Happy New Year....

Hallo ppl,
A new year, a new beginning. The time to throw all the things of the last year that we didn’t like outta the window and herald a new year with the hope that it is bigger and better than the one that went past.
On behalf of the entire MadMag team, A HAPPY ‘N PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR.
This month’s issue begins with Sakshi doing what she does best; reflect on what the others think as mundane. One of my favs. I have tried to put to words what I feel. Comments welcome!!! The Mute Observer captures the CRP desire in FMCG…
Travelogue travels to Panchgani, just a drive away; a perfect getaway to enjoy the beginning of a new year. Phi has outdone himself, yet again. His food for thought was sumptuous.
Finally, before I sign off, to all the seniors taking the plunge in the corporate world, Congrats and All the very best!! Time now to spread your wings, to take to flight, a life endeavor...
~Aditya

My Silent Eyes Speak

I had thought that spending four hours at the Mumbai Airport with nothing to do would be quite an ordeal. But I had not considered that when not closed in sleep my bespectacled eyes love to watch. And when one is keen to watch, a comfortable chair at a busy airport can provide for interesting viewing.

Besides women in color coordinated clothes and men with the ‘I’m really busy look’, I noticed that the place was thronged with kids of all ages… Don’t worry; this is not an outpouring of a woman’s so called ‘maternal emotions’! (I don’t lay claim to those anyways)

Children, yes they look cute and can be fun to watch but they also have a world of their own. Their world is what we adults try to enter by becoming children ourselves. I mean I saw all these mommies and daddies making baby talk with their speechless infants. Infants who looked least interested in any sort of conversation and were on the lookout for the next bright object. I wondered how some gibberish utterances could help us adults enter the world of a child?

In this perpetuation of ourselves, in this need to have and be children, do we seek to return to that unconscious state of being, called ‘innocence’? Is there such a state in the first place, or do we adults just create it for our own comfort; in retrospect? Childhood, after all, has its own miseries, the miseries of dependence and ignorance.

So while I go back to silent observation, maybe you could ponder upon the real meaning of being a child.
Sakshi Diwan

Death to Love

As I hold you now
In my arms
One wish seems to run
Through my body
And racks my soul.
The breath that flows
Through you
I wish would stop.
Taking you from the living
To the realms of the dead.
No one should see you now
As I see you now.
No one should hold you now
As I hold you now.
No should ever love you
As I love you now.
Die my darling dearest
And immortalize my love
A love that encompasses
That shall love you to death.
Aditya Rajaraman

The Mute Observer

FMCG
(To be sung to the tune of The Beatles' Let It Be)

Out of all the firms coming to campus
Only one sector appeals to me
Alphabets of wisdom - FMCG

Gliding through the darkness
To this insti for my dream company
There can be no others FMCG
Four little letters say it all - FMCG

And when the disillusioned people
Living in the world agree,
Consulting was just a phase, So is IT

And even in the modern age
You need one to sell soap and tea
There is just one answer
FMCG
Four little letters say it all - FMCG

For clean skin, great hair
Fairness, fresh breath
and for teeth that are shiny
Shining on forever, FMCG

In my dreams I end up thinking
HLL's selected me
I'll be selling Brooke Bond, not just tea
FMCG, FMCG (repeat)
There will be an answer, FMCG
FMCG, FMCG (repeat)
There will be an answer, FMCG

Breakaway to Panchgani

Panchgani …. 2 hours drive from Symbiosis, is a must visit for all nature loving symbites. If you want to be in the midst of a tourist crowd, flashes of cameras all over….aha this is not the place for u. If you are looking for a relaxing weekend with your friends …yes this is the right place! Overlooking the Krishna river,it is a hill town, some 40 odd kms from the Bombay- Bangalore highway. The drive through the ghats is fabulous, might get more interesting with potholes for your company!

Eco camp is 2 kms from the main market. Private property of Mr. Andre, it has both camp sites and bungalows. There are tents with breath-taking views overlooking Krishna.
Krishna, the river , the village ,connected to the rest of the world just by a bus that shuttles two times a day and the green pastures covering the mountain, in all, the trek down takes you back to the old picture which u used to draw when u where a kid ! Before you get too engrossed in the beauty, make sure u purchase some chicken from the market, coz u have a well set barbeque kit available !!! Now if u are a cooking freak, just get on with the masala recipe. Its fun, cold and cozy in the middle of a moon lit night tasting the chicken with a sip of red wine.

