BeyondBrush

In Pune’s arms, so wide, so sweet,
We gathered ‘round where art and hearts meet.
A city dressed in monsoon’s glow,
Where love and laughter freely flow.

We knew they’d come—we had no doubt,
That art and joy would both pour out.
The café buzzed, a magic den,
Of cozy corners and creative pen.

And there it was—oh, pure delight!
The “Gadha Ghoda” came to light!
Straight from Majnu Bhai’s wildest dream,
Painted bold with comic gleam.

The weather flirted with the breeze,
Whispers hummed through dancing trees.
The sky itself seemed to conspire,
To make our paints catch soulful fire.

The strokes were bold, the colors sang,
Through every hue, the laughter rang.
From giggles light to deep shared themes,
The vibe was woven out of dreams.

So here’s to Pune, brush in hand,
Where hearts and paints walk hand in hand.
Where movies meet the art café,
And we all left with souls in bouquet. 🖌️💕

We met beneath the whispering trees,
At Roots Café, with chai and breeze.
The sky was soft, the canvas bare—
I doubted if the crowd would care.

But there she was, my oldest mate,
Smiling, calm, defying fate.
And there She sat—my workday star,
Her laughter echoing near and far.
A third appeared, from Synchrony days,
With curious eyes and thoughtful gaze.

Three hearts, three souls, my gentle crew,
Enough to shade my world in hue.
I picked my brush, though stress ran deep,
My strokes were shy, my lines half-sleep.
But they kept drawing, wild and free,
Their joy began to color me.

We talked like mad, the laughter flew,
The worries faded, as laughter grew.
Then four more joined, the circle spread—
Like spilled paint merging thread by thread.
Strangers peeped and asked us, “Why?”
“What’s this joy you’ve painted in the sky?”

The clock? It lost all sense of time,
Two hours bloomed into three sublime.
And I just sat there, heart aglow,
In all the light these souls could throw.
Intellect danced with soul and art,
The kind of talk that warms your heart.

It wasn’t just a painting spree—
It was a glimpse of who I’m meant to be.
And as I packed my brushes tight,
I wished this warmth would stretch the night.
A prayer, a whisper to the air:
“May I keep finding souls this rare.” 🖌️✨

🖌️ “Lodhi Whispers & Paint-Stained Dreams” 🖌️

This BeyondBrush day, oh what a scene,
No chaos, no drama, just smooth and serene.
No wrong turns, no frantic calls—
Just paint and peace within ancient walls.

Lodhi Garden, like a dream on screen,
A backdrop kissed with shades of green.
Four painters strong, hearts open wide,
With brushes brave, they stood by my side.

They believed—not just in paint,
But in me, without complaint.
No second-guess, no hesitant pause,
Just faith in art and in the cause.

The weather? Chill, like nature’s hug,
The kind that makes your soul feel snug.
While nearby, Mishra ji’s tales did float,
Of anniversaries and uncle quotes.

Laughter danced in sunlit air,
And paint flew free without a care.
At the end? A gear pic, proud and loud,
A memory framed in a colorful crowd.

So here’s to days that just click right,
No mess, just magic and pure delight.
BeyondBrush bloomed with colors bold,
In stories whispered, and canvases to

🎨 A Poem for the Cyber Hub Canvas 🎨

In hues of hope and gentle grace,
We painted Cyber Hub, time’s sweet embrace.
With an old friend from my CA days,
When life was less maze, more sunray blaze.

Amid the blur of fake hellos,
And smiles that hide a thousand “no”s,
She stood—like stillness in a storm,
So real, so kind, so warmly warm.

While others danced with secret schemes,
She painted truth in brushstroke dreams.
No agenda, no hidden plan,
Just paint-stained hands and a helping hand.

The world now buzzes with pretend,
But back then? People used to bend—
To listen, to feel, to truly be,
Not just avatars in a vanity spree.

And though I’ve met masks in the masquerade,
That one bond still hasn’t decayed.
She showed up, no frills, just care—
To paint, to laugh, to simply be there.

So here’s to her, with colors bright,
To friendships that outlive the night.
More canvases, more tales to spin,
More power to her—let the art begin! 🎨💪

Some friends age like wine, others evaporate like cheap perfume. You know which one she is. 🥂

4o

Born in 2024, BeyondBrush found its flame,
At IIMA, it painted passion into its name.
Merged with Finesse, yet still alive, still bold,
Crafting tees, weaving art, letting colors unfold,
From Xpressions to Palette — a legacy of stories told.

Sita’s sorrow was more than exile’s cost,
It was love unanswered, dignity lost.
Today’s Sita would rise, not hide,
She would demand respect, stand with pride.
Grief deserves a voice — not silence inside.

158 hearts, one canvas of dreams,
Thumbprints pressed in innocence, not knowing what it means,
A fleeting year, a lifetime’s gold,
A community built, a story told,
Art carried their spirit — to heal, to hold, to unfold.

158 souls, one timeless frame,
Stories of dreamers, no two the same.
From fashion to forces, from models to CAs,
We built memories across golden days,
This art stands proud — our iconic batch photo, forever ablaze.

Prof. Vishwanath Pingali was more than just a professor — he was a storyteller of life.
Through his lessons, he taught us that graduating from IIMA is like adding a feather to our peacock — a symbol of growth, wisdom, and new beginnings.
Each class with him was not just about economics, but about becoming more vibrant, resilient, and ready for the world.
Thank you, Prof. Pingali, for reminding us that education adds not just knowledge, but feathers to our spirit.