Dumb Ways to Die...

Hang me again.

Really.
To save the dead farmer's family.
So what if the paintings fetch a crore or two?
Farmers have been dying for years.
In thousands.

Save park benches from chewing gum.
Save Calligraphy.
Save Cricket.
By printing out stumps.
And pasting them on top of the stumps,
drawn on the walls by the children of India for years.

Save the trees to save the endangered species.
But wait!
This appeal's got to be printed!
On paper!
Hmm.
So you can't really save the trees.
If you wish to save endangered species.
Not to worry...
There is no category called Logic-Lions.
Phew!

How about saving our energy?
And spending it on advertsing effectiveness.
No. Not the category!!!
I mean, real, old school effectiveness.
One that helps sell.
Helps make profit.
Improves the economy.
Helps us look good as professionals,
and not award hungry buffoons.

Ah, well...
Save your unpatriotic breath,
I hear you say.
Let's celebrate.
And move on.
Just like those farmer's families.

Hang me again,
and sing 'Dumb ways to die'.

Jai Hind.
- Anna

How To Save Your Marriage

Have you heard of a carpenter who could fix a broken marriage? (Now all you lads who just jumped up in Ogilvy's creative department yearning to crack the next big film on Fevicol, please sit down. This is not an invitation to impress the mustaches. It is a serious question.) Or for that matter have you heard of a carpenter who could fix his own broken marriage?

But carpenters don't discuss marital issues with clients. They stick to their work. They do not say, that by building this dinner table, you will bridge the generation gap between you and your kid by the next meal! Or by making this bed... well, you get the picture.

But this ad puts a different veneer on the state of affairs in todays speed-dating-marrying-divorcing world. In this unbelievable ad the woman changes her mind about the whole divorce thing because she looks at the new laminates in the guys house (do not miss her glance at the more-than-one-person-slept-in bed as she totters around the house). Take a look.

Now, I bet that this script was originally written for Nescafe and recycled for Marino. And the creative department brought it out of someone's unreleased portfolio just because the client had rejected all good scripts. Maybe in the original the guy changes his coffee brand and the marriage gets saved. No? Not a good script? Ok, how about the other woman comes out of shower and says "Ew, you are drinking coffee! I am so outta here" and walks off. No? Still not impressed? Well, neither am I with this ad.
 I am not going on a fast or anything. But today I will skip coffee over this.

Jai Daniel J. O'Conor, Jai Hind.
- Anna.

Sorry, We Can't Ford it...

"They sacked me!" he cried as he threw himself at my feet. I was giving my morning pravachan about how 'scams' bring down our credibility. There were some hot trainee creatives in my pandaal today and wanted a private consultation post the pravachan. Needless to say, I found this intrusion a bit irritating.
It took me a millisecond to recognize him - Pakya! The junior production in-charge of JWT, Mumbai! "What did you do Pakya? Did you offend any NCD or someone?" I knew him to be a loose cannon of sorts. I was sure he must have fudged some invoices or printed some fake petrol bills and charged it to a big ticket client or something.
"I didn't do anything!", he sobbed. "It was going so well. I had joined this great top rung agency and I was getting to work on Ford. Imagine working on an international account in your first job!"
Poor guy. I had to give him a dose of reality. "What international account? As a junior production guy, isn't your job carrying art-pulls or dvds around?" I asked softly.
"But I was assigned to the Ford team", he wiped his tears. "My girlfriend was so proud of me. She gave a 'Like' to my FB status about working on Ford. She also shared it on her timline..."
"So what went wrong?" I asked. "I don't know. I entered the office today and everyone was talking about someone apologising to somebody else. The shit hitting the ceiling fan or something. So I asked my boss what's up, and he said "Mader****" who uploaded the fuc**** ads?" "Language, Pakya!", I shouted.
I saw that the hot trainee creatives were a bit uncomfortable, and I did not want them to leave. "But that's what my boss said. I think he was referring to some chu*** scam ads the boys were making last evening" Pakya was helbent on screwing it up for the second time today. "Then boss asked me why my computer was not turned off last evening. I always work late, and I browse 'adsoftheworld' to pass my time as I wait for the layouts or artworks. I must have forgotten about it and left the computer on. So what's the big deal?" "But my boss dragged me to the conference room where all the big guys were, and said, this is the assh****"
The hot trainees got up to leave. I asked them to sit down. They needed this expletives-training if they had to survive in the agency world. "And then what happened?" Pakya went on, "Nothing. The HR head came to me and said, 'We had such plans for you, but this is as far as we can go', and handed me my sacking letter." He started sobbing again.
So Pakya was the first and the last victim of the Ford-gate. Totally oblivious to the whole controversy. I am sure he did not know who Silvio Berlusconi was, let alone the social media backlash that the campaign had generated. To me, he was like the gagged and tied women thrown back in the spacious boot of the Figo.
I am deeply disturbed by what was done to him. An account got saved. A scam went unpunished. But Pakya's possible bright career got ruined in the name of 'strict action taken'.

I am on a month long fast against this atrocity. And the fact that the ads themselves were not worth even a single word in social media.

Jai Henry Ford, Jai Hind.
- Anna.

Ek, Bey, Tran, Chaar

Time and again I have heard these starting bars on the radio. They act as a cue for me to reach for the volume button on my car stereo. But today, it was not to be so. My wife was driving the car. I was in the backseat. No, don't get me wrong. I respect my wife and do not treat her like a driver, but what to do? She says I distract her. In my younger days, I would have taken that as an invitation, and would have asked her to join me on the backseat. But now, I know I am a distraction in the worst possible way. Plus I had, in my hands, a tin full of Dhokla. So she ordered me to sit in the back and not to touch upholstry with my greasy hands. I was celebrating not having been on a fast for some time with a gujju nibble (don't read too much into this).
So, you see, it was difficult to reach for the volume control. And I had to hear it. He Ram! This time it was a RAP! Earlier AB used to just say the lines written by some poor copywriter for a press ad, trying hard to make Gujarat seem like English countryside. (Radio VO and press copy are two different things, as was taught to us in the old school of advertising, but what do I know?) I just used to give out a sigh, as senior AB told listeners how they can be 'one with themselves in Kutch on top a camel' or some such philosophical nonsense.
But in RAP? Please! And one which has an opening line - "Hey you"! I could almost hear the Notorious B.I.G. going "Mothaf..." as he turned in his grave. Don't you think this gives the English coutryside a slight Hell's Kitchen twist?
My stomach sure did a twist and I threw the tin of dhokla towards the car stereo! The dhoklas flew in all directions! My wife gave out a scream and took one roller-coaster turn as we hit an innocent Gujarati bystander. I did not have to tell her to flee the scene as she pressed the accelerator hard as if it was the brake!
I demand a fresh radio spot be written and given to AB immediately. Until that happens, I am not touching another piece of Khaman.

Jai Somnath, Jai Hind.
- Anna.