Ad Verbatim XIII

Terence D’Costa is a very dear friend and a top-notch creative in the Himalayas.


Let’s play a game. I quote the resolution. You figure who it’s for. That way we can all go home having said, read and resolved what we conveniently didn’t. Happy New Year. No fingers pointed. No collateral damage. No kidding. Everyone okay with that ? Sweet. Now, let’s kick some donkey.

I promise to remember that my advertising agency is not my pet chinchilla. I promise to remember that even though it isn’t my pet chinchilla, it still needs to be adequately watered and fed. Chinchillas can’t survive on peanuts. Let alone tidbits per mensem or decimalised annual commission pills. I promise not to bark at my pet chinchillas — they react by playing dead. I promise not to play cat and mouse with them either — they’re allergic to cats. I promise to treat my pet chinchillas like the astute professionals they are, especially because I want to see them doing the magnificent hoopla and generating that precious word of mouse. Mouth, right.

I promise not to remind my client that I am a pet chinchilla and will henceforth stop behaving like one. I may be a chinchilla but I’m so done with pet food, my overheads hurt. I need to start believing in professionalism and promoting it. I promise to think at least twice before I open my oral cavity at any boardroom interaction and then once again before anything measurable in decibels or quantifiable in perception escapes it. My thoughts on both occasions will be driven to filter out anything anyone on the chinchilla side of the fence could regret later. I promise to do justice to those cartilaginous flaps adjacent to my sideburns and for a change, actually listen. Having done that, I promise to look up the word ‘pfaff’ and study how and where it may apply to the family Chinchillidae.

I promise to remember that my brand is not my pet guinea pig. It’s not my lab rat either. I promise to remember that even though it isn’t my pet guinea pig, it still needs to be adequately watered and fed. Guinea pigs can’t survive on habit and hot air. Let alone half-hearted effort and unbaked strategy. I promise not to play dead when my guinea pig barks — responsiveness is a part of being responsible. I promise to take my antihistamines — not because I’m allergic to cats but to snivelling chinchillas. I will respect my guinea pig not for what the chinchillas tell me it is but what the chinchillas must know it should be. I shall hereby cease experimenting on it. I will, instead, conduct all further experiments on the chinchillas.

I promise not to entertain petty thoughts and contain all instinctual drives to write about pets and petting. I shall let sleeping chinchillas lie and only when they’re half awake, shall I nail them with the truth. As for lab rats and guinea pigs, may they drink deep of the laissez faire beaker and multiply like nobody’s business. Game over. Promise.

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