Superstar India

by Shobhaa De

  Close to ‘Mocha’ is a leafy lane with lovely bungalows. I used to stay at one of these bungalows more than thirty years ago, when Pune was still seen as a ‘cantonment hill station’, home to wealthy Parsees owning pedigreed race horses and sprawling estates, besides scholarly Maharashtrians and committed theatre/music/film personalities who gave Pune its very special character—at once arrogant, erudite and aloof. Technology has changed all that and become a great leveller. The Pune intellectuals are virtually invisible. Perhaps they've fled to Mumbai? The city is overrun by anonymous young things dressed like potential terrorists, as they cover their entire heads and faces with scarves, leaving just a narrow slit for the eyes. ‘Pollution,’ explained a denim-clad student while climbing on to her bike. ‘Fashion!’ yelled out her friend as she strapped on her helmet before jumping onto the pillion seat. ‘Whatever,’ I replied cheerfully while waving them off.

  *

  It's a similar story in Bangalore where, hold your breath, the room rates at any five-star hotel can be as high as Rs 35,000 for a single night. And tourists still find themselves wait-listed! Traffic barely moves, as more and more cars hit the Bangalore roads that were better accustomed to stately horse carriages not so long ago. Today, the city is reeling and gasping for breath (literally!). Visitors cannot believe that Bangalore, only recently, proudly called itself India's ‘Garden City’. The climate was what was invariably described as ‘salubrious’ (no more! no more!), and the people, so chilled out, polite, soft-spoken and happy, it shamed the rest of us. That same city is totally transformed and it is marked by a ‘greed plus’ attitude, lousy administrators and ‘outsiders’ who have zero emotional stake in the city's future. These birds of passage fly in and out of Bangalore at will, and don't blink at the insane room rates. Talking to a German head of a leading car manufacturing company, I wasn't at all surprised to hear him voice his frustration. ‘It takes me more than an hour to move a few, short kilometres. I've taken to completing most of my e-mails in the car… but what a waste of time!’ Younger Bangaloreans are suffering on a different level altogether. It's called the DINK (Double Income No Kids) syndrome. Techie couples, unable to handle the strain of working long hours, often in disorienting time zones, are seeking early divorces, leading to much grief. The money is great, but the quality of life, anything but.

  On a recent flight to Bangalore I found myself shamelessly listening in on a rather strident Indian woman trashing the country in order to impress her British partner. Her accent was a strange mix of Kannada marrying Canada, but the manner in which she tore into India and Bangalore, made me want to lean across and say, ‘Honey… if it's really so bad, why don't you get the hell out?’ Dressed in too-tight track-pants, with the ubiquitous laptop slung over her shoulder, she was a picture of unattractiveness, as she started on her marriage woes. The Angrez looked completely uninterested… his eyes glazed over as he listened glassily to her tirade against her ex! Oh God! If this woman was hoping for a ‘Better luck next time’ story, she was definitely wasting precious hours on the bored specimen in front of her.

  Despite Bangalore's much-discussed ‘Gated-community’ (people who live like they've never left California), the buying patterns of this lot provide very interesting insights into their psyches. They have the money but they don't have the awareness, when it comes to luxury goods. Detailed studies have established that upwardly mobile Bangaloreans will hesitate to buy a Louis Vuitton bag for a lakh or more, but wouldn't mind shelling out the same amount on fancy Bose speakers. They are still traditional in what they consider ‘value for money’ items. A bride will spend Rs 80,000 on a real zari Kanjeevaram silk saree, as she sees actual worth in it (‘If I melt the saree, I'll get gold from the zari’), but she will think twice before spending the same amount on a pair of Jimmy Choo snakeskin sandals. Cash does not equal flash down south. An investment has to be tangible— house, car, jewellery. Brands don't mean as much as they do up north. Lifestyle options, such as an adventure holiday or a luxury cruise, have their takers. But overall, buying habits are conservative, with a big emphasis on savings.

