The dining table seated eight. We were twenty-six.
Drama began before the food was served.

I grew up in a Punjabi joint family, where the drama wasn’t just in the air—it was the air. Stories were told to entertain, to defend, deflect, sell or quietly sting. Everyone, in their own way, was performing. That’s where I first started noticing— the pause that lasted a little too long, the smile that didn’t reach the eyes, how sheer timing could dodge a showdown or win the room.

I’d like to say I mastered it, but I still misread a pause. Still overshare. Still can’t find the right moment to leave the room.

But at least now, I know there’s a story in it.

Years later, I found myself at MICA, Ahmedabad, studying creative communications. I spent hours poring over the best campaigns from across the world, I realised: they aren’t just clever—they’re clear.
Acord’s Find Your Greatness for Nike, Amit Sharma’s Google Reunion, Ram Madhvani’s Happydent White—It doesn’t work despite the brand—it works because of it. It’s art, with an agenda.

Back then, I used to make films even for copywriting assignments. I’d send them to Vivek Kakkad—consistent cold messages on Facebook. I’d been a huge admirer of his work. He always saw the messages. Sometimes he replied, sometimes he didn’t. But one day, he called.
That was the beginning. I got to assist him on multiple campaigns—sit with him and really listen. To how he dresses a frame. How he lets the quiet moments breathe. How he builds a room that’s alive, open and collaborative. I try.

I was awarded the prestigious Inlaks Scholarship to train in acting and theatre-making at the Drama School Mumbai, and over the past decade, I’ve worked closely with theatre makers such as Neel Chaudhuri, Jyoti Dogra, Rehaan Engineer, and Irawati Karnik.

Theatre taught me how much can sit beneath the words. And with ad films getting shorter, the layering—the detailing—matters more than ever. It lives in the eyes of characters, in the rhythm of the telling, and in moments that are truly alive.

I’ve been directing ad-films for five years now. The first one had a budget of ₹15,000. It was meant to be a graphic post. We made a film. That small detour opened a much bigger door- a ₹25 lakh campaign from someone who saw the film and took a bet. Angels exist.

Since then, it’s been a mix of leaps and learnings. Whenever it has felt like the idea was leading the room— it felt like something real was trying to find its way in. And all we had to do was not get in the way.

I still second-guess the last take on the way home. Still overthink a pause. Still wonder if I should’ve left the room earlier. But that’s part of the work. You chase honesty, and sometimes it runs just ahead of you.

The good days are when it turns around—just briefly—and looks you in the eye.

And somehow, that’s always enough to come back tomorrow.