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19 : Elements of Liverpool's title-winning campaign

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1. Change : 8 th October 2015 is as important as 25 th June 2020 in the lustrous history of Liverpool football club. It marked the beginning of the end of a curse that had cast a shadow on everyone associated with the institution. That day, the Kop had welcomed Jurgen Klopp to his new home. 2.         History : The trophy cabinets, although a reminder to a glorious past, had, unfortunately, become our coping mechanism. Such had been the devastation from under-performing. So much of Liverpool Football Club had been about its history that it needed someone to finally tell us to get rid of that backpack and unburden ourselves. Only then, could we look forward, together. 3.        Patience: When the wheels have been set in motion, it takes time to pick up speed. For a football team to function as seamlessly on the pitch as the top sides do, there needs to be a right balance struck at every aspect of game management imaginable, most of which are controlled behind the scenes. ‘Please gi
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Losing

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  Losing creates space. Imagine, losing a thing you have treasured forever; a book, few photographs, the feeble plastic table that couldn’t bear the weight of your expectations anymore. Suddenly, there’s space staring at you. Space, you are not accustomed to having. Space, your eyes haven’t adjusted to yet. It works the same way with people. All relationships have an expiry date.   Only the way it ends, differs. Any feeling with the slightest bit of warmth in it comes with the fear of losing. That, one day, things will cease to go back to how they were. You never get to know when would be the last moment, the last day, or the last time. So, you embrace denial as your coping mechanism, hoping that a next meeting awaits. Familiar numbers in your contacts list do not send vibrations through your phone anymore, people you have walked many a mile with, now resemble silhouettes from another lifetime, and in this dreaded pandemic, even a ringing phone strikes fear in you. Marquez had
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Winter

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Winter never really arrives. It spreads. Slowly, in the wailing of gradually descending columns of chilly air emptying the streets as it gets darker. Out by the smog hugged shanties on the highway, in the dead of night the first pot of milk tea boils on blue flames. The bright yellow fire started by a homeless man is shared by few patrolmen, intercity drivers, and daily labourers. Winters don’t differentiate. Over the years, it has always found a way to show that everyone craves for a bit of warmth. Yet, for all its gloom, winters compensate fairly too. It brings with it blue skies and a sunshine that splashes Nature with a burst of colours. Orange and yellow marigolds, butterfly shaped pansies blooming against the backdrop of a green garden. Winter is about an afternoon siesta on the terrace, blessed by the 3pm sun, a cup of hot chocolate by the fireplace, in the evenings, at a remote hill station bungalow. Winters are more quilts and blankets than hoodies and jackets,
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