  Loco over luxury

  Bangalore is readying itself for the opening of a plush mall devoted to luxury. Will it attract the volume of required footfalls to make it an attractive destination? Retailers who've booked space at killer rates in the Kingfisher Mall are holding their breaths. Louis Vuitton has taken pride of place on the ground floor. It is believed, once LV shows the way, the rest will follow. But that has not been Pune's experience so far. While there is no denying the purchasing power of worthy Puneites, they prefer to shop in Mumbai, or climb into their personal jets to fly off for a weekend shopping spree in Milan or Paris. High-end boutiques have still to succeed in either city, even though there are enough fashionistas ready to splurge.

  So, what does the ‘Aaj ki Raat’ crowd do when ‘It's the time to disco’? Are they thinking of the future at all? One meets all types, of course. But hedonism is hard to resist, when there are so many temptations. The d-word (drugs) is a particularly dreaded one, especially for parents who've grown up in the ‘other’ India—the one in which a reference to ‘coke’ was assumed to mean a fizzy soft drink and even that was viewed with suspicion. It is well known how the world's favourite cola was kicked out of India when George Fernandes (the fiery union leader of yore, and presently a tired politician), went on a rampage against the American giant, equating its entry into India with a sinister capitalist conspiracy to swamp the country with undesirable goods, designed to destabilize and eventually destroy the youth. If George only knew then ('70s), what we now know— unbranded coke has succeeded in penetrating our markets in such an insidious manner, we cannot gauge how thoroughly it has saturated our space. I can only tell by the casual references to its rampant usage that it's going to be India's tragedy if society insists on keeping its blinkers on.

  Recreational drugs have turned so kosher, they no longer elicit shock or fear. I've heard kids of fourteen or fifteen talking about substance abuse within their age group, in the same way we, as schoolchildren, would discuss a naughty classmate caught smoking Dad's cigarette or swigging beer. I can still recall the thrill I experienced with a group of friends as we took our first few puffs of a mentholated cigarette and almost gagged in the attempt. We also shared a bottle of beer in the backseat of a car, and were promptly dubbed the ‘bad girls’ of the batch for indulging in something so sinful. We lived in dread of our parents finding out (they did! But years later), or our principal rusticating us for such a serious breach of school discipline (even though, we were on a holiday in Matheran, on our own time and perfectly entitled to risk ruin and damnation, if that's what we wanted).

  It's an entirely different story out there these days, as teenagers boldly ‘smoke up’ (marijuana) and snort (coke), without their parents being any the wiser! ‘Each generation invents its own kicks,’ a friend advised me wisely. ‘Even kicks that kill?’ I countered. She shrugged. ‘This is the twenty-first century, my dear. Wake up…’

  The ‘wake-up’ calls never end!

  Just as you believe you've finally cracked the ‘youth code’, you're confronted with a fresh perspective on the subject you think you've understood. Talking to a bright thirty-two-year-old who has it all—great looks, money, success and a terrific future—I was a little surprised to hear him say, ‘I really miss those days when India had nothing… everybody drove the same Fiat car, had the same ugly black telephone in the house, we all wore the same sort of clothes, ate the same food, saw the same movies… and felt “safe” in the conformity. We didn't compete as fiercely— there was nothing out there to compete for! A can of Pepsi was the most coveted treat—imagine! There were one or two brands of beer. No malls. Nothing. Life was less stressful…’ He went on to say how he often lay in bed for hours longing for the old life, growing up with indulgent but sensible grandparents who gave a fixed amount of money for Diwali or other celebrations. It never varied— a hundred and one rupees in a pla
in white envelope. These days, he said, he tips valets outside five-star hotels in multiples of that modest amount!

  In a deeply introspective and nostalgic mood, the young entrepreneur decided to go back to his ancestral family home in the heart of Mumbai. Of course, it had been torn down (despite being a listed Heritage structure), and in its place a monstrous high-rise complex had come up. Even though he knew what had transpired, he wasn't ready to deal with the visual trauma of seeing the spot where a beautiful bungalow had once stood, being converted into a ghastly eyesore with escalators! And yet, memories of that busy street which used to come alive during every festival drove him to his favourite Ganpati temple in the vicinity. Childhood memories of extended family celebrations came rushing in—cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, dressed in festive finery, feasting together at a long table, or seated on wooden platforms placed on the marble floor.

