by Shobhaa De
How does one react? There are times (far more frequent in recent years) when I find my heart all but bursting with pride and joy (the sight of our ‘Boys’ taking a victory lap around the stadium in Jo'berg after the heart-stopping T20 win). Then there are other times when I find myself despairing as the same heart sinks to my toes. People keep talking about Brand India. It is the one topic that gets everyone going. We all have our versions of this amazing brand. If Condé Nast Traveller declared India to be the No. 1 tourist destination in 2007, beating Thailand, Italy, Australia and New Zealand, there is reason for us to rejoice. We were used to being at the bottom of the heap for years— shunned by those who refused to take a chance with their lives in a ‘dangerous land full of dreaded diseases, poisonous snakes and putrefying garbage all over…’ Suddenly, India has become ‘sexy’? And ‘hot’
India was dubbed a ‘hardship destination’ for decades. And ‘burra sahibs’ were given generous compensation for accepting a posting here. And now, those very sahibs are flocking here (driving real estate prices through the bloody roof).
What accounts for this dramatic change? I'd say it is our billionaires who've wowed the world. Desi tycoons snapping up gigantic conglomerates (Mittal's Acelor will always be the benchmark for all the others who followed). The annual jamboree in Davos, which has traditionally attracted international players, but pointedly marginalized India, is suddenly the place to network with our industrialists… yes… the same ones who used to be kept waiting or snubbed outright by snooty American/European businessmen in the past. From a low-key, conservative Ratan Tata to the flamboyant, buccaneering Vijay Mallya, Indian bucks are everywhere. In power, petroleum, aviation, steel, pharma, construction, hospitality and of course, IT industries, Indians are emerging as highly respected world leaders, with the vision and guts to build global empires. From the banking sector to infrastructure, we have managed to impact those who had expressed scorn and skepticism at India's ambitions.
I was asked to flag off a cavalcade of gleaming Mercedes Benzes, marking the start of ‘The India Trail, which would cover 40,000 miles of terrain and establish the German brand still more firmly in the consumers’ minds. The only reason I agreed to do so was because it gave me an opportunity to brag about the India story some more. Twelve years ago, Mercedes took a bold step by setting up a state-of-the-art factory at Pimpri (outside Pune). This sent out a powerful signal to the other automobile-makers who were tentatively getting their toes wet, testing the waters before taking the plunge themselves. Not only was Mercedes ready to market its range of cars in India, it was ready to invest in a factory (its first outside Europe). Today, Mercedes is steadily rolling out those reliable cars, and going by sales figures, India is ready to get Merc-ed out.
It doesn't stop with the Merc. Stand outside any trendy lounge bar in Mumbai/Delhi and you'll see a cavalcade of the latest cars. My eyeballs nearly popped out last year, while waiting for my own car outside ‘Privé’, an exclusive club in Mumbai. A Bentley glided into the narrow road along the seashore, followed by a flashy Lamborghini. ‘Wow… is this really Mumbai?’ I heard a Japanese visitor exclaim, as two young, incredibly well-dressed couples emerged from their respective cars, aware of the admiring looks their spiffy vehicles were attracting. Right next to the swanky club is a small shrine under a peepul tree. I noticed how many hard-core party-goers stopped to say a quick prayer there, before entering the club premises. To any outsider, this may have looked absurd, a total contradiction. But I found the juxtapositioning an apt symbol for the change taking place.
I will not stoop low enough (like the NYT journo) to mock the faith of the uber-chic, uber-sexy crowd streaming in for a night on the town. Because that's the easy part— stereotyping is so hard to resist. I was more interested in the reaction of the pujaris who guard the charming shrine round the clock, and keep its immediate surroundings scrupulously clean. The tiled platform under the tree provides an informal meeting-place for locals to sit around chatting, occasionally stopping mid-sentence to gawk at Bollywood and fashion world celebrities trooping in carefully coiffed and coutured for maximum impact. What do they think of these youngsters? Are they dismayed by their skimpy attire? Their ‘debauched’ ways? Couples kiss openly on that street, most young girls smoke languidly while waiting for the valet to get their cars, and it is obvious some guests are flying high after consuming a magnum or two of Möet. But no. The ‘shrinewallahs’ look philosophically at the situation and are far from judgemental. ‘Yeh sab hota hai… aaj ka zamana hai… sab cheez badal gayi hai.’ They take change in their stride without moralizing. Of course, it's not always such a happy story elsewhere in India. But it is still an encouraging sign that people who watch today's flappers blowing up in a single hedonistic night what may well be the former's yearly earnings, do so without anger or resentment. Society-watchers talk about a bloody revolution in the offing. I've been hearing that for fifteen years. Doomsday prophets predict an uprising of the have-nots, who will strike at the entirely disproportionate distribution of wealth, especially as demonstrated in urban India, where flaunting mind-bogglingly pricey designer labels has become an inescapable excercise of city life.
