EpiphanyMoments

In the mid-80s at The Indian Post, (like in every newspaper across the country then) a story went through two layers of editing by no-nonsense mafiosi of the desk. No reporter dared file a piece without confirming at least two sources. Emotion had to be earned, not performed. Today, a well-timed sigh on camera often gets more reach than a day’s fieldwork. Once upon a time, calling someone a “storyteller” in a newsroom was a compliment. It meant they could write with grace, clarity, and flair. I remember our chain-smoking Pakistani news desk editor at The Khaleej Times, Dubai, telling me, “Don’t just inform, make the reader feel something.” But that feeling had to rest on a foundation of rigour. Today, in many Indian media circles, “storyteller” feels like code for someone who can spin drama over detail. In the chase for ratings, retweets, and relevance, journalism has taken on a theatrical air. Reporters sound like narrators. Headlines resemble movie trailers. Emotions routinely overp...

Before I became a journalist at 21 and joining The Free Press Journal in 1979 I dreamt of becoming a chef. The hospitality industry had my heart. I loved food. Still do.Back then, in the very-little-or-no-money days (Wilson College in the morning, Zenith Tin Works for the 8-hour shift beginning 3pm) joy came wrapped in newspaper or served on grimy plates and pieces of old mewspaper; kheema-pav at Dadar Lucky's just across from our building. Wadapav near Kirti College, Crisp dosas at Visava, and burji-pav outside Dadar railway station: greasy, spicy and perfect. Food was both nourishment and occasion. You didn’t need an event; eating was the event.Dadar in those years was a living, breathing, hungry part of Bombay. People rushed to trains with a wadapav in hand, argued cricket over chai at tapris and built lives out of chawls and borrowed dreams. I was one of them. A young man with a tall frame, gangly limbs, and a stomach that seemed to growl on cue.Then came a little twist of fate...

The Day RCB Finally Won – What the 2025 IPL Taught Us About Brand Building in the Age of Public Everything By David D’Souza Last night in Ahmedabad, Royal Challengers Bengaluru finally did it. After 17 seasons of heartbreak, memes, and shattered fan hopes, RCB lifted the IPL 2025 trophy — beating a resolute Punjab Super Kings in a final that had more emotion than all 70 matches leading up to it. Virat Kohli didn’t punch the air or leap into a huddle. He just knelt. Right there in the middle of the pitch. Bent his head low. Stayed still. And let it all wash over him. His eyes were moist. His face was folded in silence. He didn’t need to speak. A few moments later, the team rushed in. They didn’t leap onto him. They bent down next to him. Teammates, some younger by a decade, leaned in and placed their hands gently on his shoulder. There was no screaming. No selfies. Just reverence. And then, the most intimate image of all. Anushka Sharma, who had watched every ball from the stands, cam...

Brands have come and gone. Logos have evolved, campaigns have shifted from jingles to reels, but it has stood its ground: unchanged, unbranded, yet unforgettable.The humble wadapav.In a city constantly in motion, where identities blur and aspirations outpace memory, it never needed a rebrand, didn’t chase a market share or pay an influencer to go viral. It’s not just a snack. It’s a pocket-sized reminder of who we are. A slab of Mumbai in your palm. A steaming, golden batata vada, smashed between pav, kissed with fiery dry garlic chutney, and if the stars align—served with a green chilli that threatens to burn away your sins. You don’t eat it. You savour it. With your eyes half closed. With your soul. The drool at the corner of your mouth the telltale sign of orgasmic delight. It’s as tough and filling as a rush along Ranade Road in peak hours. A true Marathi welcome for the rich and poor, across faiths, languages, and geography. No entry barriers. No cutlery. No fuss. Just a knowing n...

