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To understand the strategic brilliance behind Parle Products’ modern brand narrative, one must journey back to 1929 in the suburban neighborhood of Vile Parle, Mumbai. It was there that Mohanlal Dayal Chauhan established a small confectionery unit with just twelve workers. A decade later, in 1939, Parle Products launched its flagship biscuit: Parle Gluco. Originally supplied as an energy snack to British soldiers during World War II, the biscuit quickly captured the imaginati

Imagine a two-seater sofa that arrives in a new home as part of a bride's dowry. It is carried in by hand, placed in a living room, and asked to hold a family's first conversations as husband and wife. Then, over the decades, it keeps moving. It goes to a sister's house. It gets new upholstery when a son becomes a district collector. It is carried into the next generation's wedding. Through all of it, the sofa never falls apart. That is the premise of Fevicol's 60th anniversa

In the world of brand management, building materials like cement are traditionally categorized as low-involvement, highly functional commodities. Marketing campaigns in this sector often default to technical claims, focusing on setting speed, compressive strength, or weather resistance. However, Adani Cement’s Durga Puja 2026 campaign—titled “Jahan Vishwas, Wahan Shakti” (Where there is faith, there is strength)—takes a strikingly different strategic path. Uploaded on the Amb

A boy wants to water a tulsi plant. It is a simple wish, the kind a child might voice on any ordinary day. But in a large joint family, a simple question rarely stays simple. He asks one relative, then another, and each answer leads to another person, another opinion and another room. The question travels through the whole household before the plant is watered. This is the opening idea of Fevicol's "Joint Family" television commercial, released in 2008. The film turns an ever

Some advertising lines become part of a household's furniture. You hear them while a pot simmers, while a parent calls the family to dinner, or while a grandmother reminds a grandchild which spice goes first. Badshah Masala's jingle, "Swaad Sugandh Ka Raja", is one of those lines. It has been in Indian kitchens and living rooms for years, and it carries the promise that the brand's spices bring flavour and fragrance to food. For a brand with that kind of memory, the question

Picture a grand country estate in West Yorkshire. Ancient stone, sweeping lawns, a setting that speaks of centuries of English heritage. Now picture a car pulling across that landscape, not on a country road but across the grounds themselves, climbing stone steps and weaving around an enormous chessboard. Around it, oversized chess pieces stand taller than a person, and abstract sculptures punctuate the scene. This is the setting for Range Rover's global campaign for the Rang

A sister ties a Rakhi on her brother's wrist. Traditionally, that is where the moment ends. The thread is tied, the sweets are shared, and the promise to protect and care for one another is spoken aloud, perhaps once, on a single day of the year. What happens after the festival is left to the siblings themselves. Cadbury Celebrations' #ConnectedRakhi, launched for Raksha Bandhan in 2022, asked a question about that gap. The campaign's insight, as described in coverage, is tha

The sun is low over a calm lake. Two houseboats float side by side, close enough that their owners can see each other's decorations. One couple begins to hang fairy lights on their boat, and they are soon matched by the glow from the boat next door. The two sides keep adding light, each trying to outshine the other, until the competition becomes a contest of who can be the most festive. This is the opening of Flipkart Minutes' Diwali film, released in October 2025 under the c

A mother sits at the table with her young daughter, and the child has something to teach her. The child is not a food expert, and the lesson is not delivered in a lecture. It comes through the simple, everyday observation that young children have small tummies. They cannot eat large portions, so each portion needs to count. This is the emotional centre of Nestlé CEREGROW's brand film from early 2026. The film presents a "wise kid" who educates her mother about nutrition, and

A grandmother sits with her granddaughter and remembers a pair of shoes. Not just any shoes. Traditional juttis, the slip-on footwear she bought as a young woman at a Diwali mela, the festival fair where the whole neighbourhood seemed to gather under the lights. Years have passed. The mela she remembers is now a memory, and she can no longer walk through the stalls to find what she is looking for. This is the emotional starting point of Google India's Diwali commercial for Go