Frankly, I'm amazed it has not happened so far, since the disparities are frighteningly blatant. Unlike in America during the 80s and 90s, when rich people were mugged in the streets of New York by gang members who coveted the attractive trainers warn by joggers, or crack addicts who pulled Rolex watches off the wrists of their victims after knifing them, nothing of the sort is happening here. In fact, it works the other way: those who long for a good car, good watch, good clothes, stare at people who own them, and tell themselves, ‘One day, I'll have all this and more.’ An ad line said it all: ‘Mera number kab aayega?’ There is hope and longing in that pitch, not jealousy or bitterness.
The '70s angst (as immortalized by Amitabh Bachchan's Angry Young Man in Zanjeer and other popular films) has given way to new-century optimism. Each time the Sensex soars, or our cricketers win, our hearts threaten to jump out of our mouths. Conspicuous consumption is a clumsy by-product of the commercial boom. We will perforce have to go through this tedious cycle (à la Western societies in the '50s and '60s) before we settle comfortably into our own groove, our special niche. It's a pity we refuse to take our cues from the disastrous consequences of this cycle as witnessed in the West. Junk food being the chief villain.
Watching movies is something I do compulsively. Over the years I've watched cinema-goers getting fatter and fatter. The proliferation of multiplexes has added to the rampant consumption of unhealthy food. Given the price of a cinema ticket (Rs 200) and the prices of popcorn (Rs 75), plus a cola (Rs 30) and a burger (Rs 95) the average spend per person works out to a hefty Rs 400. For a family of four that's Rs 1,600 spent in one go. Obviously, it's not an issue with them. I watch in horror as people stagger back into the auditorium laden with trays full of food. No wonder Renuka Choudhary, the progressive, outspoken minister for women's issues and child welfare, was seriously considering a ban on junk food-advertising at prime time. If India does not eat smart, we are soon going to turn into a nation of the obese, just like America, where being overweight has become entirely acceptable. People are defiantly fat, even if their arteries are clogged, and young people suffer cardiac arrests. And diabetes.
We've foolishly turned our backs on traditional diets which were, for centuries, based on compatibility factors. Regional cuisine bears testimony to this. The variety and richness of our multi-cuisines show a deep and detailed understanding of balanced nutrition. Snacks like idlis are about the healthiest munchies in the world. Delicious, too. But try telling that to someone who's about to stuff a Big Mac into a wide-open mouth!
The silliness of our attitude was brought home to me when an American food writer from a powerful publishing house asked me to help her out with an assignment. She was in Mumbai to do a local breakfast-food story and wanted to sample pohey—a simple Maharashtrian preparation made of puffed o
r beaten rice. No restaurant she'd been to had heard of pohey. ‘Have people stopped eating it?’ she asked, genuinely puzzled at the lack of information on its availability in our gigantic foodie-city. I gave her the names and addresses of two tiny eateries at Thakurdwar, in the old part of Mumbai. I also recommended thaalipeeth, a personal favourite. After some difficulty, she managed to taste both… and hasn't stopped raving since! I laughed and told her the smart set had switched to bagels for breakfast, muesli, orange juice and omelettes made out of egg-whites. And that was for people who went spinning in the city's many gyms. The others from more modest backgrounds preferred junk food eaten on the run. Nobody had the time to even soak, leave alone hand-grind, the mix needed to make idlis and dosas. Even ready mixes found takers only on weekends. As for pohey and thalipeeth, forget it. Families preferred pizzas. Pity.
