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In the quiet dawn of October 23, 2025, after a month-long vigil in the shadows of a coma, Piyush Pandey slipped away at 70, leaving behind a nation that feels a little less vivid, a little less alive. He was not just an adman; he was the heartbeat of India’s stories, the one who taught us that the best ideas do not shout from billboards but murmur from the streets, wrapped in the warmth of a familiar accent. Born on March 19, 1955, in the sun-baked lanes of Jaipur to a family of nine siblings where art and mischief danced hand in hand, Piyush grew up chasing cricket balls across Rajasthan’s dusty fields, tasting tea leaves with the precision of a poet, and dreaming in Hindi rhymes. Little did the world know, this boy with the mischievous glint and the unyielding moustache would one day glue the soul of a billion dreams together.
Piyush’s life was a masterclass in reinvention, a series of plot twists worthy of his own scripts. Schooled at St. Xavier’s in Jaipur and later earning a postgraduate degree in History from St. Stephen’s College, Delhi, he could have been anything: a historian unearthing forgotten tales or a cricketer swinging for Ranji glory. But fate, that sly director, led him to Ogilvy in 1982, at 27, into an industry stiff with English collars and Western polish. He shattered it all with a laugh and a line. “Yeh Dil Maange More,” he declared for PepsiCo, igniting a nation’s audacity. He turned Fevicol’s glue into unbreakable family bonds, where a father-son tug-of-war ended not in victory, but in tearful hugs. Cadbury’s cricket girl danced through the monsoon, proving that a bar of chocolate could mend a weary heart. Vodafone’s ZooZoos waddled into our living rooms like quirky uncles at a wedding, and Asian Paints’ walls bloomed with the colors of everyday chaos, because, as Piyush knew, life is not pristine; it is playfully messy.
For over four decades, he was Ogilvy’s North Star: Chief Creative Officer Worldwide, Executive Chairman India, a global force who earned the Padma Shri in 2016 and the LIA Legend Award in 2024. Yet Piyush never chased trophies; he chased truth, the raw, unfiltered pulse of India. He ditched the elite gloss for the earthy twang of Hinglish, making ads that felt like homecomings. “The best ideas come from the street, from life, from listening,” he once said, and oh, how he listened. To the vendor’s banter, the rickshaw’s rattle, the mother’s scold that hid her love. In his hands, advertising was not commerce; it was confession, a mirror held up to our joys and jagged edges. He mentored rebels, sparked revolutions in boardrooms, and reminded a generation of creatives that vulnerability is the sharpest hook. Even in retirement in 2023, he stepped off the crease like a gentleman cricketer, bat tucked under arm, legacy echoing in every jingle that still plays in our heads.
Survived by his beloved wife, Anuja, his brother Prasoon Pandey, the lyrical force behind Bollywood’s anthems, sister Ila Arun, whose folk songs carried the desert’s fire, and a sprawling family tree of nieces, nephews, and collaborators who called him “Pandeyji”, the uncle who fixed everything with a quip and a cuppa. But Piyush’s true heirs are the millions who grew up on his stories: the child who saw herself in that Cadbury ad and believed she could run forever, the father who teared up at Fevicol’s pull, the dreamer who dared to voice her hustle because he showed her how.
Today, as the ad world mourns, “Aaj ad world ne apna glue kho diya,” as one tribute sighed, the ache is profound, a hollow in the chest where his laughter used to boom. Piyush Pandey did not just sell products; he sold us back to ourselves, wrapping hope in humor, dignity in delight. He leaves an India forever changed: louder in its loves, braver in its banter, richer in its rhythms. Rest easy, Pandeyji. Yeh dil maange more, of your magic, always. In the words of your own eternal wisdom: “Kuch khaas hai zindagi mein.” And you, sir, were the khaas-est of them all.
A private farewell was held for family on October 24 in Mumbai. In lieu of flowers, share a story. Light up a Cadbury. Let the moustache live on in memory.
