What Did Diwan Arun Nanda Have That No One Else in Indian Advertising Has Today?

I can’t remember exactly. But it was the late ‘90s. Diwan Arun Nanda (DAN) was on the Cannes jury that year. There were seven or eight of us from Rediffusion at the festival too. Over dinner one evening, hosted by Mr Nanda, at the upscale Fred l'Écailler, it was decided that we would all head out to the artsy village of Saint-Paul de Vence the next morning.

I ordered a limousine for Mr Nanda – anything less would not have been appropriate (even in India during his trips back then, there was always a Mercedes on duty to ferry him around Lutyens Delhi). But Mr Nanda asked me how everyone else would travel?  I said we were planning to take a train up to Cagnes sur Mer, and then planned to jump onto a bus that would take us to the village. “I’ll do the same,” said Mr Nanda. I tried to dissuade him but he was clear he would bond with the team, and not travel alone.  

Once in Saint-Paul, while the rest of the team wandered around the cobbled streets looking at the artifacts in the small shops that dot the village, Mr Nanda asked me if I would like to see the most imaginative shrine to modern art. He led me to the Fondation Maeght. And we were soon in the midst of the enchanting works of the likes of Joan Miró, Henry Moore, Alberto Giacometti, Alexander Calder, Hans Arp, and most importantly Pablo Picasso. I was fascinated. We spent a couple of hours at the Maeght.

Mr Nanda then led the way down the La Côte d'Azur des Peintres public pathway to see the landscapes and reproductions of Marc Chagall’s paintings, including his grave. The trip wound up with a late lunch for the entire Rediffusion contingent at Colombe d’Or, a storied restaurant-and-inn where Mr Nanda had pre-booked a table through his hotel’s concierge. DAN, of course, then enjoyed the train journey back again to Cannes with all of us.

What did Diwan Arun Nanda have that no one else in Indian advertising has today? Well, he had class. Infinite class. And good taste. And panache. And style. He was Indian advertising’s royalty, no less. But he never felt the need to show it off. It all just came naturally to him.

The industry will always remember him as the genius who launched Lakme; he who created The Garden Vareli Woman; he who coined “The Zing Thing” for Gold Spot; he who made “Red & White peene walon ki baat hi kuchh aur hai’ famous; he who gave Eveready the “Give Me Red” war cry; he who appropriated “Whenever you see colour, think of us” for Jenson & Nicholson paints, he who begged for “taazgi” from Anu for Tata Tea… Arun Nanda challenged the big multinational agencies of the ‘70s & ‘80s by launching India’s very own red-hot Rediffusion – the most admired ad agency of that era. He was part of Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi’s “kitchen cabinet” with Arun Nehru, Arun Singh and Amitabh Bachchan; he was Ratan Tata’s closest friend; Vijay Mallya and he raced horses together; HCL, the IT giant, was birthed on his dining table by Shiv Nadar; Deepak Khaitan always sent his private plane to fetch the Diwan to Kolkata… and yes, one of India’s most famous heroines was his first girlfriend! But what many people don’t know is that many years ago, Mr Nanda himself was a model for Four Square cigarettes. He lived life king-size, for sure. 

The first gold-medalist of the very first batch of IIM-Ahmedabad (1966 – co-bracketed with Michigan’s well-known Prof CK Prahalad and the learned Prof Labdhi Bhandari of IIM-A) and the first ever Management Trainee hired by Hindustan Lever, Diwan Nanda was credited with the creation of Rin’s ‘lightning’ mnemonic as its brand manager. In 1973, Arun Nanda set up Rediffusion which went on to become India’s hottest creative agency over the next two decades – taking home creative awards by the truckful.

But there was another dimension of Mr Nanda. A playfulness, very few are familiar with. Mr Nanda was in Delhi one day. After a long strategy session on a brand with him, I had to leave for a client meeting. When I got back to the office, I asked for Mr Nanda. The receptionist didn’t seem to know. Mr Nanda’s bag was still in the conference room but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally, the office peon came to me and sheepishly told me, “Sir film dekhne gaye hain.” “What?” “Saheb saamne Priya Cinema mein film dekhne gaye hain. Mein ticket la ke diya.” Sure enough, an hour odd later a smiling DAN was back in office. He had coolly stepped out, half-way through a busy work day, to the theatre opposite the office to see ‘Schindler’s List’!  

Mr Nanda is no more. But what one will always treasure is not just tales of his advertising greatness and stories of the brands he built, but also the personal sense of style that he always had. He belonged to another era, another world. 

Salaam, sir. 

यूँ जुदा होकर भी, तेरी यादें सताएँगी,

चले तो जाएंगे, पर तेरी यादें हमें याद आएँगी।