THAT I AM A GOOD COPYWRITER. I do not have my hair dyed in streaks. I do not wear orange spectacles. I do not even accessorise myself from top to bottom. I do not have body piercing. Oh, wait! I do. But it’s just pierced ears. I guess that doesn’t really qualify. I do not smoke. I do not like tea. Or coffee. I am not an insomniac. I can’t keep a goatee, no matter how much I try. I listen to comprehensible music. I socialise. I make friends with engineers and doctors. I send flowers to my mother on Mothers Day. My sister likes to talk to me. My building’s watchman recognises me. Even the morning one. I do not carry my toiletries in my bag all the time. I eat my meals on time. I talk sense most of the time.
BUT I AM HELPLESS.
The bug gave me the disease, without its symptoms. And so here I am doing what I am best at. Writing to sell. Only this time the product is a little tricky. It’s me. And even though it has everything that your agency needs – a brain that ideates, and does it well, good writing skills, command over the language, understanding of the subject and the target audience, experience, qualifications, and an impressive portfolio – it still needs to prove itself to you. So let’s take the usual route. The one that every advertisement takes. By telling its customer where the wonderful product came from.
If I were a cosmetic cream, I would have come from the purest species of the Aloe Vera or a rare herb found somewhere in the Himalayas. But I am just a human, coming from an ordinary middle-class household, where television occupies an important position in the family, especially during meal times. So, here I was, watching my favourite daily soap, dreading that the great suspense that is building around the protagonist will be broken anytime by an untimely commercial break.
It was then, in between great suspense and irritation, that I first saw it. The Fevicol TVC. The one that went “pakde rehna… chhorna nehi”. Hilarious! I laughed. I clapped. And I forgot all about my daily soap. That was the day I had told my mother, “Ma, when I grow up, I’ll make ads.” She had laughed.
It was only in my first year, college, that I learnt who a copywriter is. That year itself, I took up a summer job in a local ad agency. Just to get the feel of it. And before I knew it, I was hired by the best design studio in the city, even before I completed my final year exams.
My mother doesn’t laugh anymore. She just smiles, when she sees my ad in the newspaper or drives past a hoarding I worked on. Because she knows I am good. And the fact that you just read this whole chunk of copy in full proves just that.
PS: Written for one of my interviewers, while job-hunting.
