Almost 10 years ago, the great Cyrus Oshidar took me and two other kids under his creative wings at Ambience Advertising. And instructed us to report to a motley writer-art director duo.

8 months later, the duo, who had by then become my guiding light in the big bad world of advertising, chose me over the other two kids and offered me a part time job as junior copywriter. I would have to come in after college and I would be given Rs. 3500 plus unlimited cigarettes and alcohol in remuneration. I jumped at it.

I lasted another 2 years under them. I learnt everything there was to learn about advertising. I learnt that the last thing a writer should do was write. I learnt that it’s easy to complicate communication and very very difficult to keep things simple. I learnt to push myself so hard that no one else could possible find fault in my work or my persona. I learnt to think visually. I learnt that food at Jhunka Bhakar stalls and seedy little muslim places at Mahim was fucking delicious to eat, so what it was non-glamorous and dirt cheap. I learnt that there’s two sides to advertising – the glamorous conformity and the low profile persistent search for creative excellence. And I also learnt that option 2 was to be chosen if one wanted a clear conscience and peaceful sleep at night.

I lasted 3 years in advertising and got disillusioned with the increasing conformity around me, and started to hate the nothing I was gradually being reduced to. The motley duo moved to Ogilvy, and asked me to move with them. After a long heart to heart with them, they advised me to quit advertising altogether, and chase my filmmaking dreams.

One year later, they gave me my first campaign of commercials when I turned independent filmmaker. And set off something special in my life. While I was chasing my dreams, they were winning awards after awards all over the world for their groundbreaking work. Somewhere along the line they both got married to their respective sweethearts, and everyone joked that their wives would be constantly jealous because the husbands were inseparable.

When my dream started to reach culmination, they thumped me on the back and said they were proud of me. They told me that I’d surely kick serious ass, and I’d better start trying to look presentable because people would soon want to take my pictures. The last time I met them was almost a year ago, when they were down from Bangalore, shooting a commercial.

Mahesh Vijayan, the brightest star in Indian Advertising suddenly passed away on the 20^th of March. I couldn’t bring myself to call his art partner Rajiv for one week because I didn’t know what I would possibly say to him. I finally called him today, and for once, we couldn’t say anything to each other. I just thought of one day almost 9 years ago when we were drinking at my place, and Mahesh had jokingly said to Rajiv ‘Gandu, mai kisi aur art director ko pakad loonga, tera career barbad ho jayega’. And Rajiv had smiled back and said something to the effect of ‘Bhenchod, tu chhod ke seedhe station jaana, gaon ke liye train pakadne ko. Mere bagair tera kuchh nahi hone waala’.

Mahesh was my philosopher, guide, worst critic, best boss, brother, buddy. He would kick my ass in our creative group meetings and support me to death when client servicing was breathing down my neck. In a place like advertising where everything is fake and contrived and conformist and superficial, two of the most genuine, unbelievably talented and humble people laid the foundation to my life.

RIP Mahesh V.

Someday you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a Champagne Supernova in the sky.

I took a bite of the mini pretzels. Terrible. I sighed. I had nothing to go with my whisky.
The gujju auntie next to me brought out a small plastic bag.

‘Thepla?’

The gujju auntie next to Yogi brought out another small plastic bag.

‘Potaetoe cheep?’

I smiled.

Mental note: No more jokes about people carrying their own food while traveling.

**********************************************************

We were walking down Wembley Park Street.

‘That Dosa place serves daaru. It’s been a childhood dream of mine to swagger up to a bar and ask for won whisky won masala dosa.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘Doesn’t what?’
‘Serve Liquor’.
‘Wanna bet?’
‘Bet.’
‘Whats the wager?’
‘One drink.’
‘Done.’

We peeked in while walking past the dosa place.

‘You owe me a JD on ice.’ I declared triumphantly.

***********************************************************

We were walking down Kensington High Street. It was midnight and breezy and freezing.

‘Thank God for this monkey cap, now I know what JD feels like when it’s poured on ice.’
‘Thank God, kya. Thank me.’
‘Thank you, Gayatri’.
‘Thank you se kaam nahi chalega.’
‘Then?’
‘2 drinks.’
‘So then effectively I owe you one drink.’
‘No. You owe me 2 and I owe you 1.’
‘Ok.’

***********************************************************

We were having a leisurely lunch in Henley, a sleepy small town on the outskirts of London. As I got up to leave, a little 2 year old girl with golden hair sitting on her toddler chair at the adjoining table smiled at me. I smiled back and she grabbed my finger as I was walking past, much to amusement of her mum and dad. She giggled as I laughed and played along, pretending inability to pry my finger loose, and then she laughed some more as she grabbed my other finger.

‘She won’t let you go, you know’, her mum said.
‘If only she was a little older.’ I replied.

***********************************************************

It was 2 am when I called Room Service.

‘Hello. I’d like a JD on ice and a glass of white wine, please, dry. Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. The bar’s closed.’

It was 2:15 when Gayatri called Room Service.

‘Hello. I’d like a glass of white wine, dry please, and a JD on ice.’
‘I’m sorry ma’am. The bar’s closed.’
‘I’m sure you can do something.’
‘No ma’am, I’m sorry.’

She put the phone down.

‘Still 2-1’.

***********************************************************

I was at Heathrow when Yogi ran up to me.

‘Wo counter pe Johnny Walker Red, Black aur Gold ka free tester hai.’

Half an hour later, the testers were empty. One bemused girl and two very happy and slightly disoriented-looking guys boarded the flight home.