  These days his ‘lifestyle’ is far superior. But ‘life’ itself has gone out of all the celebrations he cherished. After the death of his grandparents, there's no one left to carry forward those traditions and rituals. By the time he gets married and has kids, nobody will even remember what used to be done during Janmashtami, Navratri, Diwali or Holi. There's no one to guide this lot, even if they wish to revive some of the customs. The family gods have been packed away and are hidden in steel trunks. And there's no family priest to preside over pujas that mark each festival.

  Naming ceremonies of newborns have been replaced by ‘baby showers’ before birth, and an ‘event’ managed by professional planners on the baby's first birthday. Cocktail parties are mandatory before an engagement. Bollywood-style sangeet ceremonies dominate weddings. The older generation appears fatigued and unable to cope with the rapid change. Grandmas have taken to jogging in parks, wearing tracks and the latest trainers. Pizzas have replaced pakwans. Freelance cooks roll up on motorbikes and insist on dishing out ‘Mexican’ food (chapattis with rajma!). The suspended generation has no guidance. Caught between a warm and happy childhood, unable to deal with present-day cut-throat competition (‘My Choos are better than yours’), and fearful of the future (‘Oh God… if the pace is killing me, what will happen to my kids?’), this lot has taken to escapism via a cocktail of drugs, booze and easy sex. They have more money than they know what to do with, but continue to be restless and confused. There is a vast disconnect, and it isn't just an urban/elite phenomenon. Small-towners dream of making it big in the metros. And the people in the metros are unable to deal with the sudden and dramatic socio-economic changes in their lives.

  ‘I feel lonely most of the time,’ said the thirty-two-year-old in a defeated, forlorn voice. An outsider would find that a strange admission from a man who is perceived to be privileged. He says he's sick of the ‘excess’, the same parties featuring the same people desperately trying to impress one another with their latest acquisitions—the second and third homes, biannual vacations to exotic destinations (Bogota is very big right now), pedigreed dogs imported from Europe (pugs are out! Mastiffs are in), this season's ‘It’ bag (definitely a Bottega—so discreet!)… all the trappings of a turbo-charged society hankering for MORE. A little like Putin's Russia, where the middle class has gone mad, and new tycoons are thrown up every month.

  Where will this end? Who knows? What will replace the cliched sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll mantra? Nearly everything has come full circle. Spirituality remains the last frontier for the young, but even that is being packaged and sold by canny, manipulative marketeers. New-age gurus and erudite ‘Gita’ experts are coming out of the woodwork. There is a ‘master’ for any and every anxiety. Some read auras, others heal through vibrations, and sexy amulets studded with glittering stones and metals for every ailment. The Spiritual Bazaar has become a billion-dollar business model. Motorbike gurus with fake American accents fool the swish set into believing all that mumbo-jumbo will lead to nirvana. Younger and younger people are fleeing to Himalayan ashrams to detox and get a handle on life. It is as if they are saying petulantly, ‘We are supposed to have it all—why is it, then, that we are unhappy?’

  *

  Western media (and business people) love to provide insights and answers (often unsolicited). It is as if they are almost resentful of India's success story… like India has no business to be shining or gleaming. The approach is invariably the same. They come on a week's exploratory trip, meet half-a-dozen of the usual suspects. And go back to file the same old story—the ‘shocking’ contrast between the haves and have-nots. The ‘heartlessness’ of Mumbai's wealthy towards Mumbai's ‘homeless’ Mandatory trips are made to Dharavi (of course!). ‘“Loose Mud” is what Dharavi translates to from the original Tamil,’ wrote a New York Times reporter, after doing a pretty superficial, almost aerial-survey type story on ‘Mumbai's Moment’. It is as if the West is unable or unwilling to come to terms with the fact that an Asian economy can be this aggressive, this glamorous.The target remains India, not China, since India, a vibrant democracy, is seen as posing the bigger threat. China can be more easily discounted, with pooh-poohing putdowns about the political bosses who show to the West what they want the West to see. Nothing more. India, on the other hand, has nothing to hide. ‘Come and see for yourself,’ is the clear message. ‘Judge us. Condemn us, correct us, accept us… the options are all in your hands. But we'll be damned if we are going to be apologetic about our success, or explain our confidence, to make you more comfortable.’