Call it what you want: a dish, a memory, a rebellion. But know this: Kheema pav is not just Mumbai’s. It IS Mumbai. Spiced like its people. Messy like its streets.Strangely comforting, even when it doesn’t try to be. In that strange comfort lies the soul of the city. And of this Dadarwala storyteller.If wadapav is the humble worker who shows up at 5:00 am, Kheema pav is his errant cousin who swaggers in at 11:00 am, wearing yesterday’s cologne and still tasting like spicy mischief.You can argue its origins. Some trace it to Mughal bawarchis, others to Telangana cafés. But make no mistake: Kheema pav is a Mumbai original. It didn’t come here. It was born here. It grew up on street corners and on chipped marble-topped Irani cafés where time stands still.The dish is deceptively simple: minced mutton slow-cooked with onions, garlic, ginger, fresh coriander, tomatoes, sometimes frozen green peas, and a spice mix that doesn’t believe in restraint. Somewhere inside, your spoon will stumble up...

Today, our dear Buddy flew back to wherever he came from: someplace beyond pain, beyond time, and filled, we hope, with open fields and warm sunshine.He wasn’t ours on paper. He belonged to our dear friends the Kumars from our old neighborhood. Every morning or evening, we’d hear the scratch at our door going or coming from his walks, followed by a deep, insistent woof, his signature arrival call. Alka would open the door and in he’d stride, rubbing against her legs like he’d come home after a long day of work. His path was familiar: straight to the kitchen where a treat always awaited him.On Margashirsha Thursdays he’d do the same arrival routine but with a little more urgency. He'd lower his head slightly near the small puja shrine in the kitchen, as if asking forgiveness for the act that was about to follow. Then, with all the grace of an entitled deity, he’d gently eat the banana prasad, slurp up the milk, and walk back to the hall where he’d sit contentedly beside Alka.He was,...

I thought I was done with Test cricket. Years of reporting and watching one-dayers and T20s had conditioned me for quick results and instant drama. Five-day matches felt like relics....until Old Trafford happened.After decades, I sat through every live telecast session of the fourth Test. What unfolded wasn’t just a game; it was a reminder of why Test cricket still matters. On the scorecard, it’s a draw. In spirit, it was India’s victory.It didn’t start that way. India were two wickets gone without a single run on the board. The match felt ready to slide into an England win. Instead, it became the moment India dug in. Much criticised captain Shubman Gill, Ravindra Jadeja and Washington Sundar scored centuries that were less about numbers and more about defiance. KL Rahul’s gritty 90 only deepened England’s frustration. Ball after ball, over after over, India pulled the match away from the brink and turned it into a contest England couldn’t control.Ben Stokes tried. When the result beca...

The pitfalls of overpromising PR agencies often stem from a misunderstanding of what true public relations involves. Many agencies sell themselves on media connections and flashy promises but fall short when it matters most — during crises or critical campaigns where reputation is on the line.My 40-plus year journey from being a newspaper journalist and newswire agency reporter to corporate and later Agency PR has given me enough industry and professional insights to see the pitfalls of overpromising PR agencies.>I must agree, however, that some Clients insist on column centimeters and electronic media minutes. They don't care about strategy, perception management and crisis communications. 'I pay you a bomb every month to get me only these few miserable clippings from inside-pages? ' is the sharp client response when monthly monitoring reports are presented by the agency. Ask any PR account handler if they don't have butterflies in their stomach if a Presser is spar...

Less is More: The Power of a Short, Sharp Press Release By David D’Souza In today’s fast-paced media landscape, a journalist’s inbox is a warzone. PR agencies fire off press releases like missiles, each hoping to land on the front page. Unfortunately, most explode mid-air—too long, too wordy, and too dull. In a world where attention spans are shorter than a goldfish’s memory, a short, sharp, and journalistic-style press release is your best weapon. Imagine a news editor juggling deadlines, caffeine levels, and a hundred emails. They open your press release and see a 700-word essay on "Revolutionary health capsules launched." Do they read it? No1 They delete it faster than you can sneeze. A concise press release respects their time. It delivers the who, what, when, where, why, and how in the first few lines. No waffle, no unnecessary adjectives, and certainly no CEO quotes that say, “We are delighted to revolutionise synergy in the seating industry.” Journalists don’t hav...

