Yes, your old perfume takes you back to all the old memories—but can an instrument bring enthusiasm in you? Do you remember the IPL trumpet tune and how it makes you feel? That is exactly how today’s iconic ads have started. Not with a story, not with a face, but with a feeling, one sharp, familiar burst of sound that has instantly travelled through your spine and landed straight into your feet.
Because some ads haven’t asked for your attention. They have hijacked your reflexes.
Created by J. Walter Thompson (JWT) India for Sony MAX as part of the 2013 Pepsi IPL campaign “Sirf Dekhne Ka Nahi” (Not Just for Watching), this film has been less of an advertisement and more of a nationwide impulse. Conceptualised by JWT and brought alive by Farah Khan, who has directed and choreographed it with her signature, unapologetic flair—the campaign has carried a certain madness that has felt both staged and strangely real. Vishal & Shekhar’s music hasn’t just supported the film, it has driven it, becoming the very reason the film has existed. Produced by Keroscene Films, every frame has felt like it has been waiting to burst into motion.
The film has opened on a man asleep, tucked into the quiet monotony of an ordinary day. But the stillness hasn’t lasted. The IPL trumpet has cut through—sharp, playful, impossible to ignore. And just like that, reality has shifted. Farah Khan has entered, flanked by two band members—one carrying a DJ setup, the other with a speaker strapped to his back—like chaos has arrived with its own background score.
“Chauka laga toh?” (What if a four is hit?) she asked, nudging him awake.
And before the question has even settled, the answer hasn’t come in words—it has come in movement.
“Dil jumping japang jampak jampak, thumping thapang thampak thampak, gili gili ah.”
The man hasn’t just woken up, he has responded. Instinctively. Almost involuntarily.
And then, like a chain reaction no one has planned but everyone has understood, the rhythm has travelled.
An aunty on the terrace has broken into the same steps. An uncle feeding pigeons on his rooftop has followed. A mechanic, a man mid-pee, a teacher in the middle of a lesson, a boy waiting in line, a girl playing, even two Rajasthani dolls, everyone has moved in perfect, ridiculous synchrony. No transitions have been needed, no logic has been offered. Just the beat, and bodies surrendering to it.
The film hasn’t slowed down, it has escalated.
Farah Khan has reappeared, this time barging into a man’s bathroom, asking, “Sixer lage toh?” (What if a six is hit?)
And once again, the answer hasn’t been verbal.
“Dil jumping japang jampak jampak, thumping thapang thampak thampak, gili gili ah.”
A man has danced in his sleep. A young boy, sitting backwards on a scooter, has grooved like balance hasn’t mattered. A newlywed bride, sitting in her decorated room, has momentarily forgotten the weight of rituals and has given in to the rhythm. An uncle on his balcony, a man near Red Fort on a busy road, different lives, different moments, but the same uncontrollable reaction.
And then comes the quietest moment, the kind that usually doesn’t belong to ads like this.
A man has walked into his dark kitchen at night, reaching for something from the fridge. The world has felt still, almost paused. But as the fridge light has flickered on, there she has been, Farah Khan, standing right next to him.
“Wicket gire toh?” (What if a wicket falls?)
The shock lasted for a second. The beat has taken over the next.
“Dil jumping japang jampak jampak, thumping thapang thampak thampak, gili gili ah.”
Three friends on a road. A man standing outside his house with a dog. A boy sitting on a buggy. A man inside a train. A kid at home. Different corners of the country, stitched together by one absurdly catchy response.
And just when it has felt like the chaos couldn’t possibly get bigger, it has.
A railway station. A crowd. Movement within movement. And in the middle of it all, Farah Khan and her band have brought everyone together into one final, echoing line—
“Sirf dekhne ka nahi…” (Not just for watching…)
Because that has been the truth this ad has tapped into. IPL hasn’t been something you have watched quietly. It has been something that has taken over you. Your reactions haven’t been measured, your excitement hasn’t been contained. It has been loud, collective, and impossible to sit still through.
This ad hasn’t explained that feeling. It has recreated it.
And just like that old perfume, years later, you may not remember every frame. But the moment that trumpet has played again, your body has remembered before you did.
Somewhere, without even realizing it, your foot has already started tapping.
