Kailash Surendranath is the man behind some of the most iconic ads of the ’80s and ’90s. Over his career — which began when he was just 15 — he has directed more than 5,000 commercials. Some of the most memorable were for brands like Liril, Campa Cola and Sunsilk. He also created national integration films that famously played multiple times a day on Doordarshan, such as ‘Spread The Light Of Freedom’ and ‘Mile Sur Mera Tumhara’.
In a conversation with Gautam Shelar, Surendranath reveals that much of his iconic work was “made on a whim.” They featured friends-turned-models, stunning locations discovered without Google Maps, and game-changing shots that made the final cut but never appeared on the storyboard. As Surendranath says: “All the films that you have a great time shooting, and you have a free hand at shooting, always turn out better.”
Watch the full conversation on YouTube @SellSideConversations.
Edited excerpts…
I was driving down to college one monsoon day, and it was pouring. I stopped by Marine Drive because two ladies were asking for a ride. One of them turned out to be Alyque Padamsee’s niece, Mubi Ismail, who was working at Lintas as a film executive.
I showed her my showreel, and she involved me in a presentation to HUL for a new soap they were launching — a lemon-flavoured soap with a marble finish, called Liril.
Their concept was to have a girl frolicking in the waves. We brainstormed, and I suggested a girl under a waterfall instead — it’s much cleaner and fresher than the salty sea, especially in Bombay.
I had a friend, Karen Lunel, who swam with me at the US Club, and I realised she would be perfect for the ad. I presented her to Lintas and HUL, the presentation was a hit, and they approved it.
Only after the ad was released did I realise its impact. Because I was so westernised, I hadn’t realised what it would mean to the Indian audience — who had never seen a girl in a bikini, frolicking in a waterfall.
My friend Suresh Mullick was in O&M. One of his friends from Lok Seva Sanchar Parishad called him saying they wanted an ad for Doordarshan that would make young Indians proud to be Indian. He took me along for the brief, and we came up with the idea of featuring sports stars.
We wrote letters to Prakash Padukone, Kapil Dev, and others, and spent a month travelling to get the shots. Each one was magical. You have to stay aware and alert to your environment, because you can’t plan something like PT Usha running among deer.
The film received an unprecedented response, for two reasons. First, most government-made films were documentaries — preachy and informative. They were good but rarely artistic. Second, television was still new, and the good people at Doordarshan played it multiple times every day.
The Campa Cola ad was, I think, ahead of its time. It was the first time we shot underwater, but there was no underwater gear available to rent in India. I remembered that Umesh Mehra from Eagle Films had built a makeshift camera box for his feature film ‘Teri Bahon Mein’.
On a whim, I said, let’s take that camera and go to the Andamans. For the shoot we brought along Ayesha and Jackie Shroff (my neighbours), Sunil Nischol who worked with me, and a couple of top models like Vanessa Vaz and Aarti — who became my wife eight years later.
Salman was a last-minute addition. Two days before departure, we were one guy short. Aarti’s dad, Major Gupta, mentioned there was a good swimmer who came to his club every day. Aarti met Salman and sent him to me, but he was only 15 at the time. I called Aarti from outside the office saying, “This guy’s a baby compared to everyone else.” She said, “No, no, ask him to take off his shirt.” He did, and he looked great. Since it was last-minute and we had no one else, we took him along.
We hit it off immediately. The first shot we did, after staying up all night fooling around, Salman couldn’t handle the camera reflectors. He couldn’t open his eyes — it was his first time facing the camera. So I said, switch off all the reflectors, and the shots came out beautifully.
All the films where you have fun shooting and full creative freedom always turn out better. Today, corporations want to know the exact storyboard and the intent behind every shot. I don’t resent it — it’s part of the game — but when you’re a real filmmaker, you love your freedom.
Almost all our films were low budget. Take the Sunsilk ad, where I met my wife — it was a breakthrough hair commercial. Back then, most people didn’t understand how to use natural light on hair, so it often turned out frizzy. They’d then add tons of special effects and fake shine, which became the norm.
Today, when you shoot a hair ad, international hair experts fly in, condition the model’s hair for a week, and even insist on flicking it themselves — charging a fortune. I’m not putting their work down; they do great work. But I remember taking Aarti to Kodaikanal to shoot in natural sunlight. I brushed her hair before every take. She has fantastic hair, which was a big plus, and the cameraman had a great eye too.
That natural shine we captured was never seen again. It wasn’t about the script — it was just the texture of the hair, and it created a sensation.
The most important thing is this: if you want to make films, it should be for only one reason — you love films. You must have a passion for them, because that’s when you truly learn.
