The Chronicles of the Class of Covid

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It was nighttime in Boston. My friend GP and her flatmate sat hunched over a laptop, bulk ordering groceries online. On the other end of the room, I sat slumped against the wall, emotionally spent. Staring dazedly into space, I tried to process everything that had taken place in the last 24 hours. How had a virus, that until a few weeks ago we’d ironically clinked our beers to, cleaved my friend group in such a violent manner?

The previous afternoon, we were all on a beach in Puerto Rico for Spring Break…


In many ways, it’s fitting that it happened in 2020. In a year that’s already seen Kobe’s death, the Olympics postponed and a historic NBA player strike in the playoffs, our grasp of reality was further tested last Tuesday.

It was one of those moments that you’ll remember exactly where and when you first got the news. I was in my room that evening, when my phone buzzed with a text from a friend — ‘Messi leaving Barca, I’m heartbroken right now’. In the last couple of years, there’s been at least one story about Messi’s departure in every transfer…


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Source: SkySports

The knockout style Champions League and Europa League in the looming empty stadiums of Portugal had the feel of an apocalyptic spectacle. Having matches on a daily basis has spoilt us, and I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with my evenings now. Focusing solely on the last two and half weeks of European action, here’s my awards list for the

Best Player: Romelu Lukaku. The Belgian notched four goals and an assist in three games, but the own goal in the final marred it all. Football can be a cruel sport.

Best Player in a Supporting Role…


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The way we document our lives has always fascinated me. Some of us take photos, some journal, some collect and there are some who just don’t bother. We’re all so hyper focused on creating and documenting these moments in our life, that we don’t realize that there are certain memories we unknowingly collect our entire lives. A secret pensieve, that we can dive into anytime. These memories are stowed away in the art we consume — in the music we listen to, in the movies we watch, in the shows we binge and the books we devour.

We don’t create…


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It’s 6:56 pm. I’m seated in a corner of Regents Park, with a small water body in front of me. The sound of the paddle boats being cordoned away to one side of the pond fills the air. Just a couple of socially distanced feet away from me, a group of three men sit smoking cigarettes and taking in a foreign language I presume to be French.

It took me a long time to find this spot. An hour and 4 kilometers to be exact. It has been a lazy Sunday evening — with my parents away for a garden…


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Dear Mikel Arteta,

I remember the day you switched Merseyside for North London. It was late August — we were still winless in the league, had conceded 8 goals in our previous game and had sold two of our best players. There was absolutely no reason to be hopeful in such dire times, yet your signing gave me faith. After years of buying unproven French teens, you were the first quality Premier League player to join us. There was just something so distinctly Arsenal about you — with your perennially well cropped hair and clean cut features, you oozed class…


Read this book to start writing

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This book isn’t for everyone. The brusque and seemingly vague writing can be off-putting. In fact, half of you won’t read beyond the first couple of pages. But for the other half, War of Art has the power to bring about a significant change to your habits.

The author, Steven Pressfield, breaks down the creative process by simply showing that it doesn’t exist. While written from the perspective of a writer, this book should be required reading for anyone even remotely in a creative field. Pressfield says that the only thing a writer needs…


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The ref blew his whistle, bringing an end to the half. There was a flurry of activity, as fans made their way down the turnstiles for a quick beer, or for a quick piss before the next beer. The Emirates was abuzz with excitement — two goals in the bag, three points on the horizon, first place consolidated. It was going to be a good night.

This was just my 2nd ever game at the stadium; the noise, the adrenaline and the color had been an onslaught on the senses. The color in particular, stuck with me. How once the…


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It’s 10:58am in the morning, and I’m seated by the balcony with my laptop and music humming on my speakers. It’s raining outside — the showers alternating between rhythms. There’s just something about grey mornings that I find really alluring. Even as a child, I’d enjoy getting ready for school with it raining outside. Mornings are associated with peace, while rain brings a sense of theater to everything. Umbrellas, boots, trench coats and whistling winds — everyone is in costume. When the two come together, I instinctively find myself drawn to the balcony.

Morning rains feel apocalyptic, because of how…


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My school was football crazy. Actually, let me rephrase that, the kids in my school were football crazy.

The administration and teachers were very much anti-sport. They saw it as a distraction from the absolute main purpose in our lives; getting good grades. Even our PE teacher shared the same opinion! He was a middle-aged man with little interest in sport. He’d often boast to us about he used to play football for the State team, but seemed far more passionate about discipline, the cleanliness of our uniforms and our English teacher. He was a bit of a laughing stock…

Shubi Arun

The world runs on stories. So do I.

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