Brrrrrrrrrrrr !!!

The business case is compelling, make something worth 10 paisa, spend 500 times the amount in convincing the people that it is worth 1000 times the amount, and pocket the difference.

Now I will rely on my memory to quickly trace the growth and evolution of a brand. (Say “Bingo” if you can spot it already)

1. Scene 1 – T0 – Smart MBA enters into marketing of FMCG. 

It’s hot and hotter; can I have something cold to cool me?

But of course – Thanda matlab

Thanks to Amir Khan, two years numbers are met, (and so is my incentive)

2. Scene 2 - What after two years? 

Now forget about, it is obvious that you will pick up a coke when you want something cold, the question is will you pick it up in any other case?

Anytime you wanted to celebrate – Jashn mana le

Hrithik Roshan says  - fret not for 3 years.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ok, OK, Mr. Smart Product/Brand manager, you have earned your big fat salary and done justice to your MBA degree, but pray tell me is this the best you can do?

Nay!! You underestimate me.

3. Scene 3 – Time T0 + 5 years.

You want cold drink you get coke, you want to celebrate you go with coke again, but what about excitement. The kind of excitement that makes your tummy jingles all the way.

Eureka!!

It is Brrrrrrr – ting tong .......ting...... ting....... ting........

Now considering that "Brrrrrrrrr" is in a time when

• India won the world cup of cricket and
• IPL quickly followed the world Cup 
• Imran Khan seems to be far more "cuter" than mama Aamir (going by female perception)

I will not hazard a guess on the longevity of this campaign !! 

I got to hand it to the Coke. Every year or rather ever season they create a new jingle, a new concept to sell the same old water, color, and sugar and soda combination.

Need for Speed_Hamara Bajaj

I was returning after hustling the defense government at the Army workshop. This place is near Trinity church, sprawling acres of land dotted with the typical manicured lawns and age old buildings. The roads from Trinity Church, towards old airport road are winding and mostly empty during 11 or so in the afternoon, so I speed-ed up.

Strategically located, under some shady tress, were Banglorean cops with a speed gun concealed, under a SUV’s hood. I was doing good speed, and so one white hat policeman made way to the center of the road and motioned me towards the side end.

Damm…..another  100 this time, that too after bloody pleading as though he was doing a favor for me. I had already been ripped once in Doddenakundi.

What’s the use of a big bike if I can’t speed up?

I reduced the throttle wearily, as I made my way to the side. 

Just as slowed down, I could catch a glimpse of the smug expression on his face.

I felt repulsed.

I revved up suddenly and squeezed through the side gap and made way past him easily.

The shrill whistle of the police red light echoed behind me, however there was no movement of the vehicle towards me. I speeded up more; the old airport road I know well, and soon I could find one gully deserted enough for me to park.

I got down the bike, unstrapped my helmet and sat near the side walk.

What had I just done? Escaped a policeman?????

I am darn sure they had a number of my bike on their records; the speed gun takes pictures also. They could trace me easily. But then I asked myself, will they?

Will they trace someone because he was speeding and did not stop to pay chai paani to them?

I could not reach the main office road through side roads, I had to come to the main road once and now I think the policeman would have circulated my number to all others in the beat stating that there is a high chance for cash making.

Do I plaster mud on my number plate; bloody sounds so bollywood movie types, and so obvious a display of foul play.

Devil …….please light the flame of wit.

Devil is good; particularly when devil meets the full time resident saint.

Aha….got it. I navigated a bit through the internal roads and shops and found one stationary shop; I got some black paint and a brush.

Then, parking it near the tree away from sight of people, (or so I thought).I began art work. One deft swing of my fingers and 3 became an 8.

I got a coke and some puffs, as lunch as I waited for the paint to dry.

All preparations done, I removed my shirt too. I had a flimsy translucent t-shirt underneath, for I had run out of undergarments.(Its Friday ……..ignoramus!).

Do I throw away the articles of suspect that is the brush and the paint? Being caught on the murder scene .........if at all being caught is a good idea............. then definitely the murder weapon should not be in your hand.

Why so serious ..............said the devil?

I packed the brush and paint as well.

I came to the main road again, and zoomed forward. This time I was slow. I reached the outer ring road without any trouble. From here I went through a gully route to my office and reached without any obstruction.

Now, I wait for the summons from the court .......... if any….

What do you say?

Pride

“Poo vanguga “, rang the cheerful cry of dark skinned women sitting cross legged at the sidewalk. Gleaming nose pins and electric colored saris, stood out in stark contrast to their yellow tinged black faces. Shiny black hair adorned with white flowers added a degree of credibility to their work.

A plain sari with hair pulled back severely and imprisoned into a ball stood out conspicuously. The brows however curved splendidly, defiantly, mocking the black ball of tresses.

A deft pick of a bud, a quick twist of fingers and the thin thread was fastened to the delicate stem only to be linked to another.

“Pick………… twist……. thread ……..snaps…….” was steady , but not monotonous, rather strangely intense.

