Navarasa and Marketing Communication - Hasya
Fun, laughter, joy, merriment.
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Brands that take themselves lightly can fit here.
As can the ones that are involved in celebration.
The entertainment industry is a natural subset.
Hasya works best in categories that feel light to begin with.
For instance, food delivery, snacks, quick commerce, youth-focused apps.
That’s where the audience is already in a casual headspace.
You don’t need to lower the stakes. They’re already low.
But even in serious spaces, humour can slip in if it’s respectful.
The range is wide, though.
From bring-a-smile-to-your-face communication to mocking at your competition.
It’s best to double check whether your brand belongs here.
And to ascertain which part of the spectrum it should occupy.
This is a very tricky rasa to be in because you need to be fully aware of the trade-offs.
Everyone wants to be the funny brand.
It makes you likeable, shareable, and even forgivable.
But Hasya is more than just cracking a joke.
It’s one of the most misunderstood rasas in advertising.
It includes punchlines, gags, hiring that one stand-up comic who’s popular this month.
But humour isn’t just about what’s funny.
It’s about who’s allowed to be funny.
To work, humour has to feel effortless.
Like it’s built into your personality.
You can’t wear it like a jacket.
When a serious brand suddenly tries a joke on Twitter, it often backfires.
It feels off. Like the quiet guy in the office trying stand-up for the first time.
You want to support it, but your eyebrows are already halfway up your forehead.
The brands that got it right never tried to be funny. They just were.
Amul, for instance. The original.
Before memes were a thing.
Their hoardings were India’s running commentary.
Witty, topical, and always in tune with the times.
They didn’t try to sound cool.
They were just sharp.
Like that friend who always has a line for everything, but never tries too hard.
Fevicol is the all-time favourite when discussing ‘funny’.
Their humour isn’t random.
It’s rooted in product truth.
That ridiculous level of stickiness? They turned it into cultural punchlines.
Whether it’s an unbreakable egg or a bus bursting with people - it’s always funny.
Zomato’s push notifications, Swiggy’s tweets, Dream11’s absurdist humour.
The tone at play - self-aware, slightly sarcastic.
Works because it matches their DNA.
Zomato doesn’t just make quirky ads.
The app experience, the UX copy, the emails - it all leans into the same sense of wit.
It feels intentional. Like the brand is in on the joke.
So we laugh with them, not at them.
But this tone isn’t for everyone.
We’ve seen brands try to be ‘cool’ and crash hard.
Humour works when it comes from confidence. Not desperation.
And here’s the catch - your category has to allow it.
It would be so convenient to say that any brand can make people laugh.
You’re engaging with your audience and entertaining them, and any brand that does this successfully is a winner.
But one couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Let’s the take the example of the amazing Thai insurance ads we have seen winning at Cannes over the years.
Thai humour is brilliant, and those scripts make every writer envious.
But here’s a thought. Does an insurance brand want to make its audience laugh?
Health or life, I would like my insurance company to make me feel that they’re going to be there for me. Especially in times of distress.
I would feel more confident if they spoke to me in Veera or Shanta.
I would laugh at their funny ads, but I’m not sure they would win my faith and trust.
Laugh-out-loud humour best serves the low-involvement category.
The Greenply ads have worked brilliantly for the brand because they broke through indifference.
A consumer who’s least interested in advertising, and even lesser in plywood, halts a few seconds for the ad that goes ‘Sasta ply? Why?’.
A good Hasya brand is about consistency.
The humour shows up everywhere, not just the ad.
The joke comes from the product, not away from it.
For instance there was a Fevicol web banner (when those were a thing).
If the cursor landed on it, it was stuck.
Actually stuck.
Meaning, you had to do a control+alt+delete shut down and then start the machine.
Hasya can be resorted to when the cost of failure is low.
And when there’s permission.
The brand has lived in this tone long enough to be trusted in it.
Hasya is the rasa of laughter, joy, lightness.
