4Play Final

4Play, Hostel 4, IIT Bombay, April

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4Play The Official Magazine of Madhouse, Hostel 4, IIT Bombay


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Dedicated to

The Forever Enthu Madhouse Junta


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Contents

From the G.Sec 6

From the Editor 7

Six Days of Life Again 8

A Word of Wisdom from the Alumni 11

Sports Collage 12

Cult ural s Collage 13

Death is the Final Mercy 14

Ye Pyaar Nahi Hai Khel Priye 18

Kudos Korner #1 Sports 20

Kudos Korner #2 Culturals 21

Lukkha Corner 22

The Origin of Love 23

28

Answers to Lukkha Corner 29

Maintenance Work Report 30

Hostel Awards 31


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From the G.Sec.

What a year it has been! It brings me great joy, as

always, to be sharing the victories and lessons this

awesome year has gifted us. I would like to congratulate all

the H4 junta for being ever so enthusiastic throughout the

it would not have been possible to achieve so well and in

so many diverse genres of cult, sports, as well as internal

hostel infra refurbishing.

Today we stand as proud winners of the Sports GC. Everyone is aware that we

have won by whooping lead in Sports, an achievement that comes after a period of 4

years! We have delivered a jaw dropping performance in Goonj and grabbed the

first standing in the overall Music GC. Our outstanding lit enthu junta has notched

the second prize in overall Lit GC, the best result in the past 4 years! And our

talented speakers have seized the third standing in the overall Speaking Arts GC, to

speak of a few amidst the vast number of unnamed achievers who walk the corridors

of H4 every day.

And last but not the least, H4, in its own way, rocks at PAF too! I would like

to extend hearty congratulations to the entire PAF teamprod, FA, dram, music, as

well as every H4ite who worked, juggling between PAF and acads, to sincerely make

our event unique and successful!

In conclusion I wish all the very best to all my fellow hostel-mates for all their

future endeavors. I wish you all great enthusiasm and unwavering spirit toward the

hostel, and for your life, hoping that the enthu and jasbaat Madhouse imparted unto

us continue to help us be cheerful and dedicated as we all walk our own unique way

through life, in the years to come.

Thank you. Regards,

Rahul Jain (Juicy)

Hostel General Secretary


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From the Editor

Lo and behold! Another year comes to an end and the New Year

ushers in a brand new collection of our very own Madhouse chron icles.

The past year, as always, has seen remarkably

great achievements in numerous walks of

curricular, extra -curricular and of course, post-

curricular activities. May it be an enviable GC

standing of H4 in the weightlifting GC, or a

fourthie cracking a w hooping placement package,

or the super-enthu freshies notching up

commendably at the Freshiezza, H4 has always

been one of those few hostels which see such a

conglomerate of splendid achievements. Every

inmate has a share in this scintillating glory of th e hostel, and its

uproarious spirits, even if it manifested in a heartfelt cheering (or a

heartless anti-cheering!) at one of the GCs. The driving impetus that the

bonhomie at H4 has given and continues to gives to its inmates has its own

innumerable wonde rs to tell.

This magazine, as always, is dedicated to this very indomitable spirit

of the H4 junta. Kudos!

Thank You. Cheers.

Sanket D. Patil,

Hostel Literary Arts Secretary


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Six Days of Life Again

"Sorry Sir, but me and my t

been a long time and"

happen someday, but, but, I didn't expect it to be this early."

There was no sign of fear on his face, just widened yellow eyes and a transparent smile

which everybody could see through.

He got up silently, and dusting off the place where he had been sitting, he walked

towards the exit, very much symbolic.

"Doc, I have a last question to you...."

Doctor Nishod, who'd been sitting with his palm stretched out onto his wrinkled, pale

face, as if he'd grown 15 years older during his past 10 minute minutes conversation

with this regular patient, now quickly glanced upon him and sat up attentively like a

boy called up by his mother who's about to leave home.

"How much time do I have?"

