There’s a nice little word called ennui. Being unable to propel oneself into action or the state of being quelled into disinterest. That probably describes what I felt when I looked for my commercial of envy. Not that I disliked all, but none of them kicked hard enough to break my vial of jealousy. But then, I looked again and an argali butted me in the rump. Among them was a gem. Emergency lemon refresher.
Prathap Suthan, National creative director, Cheil Communications
What got me wasn’t the commercial, though it was yet another compelling film from Parle. What got me was the name—LMN (I do like the flopping fish that locks the perspective scale immediately. I like the anti-beach volleyball, anti-bikini, anti-cliché setting. I like the finish of the lilliput as he scurries around searching for succour. I like the music. I also like the absence of why I should drink LMN and the rest of the missing drivel that makes a 30-seconder into a violation. But I love the name).
If there were degrees for envy, the name LMN makes me the darkest green goblin ever. Shattered vial full of vile and all that. Dripping and drooling. I am endlessly jealous that I didn’t see that name hidden within the English alphabet. Recited as I might have a gazillion times since diaper age. I cannot forgive myself that I never saw it. And I cannot imagine how I missed reading LMN as lemon across all the years I played marbles with the language. In fact, when I heard it the first time, I almost felt that it was right there in front of me and someone took it, nay stole it, from my literary bosom.
LMN is a brilliant name. It’s a coup. It’s arguably, among brand names, a candidate for perfection. I cannot think of one copywriter who wouldn’t have secretly leched at LMN. Because it isn’t often that you get a name so right. The natural arrangement of the letters. Their amazing familiarity. The ease with which they roll off every possible tongue. The unforced yet overt SMS touch. And the oh-so true-to-the-category link. It cannot get more lemony.
I am actually surprised that in all the history of mankind and after inventing packaged, natural, sparkling, blah and so many other lime and lemony variations, no one thought of LMN. It was there. Low-hanging fruit. Waiting to be plucked. And the rest of us were all so blind. Maybe the name LMN was thought of first, which led to the formulation of the drink. Maybe I can smile a wry one. Envious me. I am desperate to justify my insufficiency. I have never cracked a name so pat, er apt.