Durga Puja turns the streets of Kolkata into a moving celebration. Drum players walk the roads, crowds gather at pandals, and the city stays out late into the night. Anyone who has spent time on those roads knows the experience of being stuck in traffic while the festival passes by on either side. The car becomes a small, private space in the middle of a public celebration. Tata Motors' Durga Puja film starts from that observation. Instead of showing a car gliding along an em

In the Kymore region of Madhya Pradesh, a cement plant has stood since 1923. Its chimneys, silos and stacked bags are part of the everyday landscape. Cement is a material most people only notice when a building is going up, and rarely when it is finished. It is heavy, grey and practical. It is not usually the stuff of festivals. Then, in the Navratri and Durga Puja season of 2026, Adani Cement chose to make it the medium of a goddess. At its Kymore plant, the company built an

Think about the people you knew at twenty. The friend who sat beside you in class is now a competitor at work. The person you called a classmate has become a spouse. The daughter who once waited for her parents to choose her clothes now chooses her own, and then one day chooses clothes for her own child. Life moves in a series of transitions, and most of them arrive without much ceremony. Pujo is one of the few moments in the Bengali calendar that asks you to stop and notice

A young girl returns to India after a long time. She has been away, and the years have made her a stranger to some of the things her family takes for granted. When the Pujo season arrives, she is not sure she wants to take part. The festival that fills her relatives' homes with noise, colour and ritual feels like something happening to other people. This is the starting point of Birla Opus Paints' Durga Pujo film. It does not open on a bright pandal or a dhak beat. It opens o

Picture a workshop in Kolkata. Not a modern studio with sleek equipment and screens. An idol-making workshop—the kind where clay is shaped by hands that have been shaping clay for generations. This is where tradition lives. This is where the art of creation has existed for centuries, refined through repetition, perfection achieved through human instinct and muscle memory. Now imagine another figure entering this workshop. Not a competitor. Not someone there to replace the cra

Picture a home preparing for Diwali. Not in any particular year, but in the timeless space where tradition lives. A woman pulls out the jewellery box. Not because an advertisement told her to, but because it's Diwali. Because her mother did this. Because her grandmother did this. Because for generations, women have adorned themselves with gold during this festival—not out of want created by marketing, but out of belonging to a tradition so old it feels genetic. For most brand

Picture a home during Durga Puja. Not the bustling, chaotic home of a complete family—but the quieter, sadder version. The home where celebration is muted by absence. Where the festival decorations feel ironic because the person who should be helping put them up is thousands of kilometers away. Where the mother and father sit together, but something feels incomplete. They look at the sweets that have been prepared. They look at the clothes they bought for their son. They look

Picture a city preparing for celebration. Not just any city—Kolkata, preparing for Durga Pujo. Weeks before the festival begins, something shifts in the air. Pandal builders are crafting elaborate temporary temples. Home decorators are draping mango leaves and marigolds. Musicians are practicing the rhythm of the dhak—the traditional drum that announces the festival's arrival. Cooks are preparing the intricate Bengali sweets that will be distributed to friends and family. The

Picture a wedding venue. Not the staged, perfect wedding venue you see in bridal magazines. Not the one where every moment is orchestrated, every laugh timed, every tear calculated for emotional resonance. Picture instead a real wedding venue—where things happen that nobody planned, where the most meaningful moments emerge from spontaneity, where the real story of a marriage begins not in the grand gestures but in the unguarded, unscripted exchanges between people who love ea

Someone puts on a shirt. Not a heavy shirt. Not a shirt that reminds them of its material or its seams. A light shirt. An airy shirt. A shirt that feels like almost nothing is there. In that moment, something shifts. They don't walk. They float. They don't move through the world. They levitate through it. What happens in that moment is not about the shirt. It's about freedom. About lightness as liberation. About the sensation of fabric so comfortable, so weightless, that the