On the windswept shores of Morecambe Bay, a quiet revolution took root late last month. A football club that once fought only for survival now carries the colours of Punjab. Morecambe FC, known as the Shrimps, more famous for pies than for points, has just been saved by the Panjab Warriors, a Sikh-led consortium that has pulled the club back from the brink.
As if destiny were favouring the brave, the first game under their watch ended in pure Bollywood drama. Eight minutes into stoppage time, with hearts racing and fingernails gone, Daniel Ogwuru, a player signed only a day before, drilled the ball into the corner. Obviously there was pandemonium. The stadium shook. The Shrimps had not just beaten Altrincham 2-1, they had announced a new chapter.
At the heart of this story stands Ashvir Singh Johal. Not old enough to hang up his boots and not young enough to be manager of a football club. The 30-years-old, turbaned, bearded Sikh became the first Indian-background man to manage a professional British club. Until last month, he was an obscure youth coach in Italy. Today, he is the face of an improbable fairytale, embodying both heritage and ambition. If the first generation of Sikhs in Britain built gurdwaras and launched free langars, the third generation is writing history in football dugouts. The turban, once a mark of otherness, is now the crown of Morecambe's future
Diaspora Pride
For the lakhs of Sikhs in the UK and the estimated 2.5 crore scattered across the globe, this moment was more than sport. It's visibility, it's identity, it's a statement that we belong, not just in gurdwaras and community centres, but in boardrooms and technical areas. Already, you can feel the ripple effect: from Amritsar to Vancouver, WhatsApp groups were buzzing, BBC interviews with players and managing staff were flowing and the diaspora was applauding itself.
But to be hones, this success is a diaspora story, not an Indian one. Because if we ask the awkward question, 'where do Indians stand in world football?', the silence is deafening.
Multi-billion dollar English football is a global bazaar of ownership. Americans run Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal, Chelsea. Emiratis transformed Manchester City into a colossus. Saudis now own Newcastle. Even Chinese investors had their fling. In the lower leagues, clubs are propped up by businessmen from Italy, Thailand, Greece and beyond. And now, finally, Sikhs from Britain.
But where are the Indians? The billionaires who buy Premier League apartments by the dozen but never a Premier League club? They could buy half the English pyramid on a good day in the stock market. But in football, Indians are absent, invisible, stuck in the bleachers while everyone else plays Monopoly with the world's most valuable league.
Players Missing, Owners Missing
It's not just ownership. Think of the players. Name an Indian who has played in the Premier League. Struggling? That's because there hasn't been one. Not in the top flight, not in League One, barely even in League Two. Tiny nations with smaller populations and economies punch far above their weight: Iceland produces Champions League stars, Senegal supplies entire defences to Europe, Japan and South Korea export heroes by the dozen. India, with 1.4 billion people, produces … a handful of players in obscure lower leagues.
This is despite having the Indian Super League - a tournament that attracts marquee foreign coaches and ageing European stars, a glossy spectacle with fireworks and Bollywood backing. Yet it has done little to lift the national team, which languishes near the bottom of the FIFA rankings. And that is the real paradox: a country with football citadels like West Bengal, Kerala, Hyderabad and Punjab, where the game is played with religious devotion, cannot translate passion into progress.
Meanwhile, English, Spanish, German and Italian leagues are household obsessions in India now, watched as feverishly as cricket. Bollywood celebrities wear their Arsenal or Manchester United scarves with the same fervour as fans in London pubs. India has the eyeballs and the enthusiasm. What it does not have, still, is a pipeline from Salt Lake Stadium to the world stage.
Meanwhile, the World Invests
Football is the most lucrative sport in the world. The Saudi Public Investment Fund is pouring billions into Newcastle and the Saudi Pro League. The Qataris made PSG a global powerhouse. Americans see Premier League clubs as perfect balance sheets. Even the Chinese, in their short-lived spree, picked up clubs in England, Spain, and Italy.
But Indians? They pump billions into cricket. The IPL is a money machine, yes, but it's also a golden cage. Every Indian businessman with ambition wants to own a cricket team, sponsor a cricket stadium, or sign a cricketer. Football barely registers. Which is why it's taken until 2025 for a group of Sikhs in Britain - not in Punjab, not in Delhi, not in Mumbai - to finally own a professional English club.
It's both a cause for celebration and a stinging indictment
Piyush Goyal's Wake-up Call
Only days ago, Commerce Minister Piyush Goyal gave a stinging rebuke to India Inc, urging them to shake off complacency and seize global opportunities instead of sitting cosy in the domestic market. His words land like a free kick off the crossbar in this context.
Because the truth is that investing in European football is the very definition of a global opportunity. These clubs are not just teams, they are global brands, cultural assets and commercial behemoths. If Americans, Emiratis, Saudis, Thais and Chinese can stake their claim, why can't Indians? Why should Indian tycoons be content buying penthouses in Mayfair but not football clubs in Manchester or Birmingham? Why do they obsess over IPL franchises but ignore the Premier League, where the real global audience lies?
Mr Goyal's message was direct: Get out of your comfort zone. It might as well have been addressed directly to the billionaires who fly into London on private jets but have never bothered to look at a club balance sheet. If Panjab Warriors from Hounslow can save a club, the Indian billionaires can certainly buy one
The Sunshine and the Shadows
And yet, let's not downplay the sunshine. The Panjab Warriors takeover is a genuine breakthrough. It puts Sikhs and Indians into a conversation they have long been excluded from. It gives visibility, inspiration and pride too. For Indians watching from afar, it's proof that tradition and ambition can travel together.
But we can't hide from the brutal analysis either. Until Indians invest in football with the same passion (and wallets) they pour into cricket, they'll remain on the margins of the global game. Until grassroots systems improve and pathways are created, the Premier League will remain a dream.
And yet, when Indians do invest in sport outside of cricket, they do it well. From Vijay Mallya's past ownership of Formula 1's Force India to Indian-origin businessmen running kabaddi and hockey franchises, to diaspora Sikhs saving a club in Morecambe - the capacity is there. The imagination is not.
From Morecambe to Mumbai?
So here we are. On a rainy afternoon in a small English seaside town, a new story has begun. The Shrimps, saved by Sikhs, cheered on by 3,000 fans, with a turbaned manager barking orders on the touchline. It's romantic, it looks like a scene from Bollywood. It could make for a masala movie like Sultan and Dangal.
But will it remain an isolated tale? Or will it spark a bigger movement, pushing Indians, in India and abroad, to think beyond cricket?
Because the truth is, India can do so much more. It has the money, the people, the passion. What it lacks is the will to look beyond the boundary ropes. Until then, the football revolution will be led not from Delhi or Mumbai, but from diaspora enclaves in London, Birmingham, and Vancouver. And maybe, just maybe, the first seeds of that revolution have been planted in Morecambe, where the land of five rivers now flows into the Irish Sea.
(Syed Zubair Ahmed is a London-based senior Indian journalist with three decades of experience with the Western media)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