Ever since my wife Alka fell ill, I’ve had to learn how to cook a decent Indian meal that both of us enjoy. And while I won’t be headlining a MasterChef episode anytime, or taking my hometown Pune by culinary storm, I have realised that good cooking—like good storytelling—relies on the right ingredients, timing and a little flair.That’s why I want to use culinary art to describe the art of storytelling in communications. Because without a good story, even the best message is just a pile of raw ingredients—technically edible, but utterly unappetising.If communication were a meal, storytelling would be the secret sauce that transforms bland words into Michelin-star magic. Without it, speeches taste like unsalted porridge, articles feel like an overcooked dissertation, and campaigns are as forgettable as yesterday’s aamti-bhaat (lentil curry-rice).Yet, in the grand kitchen of communications, storytelling is often treated like an optional Maharashtrian tadka (tempering) rather than the mai...

I’ve been in the game long enough to know when someone is trying to wing it in an interview. And trust me, in corporate communications, there’s nowhere to hide. The moment a candidate walks in, radiating confidence but suspiciously light on specifics, I know what’s coming. The buzzwords. The generic statements. The well-rehearsed but ultimately hollow claims. “I thrive in high-pressure situations,” they say. Great! I lean forward and ask, “Tell me about a real crisis you managed. Step by step.” There’s a pause. A slight shift in the chair. Then a vague story about a ‘challenging situation’ that somehow never gets specific. “I’m a strategic storyteller,” they continue, smiling. “Fantastic,” I reply. “Give me an example of a time your words changed the public narrative. Who was the audience? What was the message? What was the outcome?” Now there’s blinking. Some nervous nodding. I can almost hear the internal monologue: Oh no. They actually expect details. “I understand media re...

  Picture this. A reporter thrusts a mic towards your CEO and asks, “Sir, is it true that your company’s new electric scooter catches fire in the summer heat?” A well-trained CEO smiles and says, “Safety is our top priority, and we are actively investigating all concerns to ensure the highest quality standards.” A CEO without media training? “See, it only happens if you leave it under direct sunlight for a few hours?” And just like that, investors panic, #ScooterSamosa trends on Twitter, and your PR team disappears—rumoured to be seeking refuge in the Khandala foothills. This is why media training is not a luxury. It’s as crucial as a power backup during load-shedding. Because when the media storm hits, you don’t want to be standing there without an umbrella, hoping for divine intervention. A well-trained spokesperson can handle a tricky question the way a seasoned Mumbai driver navigates potholes—smoothly, efficiently, and without a scratch. I have personally conducted media train...

By a journalist-turned-PR-warrior who’s seen enough branding to know when it bites back. Everyone today has a brand. My retired school friend in Pune has a YouTube channel about Ayurvedic chutneys. An editor colleague of mine now teaches “storytelling for startups” and refers to himself as a “Narrative Alchemist.Somewhere between deadlines, deodorants, and digital detoxes, we’ve all become the marketing departments of ourselves. I say this as someone who’s crossed the floor more than once—journalist to PR to marcomm strategist. I’ve written headlines that sold cars and cupboards, managed CEOs during their worst days, and coached fresh MBAs on how not to sound like ChatGPT. And in all that time, one thing has only become louder, shinier, and harder to ignore: the gospel of personal branding. On the surface, it makes perfect sense. We live in a noisy world. If you don’t stand out, you blend in. And no one wants to blend in—not even the introverts. So we polish our LinkedIn bios, curate o...

 Th ere was a time—not so long ago—when creating a solid PR strategy or deck meant bracing for long nights, numerous coffee runs, and endless revisions. I remember crafting a campaign plan, preparing for a client pitch, or conceptualising an event involved intensive manual work, drawn-out brainstorms, and hours of formatting. It was a craft built on grit, guesswork, and a generous helping of stress. Then came AI. Artificial Intelligence has entered the PR space not with a bang, but with a quiet revolution. What used to take days can now take hours—or even minutes. And the PR professional like me who once juggled ten open tabs, half a dozen documents, and a blinking cursor is now armed with tools that assist, anticipate, and accelerate. Presentation decks, once a major time-sink, have become lighter work. AI-powered design and writing assistants now generate initial layouts, talking points, competitive summaries, and even design cues. PR plans, too, no longer begin from scratch. Wit...