The doctor went dumb stricken for a moment. As if the air he breathed had just

collapsed inside. Inhaling in air and grasping all strength he could, he uttered -

"I'm not sure, but maybe, I think....... 6 days?"

Time stopped in the room, everything stood still as if life had ran out of them all.

Without a word and a look back, the patient walked out of the room, silently out of the

sight of his doctor and the Cancer Hospital he'd been visiting so much regularly for so

long!

He watched the patients waiting in line. Somehow he couldn't see their pain or feel their

agony as he did every time, except now. The hospital workers, with whom he'd gotten


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so friendly the past few mont hs waved at

him, but his stone-turned eyes saw nothing.

Silently, like a baby crawling and toddling

to nowhere, he walked out of the hospital.

As he walked on the pavements of this

endless road, it seemed to him as if his brain

had just revealed itself to him. Forgotten

memories, relationships whirled around his

thoughts after so long that it seemed they'd

hid from him since eternity to open up at

this very close. Exit. The approaching end.

Even though he felt unfascinated by them all, he still drowned cl oser and deeper into

them.

He remembered his first crush; everyone in his company was crazy over her. But she

went off with some guy who eventually got her dumped.

He remembered his mother, who'd left him at such a tender age to arrive at the destined

st

face, her eyes, her nose like his; everything of hers seemed so much warm as if she sat

here, right now, with him. The warmth that he still felt of the sparks of 5 years o f his

brief appointment with his mother.

He also remembered his father, a person he would never forget, even after his death.

His father, who'd never made him feel lonely, never ever sad. He'd told him bedtime

stories, sung songs; yeah he was a good singer. They'd played cricket together, even

football, badminton, chess, and the best- 'Pillow Fights'!

He also remembered his sister, who'd kept their father nurtured for the last 7 years.

They'd always had lots of fun together. And since she was the elder one, she had always

cared for him. She was, and is, always a responsible, caring, and nice lady. Though her

love marriage got her divorced, she still led a life surrounded by joys, as if she attracted

happiness towards herself, and made everyone else's life a bed of roses!

Suddenly he glanced towards the moonlit sky, and remembered his friends, his

hometown, his home, his dreams that could never be fulfilled, and his memories that

could never be cherished. Everything now popped right in front of his eyes, and

everything around him seemed much prettier, happier, and colorful!


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6 Days weren't too short to live. Life now seemed much lighter to him. He was elated,

happy again, relieved and freshened up by the memories that hid deep beneath him.

Ready, for this very moment to arrive.

6 Days wasn't too short span of time. Life could be relived in this span. He stood on the

corner of the road, and very symbolically, he walked towards the end of the road while

the church clock on his neared midnight.

"6 Days isn't a l

was alive again, the minus inside him suppressed. He really wanted to relive his life in

this span.

After all, life is short, but truly beautiful!

He walked towards the other end o f the road, in a hope to cross it and reverse his life's

direction. In a hope to give his life a new path. In a hope to live the life bestowed on him

by his memories....

But all of a sudden he heard loud horns and screeches and brakes being applied to some

heavy vehicle. The hounds for him seemed to be coming from the screams and

whiplashes of hell itself. Paralyzed with fear, he spun around to see nothing but bright

lights that dazed off his eyes. In a split second as the chariot of inferno hit him with a ll

his might, he went airborne for a moment. And the next thing he knew, that he could

not know anything else. He could not live his six days of life anymore.

Darkness pressed down on him, pushing down his lungs. His body went cold, his mind

went blank and hot, unnerved by the heart's blood that had given up all the hope in

beating anymore. His head went loose, memories pouring out of it with red blood

devoid of pain. His eyes dropped close, taking alongside them the mystique aura of

mystery - if they dropp ed close, full of gratification for the gift of emotions and

memories his mind had bestowed upon him, or if they went too tired now trying to

fulfill an undead wish to take back what they could never have -

6 Days of Life Again.......

Parimal Chahande


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A W ord of Wisdom from the Alumni

The one factor H4 owes its rich and

remarkable hostel culture to would undoubtedly

be its treasure called the alumni. The ever-

dedicated alumni, full of enthusiasm serve as

ideals to the present generation of H4ites.

