Vocal for local with Indira sari

So here we are, almost ready to greet the monsoon and the summer, like spring this year, came and went quietly. When will we ever be able to see the flowers in our parks and smell the heady perfume of the night flowering plants?

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We are being told to become self-reliant and buy what is produced in our own country. At its most emotive level, this is a fine patriotic feeling to promote but in a world so inter-connected, is this going to be a reality? More, will it be economically viable? Many feel it will only lead us back to the bad old days of protectionism and a return of the dreaded licence-permit raj that crippled our growth for decades. I am no economist, so I will not even venture into making predictions, but I can tell you a thing or two about those golden days when we were growing up in an India newly liberated and proud of what we produced. ‘Tata aur Bata,’ my father would say, ‘ko kabhi ghata nahin hota.’ (Tata and Bata never incur loss). The only multinational companies that I remember from then were Lever Brothers and Colgate Palmolive, whose products were used in almost all Indian households. In fact, so strong was their brand name that for years, vanaspati oil was known as Dalda and toothpaste as Colgate.

Our shampoo was manufactured by Tata and the soaps we used were either made by Unilever or were trusted local names, such as Mysore sandalwood, Margo and Moti. Hair oil, too, then regularly rubbed into scalps on Sundays, were all ayurvedic concoctions. Godrej was the favourite soap in our home (the green one in a red wrapper that I still use) and its talcum powder had a mysterious ingredient called G-11 that kept body odour under control. At school, we used Quink and Doric ink but soon switched to Sulekha. Notebooks were made by the Titaghar paper mills (owned I think by the Thapars). In short, we were so self-sufficient that almost all the items needed in our homes and schools and colleges were indigenously made. Jute bags were the most widely used packaging material and home-made jholas were used to carry fruit and vegetables. We wrapped smelly and leaky stuff in newspapers (how eco-friendly that was!), while recycling was an art perfected by every thrifty housewife. Shoes, clothes and even old linen was artfully used to make things last as long as they could.

In those old days, we did not have the luxury of wide selections, nor laden shelves in supermarkets and malls offering everything one can ask for, as we do now. Sure, we envied our posher cousins who had access to ‘phoren’ stuff. While we made do with eau-de-cologne made by Tata, they flaunted their expensive perfumes at us. Those socialist days had their bad side, too, but what our parents always told us was that we don’t need to import anything for everyday use. Luxury items were a bad word and our solid state radios (such as Murphy) were good enough to hear the news and music. What more did we need?

Sweets and chocolates were another area where Cadbury’s (brand leaders for a long time) were given a run for their money by local brands (I remember GG chocolate bars fondly) and sweets made by Daurala and Rawalgaon. Their tins were recycled for years (I may have a few still) as tiffin boxes or to keep valuables. So much comes back to me as I write this but I won’t go on.

Of course, we envied those who had ‘phoren’ goods and compared those that we were using with what was available outside India, but even then we realised that we Indians were different. Next door, in Pakistan, there were fewer restrictions and up until the 1960s, they were considered our more glamorous cousins. Their beautifully made-up women, their dashing men and their giddy parties were enviously viewed from across the border.

Let us come now to what we wore: until the 1960s, Indians proudly wore textiles manufactured in our own mills and handloom products were actively promoted by some famous names. Kamaladevi Chattopadhaya, LC Jain, Rukmini Devi Arundel come readily to mind along with prominent political figures, including the Nehru family, whose most iconic figure was Indira Gandhi, a woman of impeccable taste and style. I remember a sari I bought once in my university days (mulmul, printed in monochrome with Sanganeri bootis) that cost Rs20 and was known as an Indira Gandhi sari. Our air hostesses wore beautiful saris, not the western dress favoured by other airlines, and the grace of those lovely ladies is another fond memory.

A few years ago, I met a friend whose husband had just returned from a diplomatic posting in Pakistan. She told me about the homes of the rich Pakistanis, with onyx pillars and drapes from Europe. ‘But you know, what they don’t have there,’ she told me proudly, ‘is a Cottage Industries Emporium or a Handloom House.’ Their rich and famous used foreign-made stuff, even drinking water from France, she told me. Why then, would ordinary folk be proud to wear and eat what is local?

It is a thought worth pondering over. The next time you go out to shop, think whether you can try something made in your own country.