Back in the day, self-improvement didn’t come from a 90-minute motivational chat, or someone in yoga pants saying “Just breathe.” It came in two simple forms: the grumpy parish priest in the confessional box, and your mother’s flying chappal (slipper)  One threatened you with hellfire. The other delivered a sting across the cheek so accurate it could realign your chakras before anyone had heard of chakras. And somehow, it worked. These days, though, we’ve evolved. We’ve gone from good old-fashioned Catholic guilt (or its Hindu, Muslim, and atheist equivalents) to the gleaming world of professional coaching. Everyone has a coach now. Most people have three. Some have a coach to help them choose other coaches. It starts innocently. You're a little lost? Life coach. Can’t focus? Mindfulness coach. Too focused and now exhausted? Wellness coach. Trying for a baby? Fertility coach. Baby arrives? Parenting coach. Baby turns into a teenager? Therapy. And maybe a punching bag. Stuck in a de...

After nine long years of silence, the man who once represented India’s flamboyant business elite reappeared on a podcast, not in a courtroom. This was not a press conference. It wasn’t a statement read out by lawyers. It was a long, carefully staged conversation hosted by Raj Shamani, a content creator and entrepreneur with a growing following. The result? Four hours of controlled candour. Or as some have already started calling it, a masterclass in narrative repackaging.From a communication point of view, it was slick. Mallya was calm, deliberate and fully aware of the camera. He expressed regret. He even apologised to the employees of Kingfisher Airlines. He spoke about the emotional toll on his family. He clarified, at least from his point of view, how the thousands of crores debt was a headline that ignored repayments, frozen assets and the interest overload. On the surface, he appeared to be doing what every PR consultant eventually advises: take control of the narrative before so...

You don’t spend 45 years in the communications trenches without learning a few things. Like how to read a room before a word is spoken. How to calm a nervous CEO before a crisis interview. How to turn a chaotic situation into a compelling story. And how to be funny when the only other alternative is a heartburn tablet. I’ve worked with brands on the edge of transformation, in boardrooms brimming with pressure, and in newsrooms where deadlines bit harder than editors. I’ve taught in institutions where curious young minds wanted more than just frameworks: they wanted fire, stories, scars, and real-world shortcuts. Some call me a perception strategist, others a media relations expert but at heart, I’m a problem-solver. A writer. A storyteller. An educator. When required, a street-smart negotiator who knows that a journalist’s silence is often louder than their headlines. I may not have written a bestselling book, but I’ve written stories that stayed in people’s heads longer than most blog...

The Kolhapuri chappal was never launched. There was no advertising campaign, no jingle, no influencer post, and certainly no Italian name. It simply existed—like some brands do—quietly, authentically, and without ever needing a tagline. When I speak to young brand managers or PR students today, I often remind them that the strongest brands don’t always speak the loudest. Some let product truth and lived experience do the talking. Kolhapuris belong to that rare category. I’ve worn mine across a few countries: through the malls of Dubai, the souks of Bahrain and Qatar, and the greyer-than-grey streets of Reading, outside London, where a passing stranger once asked, “Is that from India?” I smiled and said yes. “Custom-made,” I added. Which was true. They were made by Namdeo, my childhood chammar from Dadar. Namdeo had no logo, no press kit, no distribution network. Just a humble kiosk that leaned against the Dadar Portuguese church wall as if seeking spiritual shade. He was from Sangli, w...

S torytelling may win the moment. Journalism, practiced with honesty, wins trust. Trust remains this industry’s only true currency. In the mid-80s at  The Indian Post , (like in every newspaper across the country then) a story went through two layers of editing by no-nonsense mafiosi of the desk. No reporter dared file a piece without confirming at least two sources. Emotion had to be earned, not performed. Today, a well-timed sigh on camera often gets more reach than a day’s fieldwork. Once upon a time, calling someone a “storyteller” in a newsroom was a compliment. It meant they could write with grace, clarity, and flair. I remember our chain-smoking Pakistani news desk editor at The Khaleej Times, Dubai, telling me, “Don’t just inform, make the reader feel something.” But that feeling had to rest on a foundation of rigour. Today, in many Indian media circles, “storyteller” feels like code for someone who can spin drama over detail. In the chase for ratings, retweets, and relevan...