It’s day I-have-lost-count of quarantine, and this is the longest I have been away from the university since I started it five years ago. It’s been a bit rough, but in my small privileged bubble of the world, my friendships have been going well amidst this lockdown.
Ah, Economics, you sexy sexy thing. Economics as a field is so enigmatic; are you science or art? Are you STEM or Social Science? Are you subjective or objective? I have always found it to be an exciting subject. As someone who’s been a loyal Planet Money and The Indicator fan (hey Cardiff and Stacey), I just really liked the field but felt like a fly on the wall, observing from a distance and just reaching out.
Until recently. Last year I briefly worked with smartass people who were from Econ background, learned stuff from them, and read books that horizon-broadening books. My favorite books were: What Money Can’t Buy by Michael Sandel, Predictably Irrational and The Honest Truth about Dishonesty by Dan Ariely. All of which obviously makes me developed a major crush on Behavioural Economics. (Is that weird if you find a subject sexy?!) Anyway, I digress. Back to Freakonomics, the book people claim to read and secretly wished they read but maybe just got through the first two chapters — I see you, I was you. Freakonomics is to economics books what English food is to the culinary world. Not much, pretty bland theory-wise but not a bad starting point (and good for hangovers). If you’re curious about what Economists do, their woes and worries with data, basics of causation and correlation, findings patterns, and sociological narratives — this is a dope book to pick up. For any seasoned professional in the world of data science, statistics, and economics — you know you can lift more weight, move ahead. I had this book on my clothes shelf, tucked between my running pants (how apt, both of them hardly get used), and I thought, I got nothing better to do than read this pretty boy right now. Read on my review. :)
While staying at home has been a harsh prison sentence for the social butterflies, I have been doing alright. I am a home-body. I’ll probably default to a night-in with a movie on my laptop, a semi-warm box of pizza, and a cuppa lemon tea. If not for my lovely extroverted friends and their strong insistence, I would have never truly explored the bling and life of my city. I am that person who recharges in my own company — throw in an entertaining show, delicious food, warm blankets, and I won’t leave my room for a few good weeks.
Call me Agnus Nutter, the witch, for I prophesied that I could ride out the apocalypse if I had some books and good tunes. (Folks who have read Good Omens, can I get an amen for that reference, please?) Don’t get me wrong; I love to dance and bop to party tunes, as long as it’s in my potato-zone. Heck, I even have a disco ball in my dorm room for that specific purpose. Party for One is my life’s motto.
I enjoy fancy dine-outs with friends, passively watching them play a video game on their PS4 while we share juicy gossip about people we have never met. I miss visiting random pubs and listening to live-music by budding bands, waving my hand furiously for the waiter to get me my fifth glass of water, talking loudly to drown the Punjabi pop-beats in the background. The last memory of in-person socializing is an impromptu five-minute Taylor Swift karaoke session while playing Detroit: Become Human. At the end of the evening, I recall saying, “ah, I am going to see you again very soon anyway, so what’s the fuss, byeee!”. This was at the beginning of March, LOL, indeed.
Two months of staying indoors haven’t been as detrimental to my mental and social health as I thought it would be. I mean, it’s undoubtedly taking its toll, but my hamster-self is thriving under these new dynamics for older friendships. For context, my close buddies from uni are all living in different time-zones. Now, I am not the best at keeping in touch if I can’t meet people in person. I am best at one-on-one meetups and do well in small groups. But move things online, and I struggle in that scenario. Sometime earlier this year, I created a Discord server for watching football matches online and maintaining some sense of regular connectivity with my mates. Since the rise of the “thing-that-must-not-be-named” and cancellation of all sporting events, our glorious twenty-two-men-chasing-a-ball server has become more of a keeping-sanity-while-maintaining-social-distancing center. In his hit song, Jet Lag, the wise Pierre Bouvier, of the Simple Plan, said, “You say good morning when it’s midnight” — he was describing calls with my friends.
This Discord server has now become my party-hub. In the last two months, we have remotely done more fun activities together than in the previous year. There have been virtual pub-quizzes wherein we shout at our laptop in frustration of not knowing the answer. There have been movie sessions wherein we all try to predict whodunnit in the first fifteen minutes and continue to fail at it for the next half hour. There have been bizarre long voice calls wherein we rank male football players on the scale of attractiveness — an insightful experience to understand what my hetero-male friends find attractive in other men (why you lot find Freddie Ljungberg attractive is beyond me). And of course, the most fun (and exhausting), virtual Football Manager. Watch as five teams compete for the coveted Quarantine Cup, drama ensues (Baker Street FC just had a humiliating loss in last game, the manager might get sacked). There is a particular delight in shouting at pixel-men on my screen to play better. At the same time, in the background, my mother wonders if I have finally lost it. It doesn’t have to be all fun and games, tho. Sometimes, the server is just a place to feel less alone, knowing that there is someone on the otherwise who is struggling with similar conflicting emotions of fear and uncertainty. Sometimes it’s just a portal to rant and let out pent-up frustration. Between resisting the constant brainwash to play Minecraft and annoyance of Pokemon bots, I have found solace and comfort in that digital space. For that, I thank you, mis amigos! ❤
This pandemic has made my social interaction slower. While sharing IG posts in DMs with “made me think of you, lol” is a cornerstone of my friendships, I am growing appreciation for long-drawn voice calls and email threads. For the longest time, I didn’t have any social media. I was that annoying person who communicated solely through emails. Recently, my badass babe club started this email thread wherein we share details of our repetitive weeks while reflecting on our mental state and culinary adventures. I also shamelessly share links to my articles because why not. I am enjoying watching my mates up-skill in the kitchen. I can’t wait to participate in a lovely dinner party when this is all over.
There is a different kind of affection in waking up someone 12,500 km away through incessant voice calls on Telegram just to join in for a game. Discussing post-retirement plans while watching Extraction on Netflix-party feels more delightful. Every single moment spending gossiping on Facetime, looking forward to replying to an email, conversing by only sharing music playlists, feels precious. Having spent the last few years on a bustling university campus where every social interaction was two steps away, I forgot that value and privilege of it all. Snoozing on plans because there will always be the next weekend, postponing movie-nights because it’s not urgent, (literally) sleeping past brunches because there’s always another Sunday. This situation has reminded me, once again, not to take these everyday joys for granted.
Having said all this, guys, I don’t think I’ll be able to join for boardgame night. Have an article to finish, sorry!