This year, the Institute Alumni Day was

celebrated on 29th

December, 2013. And as is the

tradition, several alumni of H4 graced the hostel

with their presence. It was great fun to be with the

alumni. They imparted various fundae to the

H4ites, derived from their own hostel life and

experiences at IIT and beyond.

Srijan Bhatt, the Hostel Alumni Secy recalls,

alumni. Although they were meeting after a gap of several years, perhaps decades, yet they met as if they

had met just two days back.

Mr. Deepak Patil, who did his Btech, Mtech and PhD all from IIT Bombay, has been a hostel

inmate for eleven years (1972-1983). He is one of the most

frequent visitors of the hostel, Cricket GC! (And we

won, of course! :D) During the event, he Hostel life provides you a great opportunity to get a

firsthand experience of the world outside, as well as to explore and evolve your own capabilities and

mindset. For this, there is a necessity to bond very well with your fellow inmates, and help each other grow

through sharing your joys and sorrows and life-lessons.

It is indeed the case with H4 inmates that they have inherently strong bonds in their hearts, as they

all share the common H4 sentiment (H4 E

inherit from our seniors, that gets consolidated year by year.

Mr. Bakul Desai (H4, 1977-1981), one of the compilers of Madhouse, the True Stories of the

Inmates of Hostel 4, IIT Bombay, added, The important things about life were taught to us not in our

Manohar Parrikar, the present chief minister of Goa,

als

Several Madhouse experiences were shared, and inmates were also encouraged to read Madhouse.

The alumni believe it will help rejuvenate the hostel spirits that are nowadays being stolen by social

networking sites and laptops. The Alumni stressed on senior-junior bonding, and emphasized on increasing

senior-junior interaction.

All the alumni were unanimous in their profound assertion that one of their greatest achievements

in life was the friendships they came to form while at Madhouse, because it is friendship that will transcend

the boundaries of wealth, distance and, above all, time.

Deepak Patil (1983 batch) with Bakul Desai (1981 batch)


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Death is the Final Mercy

She was crouching in a corner, hiding from the light, taking solace in the darkness, where none could see her. She was crying tears of agony, of pain, of fear. Her own eyes were afraid to look at herself, at he r body that peeped from behind torn clothes. Her legs were numb, from being tied down by chains for a long, long time.

Another thought of escape crossed her mind; another jolt of hope; another momentary emotion of happiness. And then it went again, leavin g a void in her heart

that filled itself with despair and desolation. She tugged her knees closer to her chest as she tried to hide the exposed skin of her breasts. She did not know who she was hiding from, but the very air around her seemed to be mocking her, teasing her with its presence. The chains that scratched the ground made a heart -wrenching sound

move. They should not see you. Dissolve in the darkness. Not a day ago, her life was happy. Her father, an ironsmith had gone out of the

house on his horse to fetch firewood. She was tending to her garden, watering the flowers. She was cooking food, waiting for her father. But he never came. His horse came back, bleeding fr om its side. Then came the sound of the town bell. Then came the demons that destroyed everything. Then came that horrifying man who beat her up before tying her up in a sack and dumping her here. And here she was, battered and bruised, hiding away from he r reality.

Why was she still alive? What did they want from her? Who else was alive? What about her father, where was he? Was he alive? Was he dead? These questions would enter her mind before passing away, as her thoughts faded into oblivion and she became still, like a stone statue, lifeless, yet alive. Her breathing was slow, her eyelids unmoving. She was staring at the slit in the tent from where streamed in a single slit of moonlight, waiting for her fate. She did not care about life anymore. It

t matter to her. Without her father, without her home, her village, there was nothing she wanted to live for.


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