Piyush Pandey—The Lion Who Laughed The Loudest

There are some people who don’t just lead an industry—they redefine it.

Piyush did exactly that. He didn’t just change Indian advertising; he gave it a new heartbeat, a new laugh and a new language—our own.

I first met Piyush back in 1989. I had come from Lintas Delhi to Bombay to shoot my first film with his brother and my National Institute of Design friend, Prasoon. We were supposed to stay in a 5-star hotel—a big deal for me, a young, broke ad guy. But Piyush ended that plan in a second. “You’re not staying in any hotel. You’re staying at my home,” he said. I remember thinking—there goes my five-star dream.

That first night, we laughed till 1am.

The next morning, we were shaken awake at 5—by Piyush himself, standing at the door with two cups of tea he had made for us. “Get up, you’ll be late for the shoot!” It was my first glimpse of the leader behind the laughter—firm in his ways, disciplined in his craft, yet endlessly caring. I would see that side of him many times in the years to come.

Somewhere on a shoot, 1995: Piyush and I making sure the script we wrote came alive just right. Two pairs of sharp eyes on set.

During that same week, one morning he said, “I have an idea for Luna Moped—why don’t you art-direct it?” I sketched it right there at his kitchen table—moped tyre marks starting from RK Laxman’s Common Man daily cartoon corner, going across the page, running over headlines about rising petrol prices, and off the page itself. He loved it. That was Piyush—spontaneous, decisive and fearless. It was our first creative collaboration—the beginning of a partnership built on instinct, laughter and an unspoken trust in each other’s ideas.

By the end of that trip, he offered me a job at Ogilvy Mumbai—to join his group as his art partner. I hesitated for a moment; O&M didn’t have the best creative reputation back then. But Piyush said, with complete conviction, “We’ll turn it around.” The laughter, the tea, the fun and the ideas of that week had already won me over. I jumped at the offer.

From then on, we worked side by side—cracking briefs, building teams and helping turn Ogilvy into a creative powerhouse.

One of our earliest international trips together was what Piyush fondly called a luxury backpacking holiday—before one of our first Cannes Lions visits.

“So what if we couldn’t backpack in our youth?” he said.

“We’ll do it now—just that the hotels will be five-star and the Eurail first class.” That was Piyush—finding adventure, laughter and friendship in everything he did.

Grand Canyon, 2019: Heli tour during the LIA Awards judging in Las Vegas. I’m a bad flyer — but Piyush insisted, and I’m so glad he did!

Piyush decided fast and acted faster.

Once, during the 1996 Cricket World Cup, India and Sri Lanka had both reached the semi-finals. Early one morning, I had this idea—what if we gave a twist to the famous ‘Mera Wala Pink’ campaign for Asian Paints? We could show India’s blue jersey with the line ‘Hamara Wala Blue’ to wish the Indian team good luck. I called Piyush, and he instantly loved it. By evening, we had sold the idea to the client. Piyush had arranged for the jersey to be shot in Kolkata, and the next morning, I designed the layout. By the day of the match, the ad was in the papers.

India lost, unfortunately. But we weren’t done. We released another ad that said ‘Tumhara Wala Blue’—with ‘Hamara’ crossed out—and the line read, ‘Congrats Sri Lanka. You were a shade better.’

Working with Piyush was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying—and deeply rewarding. Once, early one morning, he burst into my cabin saying, “You have fifteen minutes to write a Fevikwik film.” Ten minutes later, he called back saying, “Come fast. I’ve written one!”

I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t.

The film was made, won awards, boosted sales and made me realise—with Piyush, instinct always beat overthinking.

Bengaluru, 2015: At his book launch — proud moment, big smiles, bigger laughter.

That instinct and simplicity changed Indian advertising. I had the privilege of working with him on some of that era’s defining campaigns—the Cadbury Dairy Milk girl dancing on the cricket field, the Fevicol and Asian Paints work, and many more. We were all discovering, together, what Indian advertising could truly sound and feel like—real, emotional and unmistakably Indian.

Piyush made advertising feel like storytelling. Like life.

With Piyush leading, and Ranjan Kapoor—our Chairman and MD at the time—fearlessly backing creativity, Ogilvy transformed from a sleepy office into the country’s number one creative powerhouse. And we didn’t just work—we lived those days. Long nights, loud laughter echoing through Apeejay House, endless chais (and sometimes a drink or two), madness, and always, the magic of ideas.

Manchester United trip, Manchester 2019: As winners of the Star TV’s award for the best commercial on IPL 

Piyush believed the best ideas came from life—from watching, listening and observing. Once, while on holiday in the US, he saw an elderly couple giggling and playing with toys in an airport store. That image stayed with him and became the seed for the Cadbury Dairy Milk campaign—“There’s a child in all of us.” When he came back, I worked closely with him on bringing that thought to life—the casting, the look, the detailing, the dance. We poured our hearts into it, and The Girl on the Cricket Field became an instant hit that touched the nation. And of course, Piyush wrote the now-legendary line “Asli swaad zindagi ka” and the jingle “Kuch Khaas Hai Hum Sabhi Mein,” with Louis Banks composing the music.

He loved cricket and always used cricketing analogies to drive home a point—and it worked every single time. Whether it was about teamwork, timing or temperament, Piyush could explain any creative situation through cricket. It was instinctive to him the perfect blend of art, strategy and play.

And that laugh. You could hear it from across the building—loud, warm and completely infectious. If Piyush was in the room, you knew it.

After I left Ogilvy Mumbai for Ogilvy Malaysia and then Ogilvy Singapore, the calls never stopped. He’d ring and say, “Partner, ye suno!” And instantly, I’d be back in Apeejay House in my head—laughing, arguing, and cracking ideas like the old days.

Vietnam, 2003: Piyush’s pranks in the Viet Cong tunnels. Laughter echoing even underground.

Whether in office corridors or on foreign shores, Piyush’s ideas never stopped. I remember being at Cannes one year—by then, I was heading Ogilvy Malaysia and had just won the Grand Prix at the Asian Advertising Awards for an anti-smoking film I’d written there, which was shot and ran in India. Another beautiful example of our cross-border collaboration. Piyush was beaming with pride. As we were chatting about it over beers, he suddenly said, “I see a dead horse.” Out of that strange line came the Second-Hand Smoke Kills campaign, which went on to win two Gold Lions the following year.

That was classic Piyush—spontaneous, funny and brilliant, all at once.

He went on to receive every major regional and global honour an adman could dream of. For those of us who had the privilege of walking that journey with him, every accolade felt personal—because we’d lived the late nights, the laughter, the scrambles and the sheer joy of chasing ideas together.

He always stood up for his people. He led with heart. To me, he was never just a boss or a mentor—he was a creative partner, a co-conspirator in ideas and laughter, and, above all, a loving brother and friend.

Sirji is gone.

But the laughter, the lessons, and the love he left behind—that’s forever.

Here’s to the man who made India laugh, cry and believe.

The man who showed us that beyond logic, there lies magic.

The writer is a director, writer and founder of Tribha. He is also the former Chief Creative Officer, Ogilvy India & South East Asia.