All this may not be unique, but how about flying in the sky? No, I am not talking about marijuana . I am talking about paragliding. A run from the top of the mountain straight into the sky…awesome experience at a very affordable 100 bucks a minutes journey….aha I am not talking about a french made concorde! But believe me, its just too relaxing!

The numbers:
Tent : 150/ person, 6 in one tent
Bungalow : 200/ person


Come what way, do not come back without a dive into the Krisha.

News from the Fourth Dimension

I Write

I write ‘cause writing gives me a way to release the demons that I have in my head.
My pen becomes an extension of my mind and moves with gay abandon, with a mind of its own.
I do not know if the words I put on paper make sense to me, to others. All I know that they are there so that I can get rid of, exorcise, the ghosts that dwell in the deep recesses of my mind.

I also write ‘cause it brings me joy.
I feel that my spirit is soaring above the earth and floating into oblivion, free from all the troubles and breaking all the shackles of this mortal world.
I am no longer bound by the physical rules of the world and all my fantasies are real, they come to life.

And sometimes, when I am sad, the ink replaces my tears and the words become my emotions.
The fingers move and the words flow out, without a stop, baring my innermost feelings to all, so public and yet so private.
The words ache with the pain that I store within my heart, crying out for a touch that would heal my battered and bruised soul.

And then, I write cause I love writing.
I write without inhibitions, the fears evaporate at the sight of the pen and my thoughts crystallize into words; words that have a life of their own, independent of my existence.

I write so that I may be reminded, in the future, of the thoughts that once crossed my mind.
That I may be reminded of the way I once felt.
That I may learn the consequences of those feelings and not repeat the ones that hurt me and others.
Then again, I know not if I can do that, for emotions aren’t bound by reason…

The letters dance in my dreams, the alphabet: vowel and consonants swaying to the rhythm of my never ending thoughts.
I wake up drenched in sweat, looking for a pad to scribble, lest I forget what I feel. But then, I go back to sleep again, to be woken up again by this naked exhibition of the dark secrets I hold within me.
I tremble, scream and shout to get away from the feeling which engulfs me and draws me like a moth to the flame. I know my destiny like that very moth, but having fallen in love with the despair, I am drawn towards it, seeking solace in words where the night can offer me none.

I write so that I can go to sleep; I write so that I wake up: cause writing exhausts me yet refreshes me at the same time.
It taxes my mind and relaxes my soul.
It’s an aphrodisiac for my thoughts, which lock with each other in conjugal bliss, multiplying by the hundreds and thousands with no end in sight.

Some people say that writing is an art.
I don’t.
Writing is a state of mind, a semiconscious stage where the border between fantasy and reality blurs: the distinction between truth and fiction does not exist.
Anybody can write, you just have to know when.

And you have to have the courage.
The courage to put pen to paper and let it move on its own, starting with nothing more than lines.
Soon the lines become curves, curves become alphabets, alphabets turn into words, words come together to form sentences, sentences morph into verses and paragraphs and paragraphs run into pages: the pages of life.

And once I’ve written something, I don’t read it, never again.
Cause writing for me is instant gratification: for that moment and that moment alone, discarded for all eternity.
It’s a chain of thoughts that has lost its reason to exist, cause it is out of my head. It is dead. It is defunct.

I write about my dreams, my nightmares; about the light and the dark; about love and hate: but most of all I write about sadness.
Cause sadness depends not on the situation, but is a way of life, a way that most people follow.
Look under the skin of most people and you will find sadness.

I write about sadness cause writing about it makes me forget about it, makes me happy.
Ironic.
It makes me comatose, I can hear all, see all, but am still unable to react to my surroundings.
Its like a never ending high, in the depths of hell.

I write cause I am.
I am cause I write.

Phi says: It seems that we’re always hiding, except when we wish to be seen by people who should see us. We do nothing that we simply want to. Everything is calculated. Regimented. We live in a movable prison.