Multi-cuisine restaurants dominate the food scene. Which is a world-wide phenomenon, of course. But with the arrival of dodgy Vietnamese, Mexican, Spanish and Italian cuisines, our own food story has taken a hit locally. Ironically, Indian restaurants are doing fantastic business overseas, even if the food served there is customized to suit local palates. Since ‘fusion’ is the mantra, be it in food or fashion, it is possible to tuck into scrumptious but suspect delicacies, paraded as ‘authentic’, in far-flung cities of the world. From Curry Houses to Balti Restaurants and more recently, Coastal India Seafood places to Frontier Dishes, the flavour of India is everywhere. Most of these dishes are unrecognizable to Indians unaccustomed to plated service. Indian food is like a classical music raga—it takes time to build up to a crescendo. It is best eaten in a large thali, with katoris to hold different flavours, textures and consistencies. An avid gourmet takes time over savouring this symphony. A thali also encourages interactivity in diners by allowing the person to mix-and-match as per individual taste. Nothing is that fixed or rigid. It can be modified upto the last moment.
How you eat your daal, is upto you. Slurp it like a soup? Combine it with a roti? Drown a heap of rice under it? Throw in a favourite vegetable to further enhance the taste? Add a dollop of ghee or freshly churned white butter? Break pieces of crisp papad into it? Drop a tiny piece of pickle into that for a different sort of kick? Dilute it with a little dahi (my father invariably did) ? Or mix everything up into a central pile and just dig in? This is the fun and joy of desi cuisine. The dish never tastes the same, just as a raga never sounds the same. It's the improvisation that counts.
A plated Indian banquet served course by course, therefore, defeats the purpose. It becomes as formal as a symphony by Beethoven, which a conductor can't take too many liberties with. There are zero creative options left to the diner, who is compelled to politely tackle each dish as it is served, that too, with a knife and fork. Whereas true connoisseurs know Indian food is enjoyed best using one's fingers. It tastes different that way, too, and makes for a far more sensuous experience. Today, even in my own home, we eat our shorshe-maach like saabs, from a plate, not a thali. And with a knife and a fork. Disgusting!
Netagiri, Goondagiri, Gandhigiri
Why do our politicians have such a terrible name and image? Why are they reviled across the board? Why does no one trust this breed? And why oh why do we vote for these people if they are indeed so awful? Indians expect their leaders to be morally vile and undeniably corrupt. And because we expect them to be bad, they, in turn, resolve to not let us down. Yet, we know we have to live with them, tolerate them… or get our hands dirty ourselves. Put up, or shut up? Most Indians prefer to keep mum.
Ten years ago, no self-respecting, educated young Indian looked at getting into politics. But that has changed. It's yet another career option, for a few. But for others who've made the quantum leap, it is an opportunity to transform and change the system. The new breed by definition is smart, savvy, educated and straining at the bit to get ahead. Fortunately, this lot has cleverly dropped old hypocrisies and decided to behave like normal, regular people doing a job. When they enter a room, it's without an entourage of fawning chaprasis and assorted hangers-on. They look smart and dress smart. The old, caricatural neta (pot-bellied, paan-chewing, gaalis-spewing) has been replaced by a sharply dressed individual who could pass off successfully as an international businessman, or a Canali model. Has style married substance, or replaced it?
My fear is that this new lot of politicos will not be able to hang on to their constituencies in their present avatars. While urban India is gung-ho about the neta who knows his Pétrus from a tharra, 77 per cent of India is uncomfortable with the new lot. When a Priya Dutt appeared in a simple but stylish salwar kameez for her maiden appearance as a parliamentarian, several eyebrows were raised at how ‘casually’ she had dressed. Ditto for Vijay Mallya who walked into Parliament glittering all the way, making a dazzling debut more suited to the opening of a plush Cartier showroom—men in suits are not a common sight in the corridors of power even now. Though the perfectly hideous safari suit (which reminds me of the African banana republic dictators of the '80s) has been largely discarded, it has been replaced by an equally comical ‘designer kurta-with-matching-jacket’ look that makes the wearer appear like a qawwali singer on an off day.
