By Tarun Chandy
Twas the night before Christmas break, and all of us lay
On the couches in the studio, in our usual way
After four months of toiling; of blood, sweat and beers
We could scarcely believe that we all made it here
Marc sat by the podium, a smile on his face,
Max noted we’d all made a mess of the place.
The group looked exhausted, quite ready for break,
But fuck all of you, coz i was still awake.
We’d all drunk ginerously, as we tend to do.
Some never made it back from the upstairs loo.
The last several months had all gone by so fast,
And we sat there remembering all that had passed.
From the first day, when none of us would’ve believed,
All the fabulous things we were going to achieve.
I felt oddly ready for everything in store.
That was billions of blank sheets of paper ago.
Then came the workshops, the cups and the shirts,
As we tried to induce creativity spurts.
Back then, the workload had felt rather mild,
Which allowed us to channel our ‘playful child’
We met some great people, with stories to share,
Of world famous campaigns and bombs strapped to chairs.
Some told us we’d make it, and showed us their skills.
Some claimed the industry was going downhill.
But we’re not that worried about the future just yet.
We’re too stressed with all of the briefs we’ve been set.
The deadlines are mounting, the hours go by quick,
And ideas are just futile if they’re not made to stick.
Yes, through these few months we’ve been put to the test,
Not always succeeding, but doing our best.
“We sell or we die” we’re repeatedly told.
Well we’re not dead yet, so we must have all sold.
But over this time, in the midst of the pain,
As papers were crumpled and babies were slain,
In the brief bouts of rest from the neverending rush,
We all came together as students of Hush.
Relationships formed and friendships were made.
A couple of people even got laid.
We became a family, and that’s even though,
We didn’t know each other, just four months ago
So here we all sit at the end of the year,
Contemplating next term with tension and fear.
And now, as I’ve run out of things I can write,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.