  Moscow and Mumbai are being compared constantly, adopting the same mocking tone. We have no problem with that. If the czars set the pace many centuries ago, by living opulently and angering the peasants, our own maharajahs did pretty much the same thing. Luxury is not new to India. But it is comparatively new to America. Perhaps that is what leads to the thinly veiled antagonism when it comes to the reportage of the spectacular India story. It's easy to focus on contradictory images—a naked kid splashing in rain water near a sprawling slum, shanty-towns along the edges of swanky sky-scrapers, bullock carts on a busy street, cheek-by-jowl with the latest BMW. It's the same temptation Asian journos fall for when they take pictures of New York's druggies or the homeless, next to the famous bronze bull on Wall Street. There is poverty everywhere.

  Poverty itself comes in many guises. What an Indian sees maybe is the moral and spiritual poverty of the West, which is much harder to fix than the material poverty of this region. Money, progress, jobs and education can lift our people and give the poor a better life, perhaps twenty years from now. But what can the West possibly do to address its own issues which have led to a far more serious crisis? There was a time (pre-George Bush) when America was the 800-pound gorilla. All it had to do was stare the quaking opponent down. What America wanted America got! The whole world believed it was the land of milk and honey.

  Well… look what happened to that amazingly-crafted myth post-9/11. Where is America today? Oh, it's still trying to flex its muscles, and prove that its old supremacy is still intact. But as everybody knows, the emperor's wearing no clothes. America's positioning in world perception has never been lower. It has taken a major hit. George Bush blew it!

  As of now, regardless of which candidate occupies the White House in the next elections (my money is on Hillary Clinton), the dented image looks hard to fix in such a short period of time. Recession seems a certainty. The sub-prime issue will take America down for sure but the downfall of the mighty dollar is bound to affect other economics, too. For America to regain lost glory, much more will have to be done than pulling out of Iraq with its tail between its legs. The world has not forgotten the mess in Vietnam. Well, that got salvaged over a period of thirty years. But to most America-watchers, the current imbroglio is not going to be that easy to resolve. The slide has begun. America has to deal with its self-inflicted wounds. But even the best-planned exercise in damage control won't be able to reverse what is already in motion. The world has seen the chink in America's armour. The world has lost faith in America itself. The old imag
e of an all-powerful, mighty behemoth, impenetrable, invincible, lies in shambles. Who can pick up the pieces and put this Humpty Dumpty together again?

  *

  This is the refrain one hears all the time, even from Americans themselves, when they care to be honest. The smarter ones realize it's futile to pretend everything is hunky-dory and that America can get its groove back in a hurry. Back to business, as usual? Not on your life. Not for the next fifty years, according to experts. ‘The country, as a whole, is in denial,’ confessed an American corporate honcho at a posh dinner in his honour. I thought to myself, ‘Of course he'd say that.’ He was in India to do business and make money. Big money. He was also smart enough not to exclaim, ‘Wow! I didn't realize people in India possessed such cars… or lived so well.’ He'd done his homework. And was careful with his comments. It was the day the Sensex had gone crazy (yet again), and crossed the incredible 20K mark.The mood was one of jubilation, as Möet flowed, and ladies wearing priceless diamonds discussed their last holiday in the Hamptons.

  Some of the other guests at the table were still in ‘gee whiz’ mode. They were first-timers to India and appeared overwhelmed, even astonished by what they'd seen. At a childish level, I couldn't resist boasting—I could afford to. I pointed to the number of (official) billionaires on the annual Forbes list. Their jaws dropped. I told them about the incredible pluralities in our society—I was just getting started! Calm down, I told myself at one point. You're sounding American!