c. 2006
Pandey: “If we have too many workshops, we’ll produce too many mechanics”
Bhattu: “Good one! So if we do too much net practice, we’ll produce Kolis?”
(Many expletives, followed by much laughter)
Piyush & I were like chalk and cheese. “Bhattu, you are meticulous, I am ridiculous”, he declared, with his customary guffaw. With such deep differences, disagreements were inevitable. Thankfully, we were also similar in many ways: traditional middle-class upbringing, elite education, joined Ogilvy around the same time, the love of sport (especially cricket), language fluency, passion for culture, delight in absurdity, partiality to vodka, etc. Piyush has always been a true force of nature, a strong personality bursting with passion and conviction. From our early creative battles to our late-night booze-and-brainstorming sessions – one thing was obvious: disagreeing with Piyush was like facing Dennis Lillee in Perth. Never a dull moment – you must choose which ball to defend, which to leave and when to play your shots, even risky ones. I quickly realised that not only can I disagree with him, I must. Because Piyush doesn’t respect deference, he demands ownership. In 42 years of friendship and work, I learned that if I hesitated or tip-toed around him, I was finished. But if I engaged him squarely, with heart and purpose and skills, we could create amazing things together and deepen our friendship rather than fracture it.
Here are a few important lessons:
Stand tall, not tough
Piyush expected me to be direct, and grounded; to look him in the eye, play off the front foot and never hold back. It was always about belief. When he excitedly called in the middle of the night, saying “Bhattu, yaar, maine crack kar diya” I couldn’t hedge. “Pataa nahi …” or “This may not land well …” just wouldn’t cut it. I learned to stand in my truth and say: “We’re not there yet, here’s why…” or to remind him of the business problem we were trying to solve, with “Pandey, brief bhool gaye, kya?” It had to be said respectfully. On one occasion, I described his script as “too much mithaas” and lacking “tadkaa”. I didn’t soften the blow. I backed it with what I believed the insight warranted. He listened and took it on the chin. He probably cursed me with some choice gaalis. But his greatness was that he’d have another chai and a smoke, then take a fresh shot at the script with renewed vigour. He soon called me back with “BC, yeh le teekha. Ab mazaa aaya?”. Standing tall was the only way to stay in the match.
Lead with heart, follow with head
Beneath the swagger, Piyush was one of the most sensitive and emotionally intelligent people I’ve ever met. He made every decision from a place of care. He was always deeply protective – of the idea, of the team, of the brand’s essence, of the Ogilvy name. In disagreeing with him, I learned to begin by appreciating what he was protecting. It was a 2-step process. First, acknowledge: “This part? Spot-on.” Then pivot: “Here’s something I’m worried we’re underplaying. How do we highlight that?” When I could frame my argument in shared purpose, I became his partner, not his opponent. In one heated meeting, a senior client said, “Piyush, this line doesn’t make sense.” He shot back, “It’s not supposed to make sense, it’s meant to make you feel. Dimaag chhod, dil khol.” That was always his compass and it ended the argument. The phrase and the sentiment have stayed with me.
Be playful in spirit, serious in standard
Hanging out with Piyush was equal parts locker-room and temple. There was laughter, friendly sledging, even outrageous, politically incorrect jokes aplenty, but zero tolerance for mediocrity or indiscipline. He could easily forgive a lame joke, but never a sloppy brief. I have lost count of the times when we killed a bottle of vodka at 3am. Yet, both of us would show up at office by 8.30am, so we could sneak a peek at the overnight telex messages before Mani Ayer walked in at 8.45.
Piyush’s training as an Account Executive on Hindustan Lever ensured an excellent grasp of business issues and the real constraints that clients faced. I had to remind him of that sometimes. The only thing he enjoyed more than telling a joke, was presenting an idea. Making him laugh and making him think, was the secret to disagreeing with him. I once told him, “This idea has three legs and it’s running in circles.” He grinned and replied, “Toh kaunsa katun … right-wala, left-wala, ya beech-wala?!” Then he went away and pushed the idea two notches higher. That was his magic: levity amid the highest standards.
Trust his gut, then add the map
Piyush had superb instincts, which he honed over the years. He could read the room before reading the report. I admired his nose for fear and he admired mine for bullshit. So he expected me to trust his instincts too, whereas I leaned much more towards process. Trying to “tame” his instincts always failed. The trick was to turn them into action. When he said, “This just feels right” I’d say: “Yes, it does. Let’s find a way to scale it.” It wasn’t as simple as it sounds. We clashed many times before arriving at the jugalbandi sweet spot: raw instinct as the spark and process as the amplifier. He once told me “Mera kaam hai idea ko udaana, tumhara kaam hai usko land karaana”.
Unfinished overs
Our relationship was perfectly imperfect. In 2 very important life-transitions, we agreed to disagree.
1994: Ranjan tapped me to head Unilever APAC from Singapore. Piyush & I had just hit peak form. Cadbury’s, Asian Paints, Dove & Fevicol were soaring. Piyush was gutted by this “break-up” but I saw a new career trajectory.
2004: Upon returning to India (post-cancer), I chose to leave the advertising industry to focus on leadership development & cancer support. Piyush was even more upset. He found it hard to accept my “life over lifestyle” choice to prioritise my health.
Fortunately, these disagreements soon faded, with no rancour. Our friendship endured and matured. Especially in 2004, Piyush was incredibly supportive and generous. He and Miles Young offered me a part-time strategic/consulting role, which gave me the stable runway I needed. For that I am eternally grateful.
In the end, disagreeing with Piyush wasn’t about winning an argument. It was about batting in partnership while maintaining my own style. We played a long innings, rotated strike and admired each other’s strokes. He brought his instinct, his emotions, his creativity. I brought precision, process and planning. Logic met magic (sometimes they collided) and that’s where we both blossomed.
I so wish Piyush & I could have downed a few vodka-tonics together, before he strode back to the Great Pavilion In The Sky.
I will dearly miss you, my brother.
