in the Kashmir Super League, a tournament that this year witnessed its first-ever player auction. But Shakeel’s story doesn’t begin here. It begins more than a decade ago, with an idea that seemed almost foolish back then: bringing synthetic turf to a valley that freezes for months and rains without warning.

“I had seen turfs abroad,” he says, his voice rising with remembered conviction. “I thought, why not here? Why should a boy in Baramulla or Anantnag wait six months to play again?”

That thought, part vision, part rebellion—led Shakeel into the business of sports infrastructure. He brought in Snap Sports flooring, initiated community grounds, and soon found himself mentoring local kids, many of whom had never set foot on a proper field before.

Among them was Insha, a young girl from Kashmir, whom Shakeel helped introduce to professional sports. “She is playing at a high level now,” he says, eyes lighting up, “and every time she plays, I feel I have done something right.”

But why football, one might ask, when Kashmir is brimming with cricketers and struggling hockey players? Shakeel doesn’t blink. “Football is in our soil. It is not imported like many other things. Look at our history—Kakroo, Sajid Yousuf, and Tariq. They weren’t stars; they were institutions.”

He recalls sitting on the sidelines at local matches, watching the passion in the crowd, the precision on the pitch, and the poetry of a game that unites without asking names. “I fell for football again,” he admits, “and this time, I knew I had to do more than just watch.”

So, when the Kashmir Super League’s organisers approached him again, he couldn’t refuse. “We had been in talks two or three years ago, but something or other always held it back—approvals, the usual delays. This year we weren’t even prepared, but I told my team, If we don’t show up now, we never will.”

On June 12, Greenend Heroes FC was announced. The squad—22 players strong—came together quickly, backed by a support staff that included mentor Majeed Kakroo, coach Masood, manager Khalid, and others. Shakeel calls them “mentors, not just professionals”.

The league gave him a team, but his mission was always larger.

“There is a boy in Kupwara who plays barefoot. There is a girl in Budgam who is better than half the district-level boys, but she can’t get a pass to a stadium,” he says. “These are the people I think about every night.”

Shakeel’s anger with the system is barely concealed. He speaks of elite capture in sports spaces, of a golf course “hijacked by the elite”, and of schemes on paper and rusted goalposts in real life.

“We offered the government free consultation. Just simple things—putting greens, nine-hole intros, low-cost models—but you know how it is. They will call you, click a photo, and forget.”

But even in that frustration, there is no bitterness. Only resolve. And belief—that private citizens can still be mentors, that a single team can spark a ripple, and that somewhere, watching Greenend Heroes FC play, a child might decide that dreams are still valid here.

As the interview winds down, I ask him what Greenend Heroes FC means to him—is it legacy, business, or just the thrill of the game?.

“It’s none of that,” he says after a pause. “It’s peace. It’s the feeling I get when I see those boys huddle before a match, not knowing what life holds but still ready to play with discipline, with heart. That’s what sport is. That’s what I want to give them.”

And perhaps that’s what Gazi Shakeel really owns—not just a team, but a growing corner of Kashmir’s sporting hope.