When three of Ogilvy India’s Creative Chiefs — Sukesh Nayak, Harshad Rajadhyaksha, and Kainaz Karmakar — spoke about Piyush Pandey, they didn’t just remember a leader. They remembered a phenomenon. The man who redefined Indian advertising also redefined what it meant to lead — with warmth, wit, and 6:30 a.m. phone calls that shaped a generation of creatives.
Piyush was a man who played many roles in people's lives - To Sukesh Nayak he was 'The Captain Who Played Every Position'
Piyush was the captain of our team. The most amazing thing is that he was a player ready to play in any position, in any order, in any place — whatever the team needed. At times, he was the most dynamic opening batsman, staying and slaying from start to finish. Or sometimes, the safest wicketkeeper, never letting anything slip away. When needed, he was a fierce bowler or the spine of incredible Ogilvy deliveries. He could field in any position and be the best fielder on the ground. But often, he was just happy being the reserve player — the 12th man — running in whenever needed, motivating the team from the sidelines, and being completely content about it.
Even during injury time, he never rested like most of us. He was the fiercest team player, checking on everything and being a pain in the backside to those who wanted him to rest. But no one could make Piyush take it easy. Most of the time, he was a loving coach who praised you to the moon at 6:30 a.m. when you did well, and scolded the living daylights out of you at 6:30 a.m. when you didn’t. No matter what, it was always 6:30 a.m. We’ll miss those 6:30 a.m. wake-up calls. He was the loudest cheerleader and the biggest believer.
Many of us stand here today, playing on the front foot because he saw something in each one of us. He had the gift of seeing the true person in everyone he met. With me, he saw who I was and gave me the space to simply be myself.
This is my promise to my coach, my mentor, my 6:30 a.m. call master: I’ll try to play in every position just like you did, because you taught me it’s not about what position you play — it’s about how passionately you play. Thank you, my captain. Fly higher. Fly safe. I will miss you forever.
To Kainaz Karmakar he was 'The Voice of 6:30 AM'
She says, "I express myself best when I write. But this is not for all of you — it’s for you, Piyush. I’m not very good at writing poetry, so this isn’t one. It’s just a piece I’ve written, and the title is '6.30'."
6.30 because Piyush woke me up at 6:30, and I absolutely hated it. So here’s from me to you, Piyush:
Nobody — and I mean nobody — calls me at 6:30 in the morning except you. Even my mom controls herself. I’m that person who misses early morning flights, and you’ll never find me on a crack-of-dawn hot air balloon ride. The only 6:30 in my life was you.
You said “Good morning,” and I only said “Morning.” That was my secret protest — deleting the word good. Reading this aloud today is my open protest. But I’m not protesting the calls. I’m asking you — where is my 6:30 a.m. call now? What do I do with 6:30 now that you’ve unilaterally decided to stop calling me?
6:30 insists on arriving every day. I cannot wipe it off my watch. Can it be 5:30 and then directly 7:30? Apparently not. For 15 years, you gave me briefs. Now I’m giving one to you. Open your book, pick up your pen, and solve 6:30 for me, Piyush. I miss you.
To Harshad Rajadhyaksha he was 'The God of Simplicity'
I want to remember our favourite storyteller with a story of my own. I’m sure this room is full of wonderful Piyush stories. This one happened about seven or eight years ago. The three of us, along with a few others, were at the Cannes Lions Festival. One morning, we realised that the day’s schedule included a quick, 15-minute masterclass on creativity by Piyush. Even we didn’t know about it. We were very excited. Of course, Piyush’s wisdom was available at work every day, but we wanted to see what he would tell the world.
Piyush walked in, right on time, and did something that left everyone — including us — completely surprised. He didn’t say a word about creativity. He sat down, introduced himself, and said, “For the next few minutes, I’d like you all to participate in some simple breathing exercises with me.”
Everyone looked at each other, confused, but followed along — breathing in and out for a few minutes. Then Piyush said, “Everything we exhale as creative people is the work we put out. But we get so focused on what we exhale that we forget to inhale properly.”
He went on to say, “Don’t just pour yourself into thick advertising books. Don’t stay buried in websites or award festivals. Go out, inhale life — see how people haggle in markets, how grandparents talk to their grandchildren, how lovers interact in parks, how pets and their parents connect. Unless you inhale from that world, what are you really exhaling? Quality inhaling leads to quality output.”
There was pin-drop silence, followed by thundering applause. Among all the lessons Cannes offered, this one stayed. Piyush could simplify the most complex thoughts.
In this country, we have countless gods — for everything. But if ever there’s a vacancy for a god of simplicity, Piyush, you will forever be the god I pray to. You are the god of simple things. You are the god of simplicity.