Women continue to stick to sarees, taking a cue from Sonia Gandhi, whose severe handlooms are meant to convey an illusionary oneness with the masses who turn out to greet this enigma in our midst. She has frustrated all attempts to decode her life and ambitions. In the process, even her harshest critics have given up all attempts to place her in any kind of context. It has been an endurance race which Sonia has won by exhausting all those who were out to beat her. She survived it all—the attempts to alienate her by constantly referring to her Italian roots (I plead guilty!) and to link her with scandals old and new. She gave nothing away, and through her silence, sat out her bitterest foes (Sharad Pawar, for one), keeping the seat warm for one of her two children.
The mantle has fallen on Rahul Gandhi's not-so-impressive shoulders and it remains to be seen how his career shapes up. Here's a man who has not really lived in India all that much, and makes no apologies for that. Though he has sweetly booked himself for an ‘aerial survey’ of the country he barely knows. Let's be kind and call it one hell of a helicopter ride, a high-flier's crash course in basic history and geography. He is being propped up as a future prime minister of India by his doting mother and her loyalists, not really surprising party-watchers who'd expected the move and anticipated the consequences. Why not Priyanka, ask those who've interacted with the young lady and been impressed by her soft skills. While nobody can guess the real reason why Sonia opted to anoint her son, it is said Priyanka's politics did not find favour with her mother. The official reason given for Rahul's entry into the family business is that Priyanka prefers wifehood/ motherhood over the hurly-burly of political engagement. I refuse to buy that theory. Priyanka has a mind of her own. Rahul still behaves like a marshmallow—the archetypal mama's boy. Priyanka has a disarming way of connecting with the people of her parents' constituencies, something that's noticeably absent in her brother.
But one thing that cannot be doubted is the average Indian's ongoing love affair with the family. Today, nobody is bothered about Sonia Gandhi's place of birth. Absurd as it sounds, a country of over a billion people willingly accepts her position as the de facto prime minister of India. She has all the power, minus the responsibility. Between her and her son Rahul, it certainly looks as if India will have to endure/enjoy a few more decades of this peculiar relationship. By then, Rahul may marry and produce an heir. And the dynasty will continue.
Outsiders are intrigued by the idea of a political dynasty which exerts such an overwheling influence over the Indian electorate. Why do we make so many concessions for our politicians? Forgive them so easily? Forget past disasters (dams and steel plants instead of education, food and health care, thanks to the skewed Nehruvian ‘vision’) ? And eagerly embrace one generation after another of the same family? Is it because we adore the idea o
f continuity via an unbroken bloodline, much like European royalty or our Mughal emperors? Does it make us feel more secure in some strange way? Do we tell ourselves it's better to be stuck with a known devil…?
How dumb! Everywhere else in the world, people are longing for change. Hillary Clinton is poised to create history if she becomes the first woman President of the United States of America. Sarkozy has wowed his global supporters with his radical, sweeping policies (and exciting love life). Putin is the poster boy for the sexy, new Russia (like a starlet after a boob job). Even after he ‘relinquished’ his old position and stage-managed his successor, Medvedev's win. But here in India, we are too cautious about blasting down old, antiquated political systems perpetuated by the same old people, people who are interested in maintaining the status quo (and hanging on to their chairs, too). Come on, guys, get with it. It's time to say goodbye to all the Pranabs, Arjuns, Natwars, Jyotis and others who want to dominate young India. While listening to them pontificating night after night on news channels, one feels like physically shoving them off their seat and saying, ‘Get a life…’
And then the horror of the alternative scenario starts to get to you. If these stalwarts do indeed move on (like the cricket triumvirate of Sourav, Sachin and Rahul), who will take their place? Well, who knew Dhoni had it in him to lead the Indian team till someone gave him the chance and he went all out to prove himself? That's the message to send out to the seventy-five-year-olds who refuse to take the hint. When that day dawns, a leader will automatically emerge… Meanwhile, we have to make it clear to the present lot—and that includes Sonia Gandhi and son— that India is ripe and ready for a complete make-over. It's our Rakhi Sawant moment. Let's grab it!
