Textbook of lost memories

Once upon a time, “I work in advertising” as an answer to “What do you do ” drew blank looks. Today, it’s an acceptable option in the drop-down list even on matrimony sites. That’s how far the industry has come in terms of being accepted (though landlords are still vary of renting out to advertising folks, clubbing them as “media wale”). Over the years, advertising has also come a long way — from conservative ads to those that break stereotypes, it has seen the whole curve (sanitary pad ads were once allowed to be aired only after 10pm on DD). Over the decades, advertising has had pretty much everything: From the girl that dances onto a cricket field in sheer gay abandon to the girl who almost cheats her karva chauth fast with a Perk; from men stuck to different things to nudes wearing only shoes with a snake to go — controversies, pop culture, topic of discussions — advertising has seen it all. What it didn’t have so far was a textbook. A textbook that chronicles the history, geography, stories and anecdotes of advertising — that tells the story of advertising and our country through ads. A book that tells us how our beloved one-liners and ads came about; that tells us about the people who worked on them, when they worked on them and how (though it doesn’t mention bars). It’s always tricky to draw parallels between a society and its advertising — though they mirror each other. It’s tough to trace the journey of a country’s progress — economic, political, liberal and cultural — in its creative output — especially in India, a country of such maddening diversity. Frankly, no one art form can do that. And that’s why, perhaps, advertising can — because it is a sum total of many art forms. It is illustrations, writing, photography, typography, cinematography, story-telling — all rolled into one. And that’s just why veteran ad man Ambi Parameswaran’s latest book Nawabs, Nudes, Noodles is so ambitious and, at the same time, so important. Ambi man retired from FCB Ulka and figured in — well, let’s just tell the story of stories we grew up on — its most popular, talked about and impactful ad campaigns. It helped that he was involved in many of them, of course. The book is divided into sections that deal with consumer types, key product categories and services. It deals with and shows India’s tryst with modernity and how twisted it can be at times. Of course, it’s advertising, so it digresses into stories too — and one only wishes the stories were entertaining. Nawabs, Nudes, Noodles gets stuck in the trap that textbooks tend to: It reads and feels like one. It goes back to the Sundrop campaign one too many times. Also at times, it reads like the history of Ambi’s own agency FCB Ulka. The book and what it makes you feel is much like advertising: Subjective. Not everyone will like it. For a man who understands TG (target groups) very well, it is confusing to figure out who is the intended readership. To a complete outsider, it is an interesting peek into the world of advertising, but a tad-bit too dry for them. It would definitely need more jokes for someone in banking to read it. To an insider, it is like reliving your life so, again, not much incentive there. To a teenager picking up this book, it’s irrelevant — because most of the ads and campaigns spoken that the book talks about are found only as low-res clips on YouTube. The book works on nostalgia. To a teacher teaching advertising, it is gold because it really is a textbook. What works for the book is simple: Its breezy style. Its deep observations on the change in the values and motivations of the Indian consumer give you great fodder for conversations at a party. It offers a rare industry insider’s glimpse into how advertising is driven by insight and not just ideas. It is a nice mix of sociology and psychology and covers everything from food habits to marriage and old age to music and language to celebrities and censorship. You can perhaps read it over a weekend (unless you are in advertising, for then you’d be working). Ambi’s book takes you on a trip down memory lane talking about “Only Vimal”, “Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan”, “Jo biwi se kare pyaar...” and the controversial Tuffs shoes campaign! It is a ready reckoner of how advertising and society have shaped each other. The book does not just look back, it also looks ahead. It analyses whether brands trying to be a part of social conversation is sustainable — since social media has ensured social conversations change every 30 minutes. One wishes the book went did a deeper analysis of what’s to come and not just what’s gone. It could have been more than a memoir about advertising and India. It could have helped pave its way forward. The book could have been a preamble for the future of advertising. However, it ends up being an epilogue on the story so far. Mildly recommended.

Omkar Sane is an author and film writer and a Mumbaikar