e Magus

A few days ago , I encountered a beggar on the street, and a genuine instinct to help him arose. I reached into my pocket, only to find nothing—no coins, no small notes. I realised then that I hadn’t carried physical cash in a long time. Like many of us today, most of my transactions had shifted online. The tactile feel of money had quietly disappeared from my life.   This absence was a stark contrast to my childhood, when money wasn’t just an abstract means of exchange—it was something you could hold, touch, and count. Coins and notes were more than just currency; they carried weight, both literal and symbolic. As children, we were sent on errands with a few rupees, and those coins felt powerful. The act of handling money, of saving it in a clay piggy bank (We had a Mr. Potato Head bank), counting it on slow afternoons, gave a sense of responsibility. Each paisa had its place, each rupee was revered. In India, money has long been more than just a transactional tool—it is intertwined w

Gully cricket , once an integral part of Indian childhood, is now a fading memory. In the 80’s and early 90s, the streets were more than mere public spaces; they were stages for dreams. A bat, a ball, and a group of eager kids were all that was needed. Stumps were supported by stones, or stones themselves became stumps, or it could be a lamppost, or 3 lines drawn with a piece of brick on a compound wall. If nothing, it would be two hawai chappals that acts as wickets. A twig could be a stand-in for a second bat, and everyone played with a shared spirit. The road in front of anyone's house was open to all—a place where games, conversations, and sometimes even family functions spilled over. The essence of gully cricket was its simplicity and collectiveness. No one really owned anything individually. If one kid had a bat, it became everyone’s bat. The game was not defined by boundaries of ownership or the idea of personal space. Rather, it thrived on the joy of shared resources and ex

Recently, the Australian Government made headlines by enacting the "Right to Disconnect," ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Right_to_disconnect ) allowing workers to ignore work-related activities after hours. This legislation follows similar practices already in place across many EU countries. As someone who has spent years working in India's advertising industry, this development piqued my interest. Could this happen here? How would advertising agencies around the globe react to such a norm? The relentless demand for overtime in advertising agencies is an industry standard. I must admit that I, too, have been guilty of being unreasonable with my ex-colleagues, often asking them to work beyond regular hours, including weekends and holidays. It seems like an unwritten rule that when you join an agency, you not only offer your talent and skills but also your heart, mind, and soul. The Diminishing Value of Time: A few days ago, I came across a fascinating social science exper

  In one of a recent podcast, Peter Theil shared his view that in the future artificial intelligence will have ‘worse’ impact on maths-focused professions rather than those with ‘word’ skills (writing skills). You can watch the podcast here . While the podcast primarily focused on the subject of political theology, Thiel's observation got me thinking about how people currently use AI, especially generative AI, in their daily work. As someone working in an advertising agency, I've seen firsthand the 'help' these technologies offer to my fellow journeymen. A few months back, while having lunch with a team member from client servicing. Out of the blue, he mentioned he had 3-4 'insights' for a client project that might help me. I sensed he wanted me to get the strategy work done quickly and hence this helping hand. When I heard his 'insights,' they seemed vague, so I asked if these came from the client or how he arrived at them. Sheepishly, he admitted, &quo

  How AI-Altered Images impacts the Integrity of Marketing, Social Media, and Communications I'll start out by saying that AI-altered images represent a powerful transformative tool, revolutionising the way brands engage with their audience. Take, for instance, a fashion brand utilising AI to retouch photos for a sleeker, more polished look. With the capacity to enhance visuals, correct imperfections, and create aesthetically pleasing content, otherwise which will have to be made from the scratch - increasing time & expenses, AI offers marketers an unprecedented level of creative control. This ability to craft captivating imagery that can elevate brand perception, attract consumer attention, and drive engagement in a digital world - where visual content is the key to drive competitive advantage. But in today's marketing, the allure of perfection through product or communication has become an irresistible temptation.  And my thoughts are more fundamental. With artificial int

Brands can incorporate the following seven principles inspired by Zen philosophy, along with the concept of wabi-sabi, into their marketing activities to enhance their approach and connect more authentically with their audience: Kanso (Simplicity): Embrace simplicity in design, messaging, and overall brand presentation. Streamline visuals and communications to convey a clear and straightforward message, allowing consumers to easily connect with the brand. Think Apple's design – clean, sleek, and instantly recognizable. It's about cutting through the noise and letting your brand speak with clarity. Less is often more. Fukinsei (Asymmetry): Emphasize the beauty of asymmetry in product design, packaging, and advertising. Create visual interest by avoiding perfect symmetry, encouraging consumers to appreciate uniqueness and imperfection. Take a look at how Haagen-Dazs designs their ice cream packaging – each swirl is a little different, and that's what makes it beautiful. Asy