People who think that teaching is the only profession one can join at any stage in life should revisit this misperception. And like teaching, Urdu copywriting is another seemingly one-size-fits-all profession that comes laced with the most satisfying prospects for full-time employment and many more similar attributes of a nine-to-five workday.

‘Think. Done’, the slogan of a multinational courier service provider, is the apt answer to the question, ‘Sir! How can I become an Urdu copywriter?’ Other than ‘Sir’, an etiquette-driven (yet a form of padding) salutation often used out of cultural compulsion, the question, along with its short answer, depicts how things unfold in today’s advertising agencies operating in this part of the world in particular.

Thanks to the rise of modern telecommunication technologies, every social media user enjoys the coveted status of being a journalist, at least on a freelance basis. In a similar vein, the younger lot of Urdu copywriters entering the advertising industry, either online or offline, are no different than social media users enjoying the status of journalists. On the face of it, all it takes is a basic ability to write and speak the language to be an Urdu copywriter, no matter the literary background, supportive qualifications or experience—literally.

Unlike English, which is not everyone’s domain in this Urdu-dominated environment, Urdu is treated as a ghar ki londi by all and sundry, thus becoming the ultimate victim of their footloose and fancy-free expressions.

The older folks of the industry now feel Urdu copywriting has been reduced to a kind of trampoline set up in the centre of a playground where everyone is welcome to jump to the highest point possible, just for the fun of it or for just athletic catharsis. The choice is yours!

Starting from the usage of colloquial terms, unnecessarily mingling English with Urdu phrases, and resorting to street jargon, it is always party time for the emerging crop of copywriters, who have been granted the literary ‘license to kill’, not only the copy itself but also the long-cherished linguistic principles and parameters once religiously maintained by old school creative writers.

If you are one of those unlucky souls associated with an ad agency as a proofreader, your head will start to spin with copy littered with phrases such as ‘Akkad bakkad bambay bo, qeemat iski puray so,’ ‘Pura Pakistan raha hai ghol, falana ispaghol’, ‘Macho bolay tu bara burger,’ ‘Why not, meri jaan,’ or ‘Miqdar mukammal mayar main A-one, falana eendhan tan-tana-tan.’

Mind you, since the client has happily approved the copy with a big thumbs-up, you are left with no option but to either give it 10 out of 10 or tender your resignation.

No matter the linguistic standards, bravo if your copy hits the mark with the client relishing the prospect of commercial success even at the expense of murdering the language. Clients mostly come from O’ and A’ level backgrounds and are usually one of those down-to-earth individuals with no pretensions about their Urdu language proficiency. Even more interestingly, they often take pride in their poor Urdu skills, yet they become the approving authority in deciding the fate of your copy. That’s how the cookie crumbles in the world of advertising.

Copywriting gurus feel that today’s Urdu copywriters do not know how to write the language properly and have a very limited vocabulary.

The common denominator is using a language everyone can easily understand – a standard rule that is more of a wise man’s advice, especially for young talent joining the copywriting profession. However, when it comes to vocabulary, young copywriters tend to oscillate between two extremes. Either they start churning out the Naseem-ul-Lughat for the most complicated words (for example, daqeeqa) one can ever understand or resort to Google Translation for the most accessible options, leading to instant copy produced at the push of a button similar to instant coffee.

Rendering swaying feelings and dizzy spells with and sometimes a loss of consciousness, the translated text offered by online translation tools merits a separate discussion. However, the lack of alternative words characterises the copy produced by young brains since they have only a single word in their vocabulary arsenal to describe the salient features of a product or service. For them, everything ends up as ‘achi.’ ‘Achi chai’, ‘achi service,’ ‘acha zaiqa,’ ‘acha mayar,’ ‘achi offer,’ ‘acha discount,’ ‘acha package,’ and, of course, ‘achi copy’.

In an interview, when you ask the candidate about the etymology of the word ‘copywriting,’ you get some interesting answers. Most candidates tend to break up the word ‘copywriting’ into different variations, to the extent of ‘copying the writing’ and ‘coping with the writing.’ For this scribe, the second variation makes sense, considering the talent entering the job market. However, let me add another variation of a ‘writing cop’, as practically speaking, the whole brigade of young ‘writing cops’ seems to be committing daylight robbery in terms of the language by bankrupting classic terms and expressions, and this too with the help of the client.

After all, any copy that sells is good copy, and the vicious cycle goes on.

You can understand the plight of veteran writers when young Turks dare ask them why they remove common words such as shashkay, tight, zero meter, chakaas, kabaara, bambaat, and many more in the same category. Proud of their ‘khatam’ Urdu, most of them often write words in their copy that one cannot even speak. Unfortunately, in the tug-of-war between the emerging league of cheetah writers and old wrinkled-up editors, the latter are the ultimate villains.

Honestly speaking, those who find it difficult to discriminate between rumal and rumali deserve the house of correction rather than a copywriting desk. Be that as it may, the copywriting desk of an advertising agency is the place to be where everyone’s a winner, or, in simple words, master hay tou master!