Stuck by the concentration on her work, I watched her fascinated and also slightly unnerved.

“ Rendu mozham,”

“ Erwad ”, said she , holding out the soft bundle.

“ Padhinanje”  I countered.

She did not argue, retort or even acknowledge my suggestion but merely held out her palm. Drawing in the amount she asked I placed in her outstretched palm, only to be returned back change, matching my suggestion.

Puzzling indeed!!

The little change was not really of consequence, it was a part of our behavior to knock of a few bucks on anything we buy.

Hoo, rang the shrill whistle.

Clutching the soft bundle I ran to the moving train, to grab a square inch of place to stand.

“Pick………… twist……. thread ……..snaps…….”

Coming back, I saw the woman, relentlessly stringing buds one after the other.

“Pick………… twist……. thread ……..snaps…….” now vigorously and urgently.

Within a couple of minutes she straightened and heaving the basket of soft bundles over her head she began walking briskly, almost running.

Following her I ended in a dark and claustrophobic lane where I promptly lost sight of her. Feeling my way around the walls I began to make way towards a light source at one end.

I realized I had reached the road back of my college. Feeling very thirsty, I went to a pan shop for a cold drink.

The drink however froze in my mouth. From a ramshackle house neatly tucked away from the main road, I saw that woman emerging, with others.

She was dressed in a figure hugging jeans and t-shirt; hair oiled, and blowing around ceaselessly in the wind, adorned neatly with a strand of flowers. Giggling, she passed around soft bundles to other women in shimmering outfits.

They began walking down the street nodding at the various people passing.

The vendor saw my gaze with a knowing smile “You walked in at the right time “

Puzzled again!

It seemed that the women were actually enjoying their work, the exercise felt too natural to be scripted and planned.

She caught my gaze, and returned a knowing smile. I stood there, with the kind of feeling in my tummy that you get when you are coming down a ride in a giant wheel.

Striding across the road, she was stopped by a black giant of a man with gleaming gold chains, in a spotless white mundu and shirt. A brief conversation later she bundled into a van with an anticipatory smile playing on her face.

The van turned and raced opposite me, in the fleeting moment I caught the woman’s eye, and she gave me one huge wink.

With cool feeling of the drink in my mouth, I walked across the road. The basket of buds stood alone besides the ramshackle door, with the bundles lying proudly, invitingly, waiting to be caressed by the touch of life.

Sunday Realizations

Sundays are days for realizations it seems.

I think there is causality for it too namely…….availability of time to dwell………..on small,tiny actions that add meaning to life. These tiny actions are like the seams on your pant, invisible but do a big job of protection ( in the literal as well as the colloquial sense)

Woke at 10 only.

Once nature’s activities are all done, it is hunger time. It is too late for breakfast and slightly early for lunch. So, I decided to have some coconut water, healthy and cholesterol driven(aha there seems a duality of opposition here as well)

I walked out and immediately I spot a vendor. I ask for one and a couple of deft swings of the machete he hands me one. I jump over the nearby wall, seating my butt while sipping the brew contently.

No sooner, I had done so a female walks in. Must be around 8- 10 years old, the typical street urchin, beggar kind of specimen.

I paid no heed, and went to sip through the straw.

She continued staring at me. Her eyes glowed.

Disheveled countenance, but her eyes completely black….. Glowed. She looked like a gypsy kid, for she had some emblems and knick knacks dangling through her neck and arms.

She was tiny, but her eyes radiated power. I was for a moment reminded of the Shakti swaroop of feminism as described in Hinduism.

I handed out the un-sipped coconut to the female. She looks at me sternly, as though hurt by the gesture.

Must be elevation, so I jumped down the wall and repeated the act. She took it and clutched it to her bosom.

I asked the vendor for another one and he handed me one at the same time speaking something to the girl.

Kannada not very strong, I could understand that he was asking her to drink it quickly so that he could cut it pen and give her the coconut.

The girl, shook her head resolutely, clutching the coconut even more firmly to her bosom.

I meanwhile finished one, and another. As I motioned to pay, I could see 2 kids approaching the girl. All were in the same size and age and all were girls.

Seeing the approach the girl loosened her hold on the coconut.

Chapad chapad in kannada and then the kids…….. the three of them , shared on coconut.

Amazing.

This is the second time(Click here for first time) I am seeing a sense of unity among the depraved. I see when the datum is low, any improvement is perceived to be huge and hence it is shared. A sense of collective good dominates over individual excellence at the level where means are limited.

Also, I see that this collective good sentiment even in the downtrodden is more pronounced among the females. Had it been a boy to whom I had handed over the drink, I doubt if he would have shared.(must be the testosterone, mine is bigger than yours)

I was pleased, to see this sentiment. I decided to buy one more for them, but then the above thoughts came to my head. If if did get them another coconut, it would diminish the utility of the first one and also dilute the sentiment of sharing which was so naturally forthcoming.