It covers everything from a quiet smile to full-blown, ugly crying laughter.
Think of it as that friend who makes you forget your worries for a while.
When done right, Hasya can create deep, memorable bonds.
But it’s trickier than it looks.
Because here’s the thing. Funny doesn’t always land.
Especially not when it’s trying too hard or punching down.
It works brilliantly when it’s rooted in empathy.
When it understands the consumer’s life, their tiredness, their mid-week slump, their overcooked rice and underpaid job.
When it brings relief, not ridicule.
Hasya should be used to make the consumer laugh, never to laugh at them.
Take Bold Care, for example.
The brand did a high-energy, quirky campaign with Ranveer Singh and John Cena, making penis health funny.
The production was slick. The banter was punchy.
But somewhere in all the cool, the heart got lost.
This is a brand that solves for real male insecurities.
Bedroom anxiety, performance pressure, awkward pharmacy runs.
You can’t joke your way through that.
You have to first create safety.
Laughter can follow, but only if it doesn’t dismiss the fear.
Because what a consumer of this product truly needs is to feel normal.
Not odd. Not exposed.
The humour should feel like a wink, not a spotlight.
In this case, Hasya felt more like a stand-up comic joking about someone in the front row. Entertaining to everyone except the person in the seat.
Contrast this with Swiggy.
This brand lives comfortably in the Hasya space.
Their tone is warm, self-aware, and light-hearted.
From the ‘Gulab jamun uncle’ to ‘What’s in a name?’
The humour is never about mocking. It’s about mirroring.
That awkward dinner order, that lazy Sunday binge, that couple cooking together.
It’s all very us. And that’s why it works.
Hasya also holds space for clever transitions.
Swiggy used its light, funny tone to slowly move into deeper emotional spaces.
In the ‘What’s in a name?’ campaign, they nudged us to humanise delivery partners.
To call them by their names.
It began with a chuckle. It ended with a shift in behaviour.
Till one fine day, when Swiggy made a cardinal mistake.
Released an ad with the line - Tu teej badi hai mast mast.
This ad created humour by juxtaposing an item number with a Goddess.
Wasn’t funny when people started calling out that Teej Mata is not a cheez.
Humour has to be respectful. And that’s mandatory.
Humour can also be self-deprecating.
Netflix does this well.
‘We’ll miss you for the next 3 hours,’ they tweeted during an IPL match.
It made people smile, nod and maybe even open the app during the ad break.
Zomato let comedians come and roast it.
Samay Raina revealed his Swiggy tee and said, ‘Welcome to the roast of Zomato’.
Humour, when it shows your brand is self-aware, makes people want to hang out with you.
It’s not always about being loud.
Coke has consistently lived in the Hasya and Adbhuta space of joy, wonder and smiles.
From the Aamir Khan ‘Ganne ke khet’ ad to ‘Open Happiness’ and ‘Umeedon wali dhoop,’ their stories are fizzy with warmth.
Even their personalised ‘Share-a-Coke’ campaign made people feel seen.
So yes, Hasya can bring delight, relatability, and memorability.
But we need to be careful where we plant it.
It cannot be placed in a space of fear.
For a category rooted in shame, stigma, or real-life distress like mental health, chronic illness, or sexual dysfunction, Hasya cannot be the entry point.
At least, not until you’ve built safety and trust.
When doing Hasya here are a few questions to ask:
Is this funny to the consumer?
Not to the creative director, not to the marketing head. To the consumer.
What is the mood of the audience right now?
How is this going to look coming from me?
Have I earned the right to say this?
Is this respectful?
Hasya should feel like a friend nudging your ribs, not a brand elbowing your trauma.
And Hasya can always transition.
Into Veera when laughter becomes courage.
Into Karuna when the joke fades and a deeper truth lingers.
Or into Shanta - a moment of quiet connection after the giggle.
But it needs to be earned. Not hijacked.
Make them laugh with you, and you’ve earned the right to be remembered.
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