It sometimes amazes me how routine chores have the ability to bestow upon us profound insights to larger economic questions of international importance.
With the battered and blood nosed government merely trying to stay afloat on the benevolence of its allies throwing in much needed life-jackets to it, the issue of FDI in retail has been given an un-ceremonial burial for now. However, it is likely to be exhumed sooner or later as this is high on priority of the government. The US government, i mean.
A large number of opinions have been made on whether this economic step will mean loss of business to the friendly neighbourhood kiranawala. I began contemplating over it in a manner, my wife later described to be “as intelligent looking as a ruminating buffalo would be”. But what startled me was this find. Infact i harboured a fear for them malls!
Indian urban demography can broadly be divided into three economic classes: less well off class (50%), the middle class (35%) and the rich class (15%). These figures are studied approximations in the city of Pune where i have lived most of my fifty years. It is from amongst these classes that mega multi-brand retail outlets will expect sales to happen.
The less well off are simply too intimidated to enter mega marts. Let’s be fair in saying that some kind of fear of the unknown seems to be keeping this class away from massive swish buildings with gleaming glass facades and mean looking security guys. C’mon, how many times have we seen a lady or man from the labour class walk into a super mart to pick up essentials to cook the evening meal with? Or buy a saree or shirt or undee from one of them? Frankly, i haven’t seen it ever. Although not a regular, i do visit these places, irrespective of how intimidating they come to be for me too.
For the other two classes, we need to delve in a bit of historical legacy left behind for us by our ancestors and an art fine-tuned by the ‘gora sahib’, which simply stated is the concept of servants.
So, while the rich urban Indian might visit the super malls as a newness of experience in her own country (what with having done it all in the many jaunts abroad), it would be difficult to believe the desi memsahib do the rounds here for months on end - forfeiting social events, running NGO’s and attending kitty parties – and getting monthly grocery, undees or crockery instead. While for the former they would have trained their driver or governess to it in a couple of visits, how could s/he be seen buying underpants from a mall! How tacky? Haven’t you heard of any couture stores around for them nowadays? And isn’t the designer crockery, duly personalized, supposed to comes straight out of designer studios?
That leaves us with people like me forming the bulk buyer segment.
Mostly this class comprises double income couples - what with EMI’s to pay, kids to educate and ends to meet. A bit of leftover moolah would either be spent on bribing officials for routine stuff such as a gas cylinder or fuel price rise. This blessed breed usually does a five day week unlike others like us who must suffer six. While a segment of the more youthful ones in the 25-35yrs age band, is likely to visit these mega marts over weekend retail therapy to retain their sanity, the older ones are likely to stay clear and opt for the local mom-pop store.
Reason? The down-handed legacy again! This time around though, it is less about servants and more about the royalty of being served.
This is where the recent personal experience i was talking about kicks in.
With the wife away on a business tour, i had atta, aloo-pyaaz, eau de cologne, oranges, naptha balls, fevicol, clothes line clips and a score of other similar oddities from diverse backgrounds on a ‘to do’ list thrust upon me by her. Thankfully it was upon me to choose the domain of purchase. And i was confronted with two options. The local kirana wala or the obnoxiously large supermarket that has recently come up in our backyard. I opted for both!
At the superstore the hardships began early. The hassle of asking if a parking slot was available, was the beginning of it. Then, i was to endure the criminal like treatment of being sniffed up by mean looking dogs - with meaner looking handlers running their hands and hand held machines carelessly over me. Next up was the encounter with security men at the parking gate with mirrors on wheels trying to figure out wisely the difference between a possibly hidden bomb and the oil filter. Then to pullout exact change to buy a ticket to park my car. Gymnastic turns and twists of the steering and my torso to get the car parked soon followed. Queues in the basement outside the lift had to be negotiated to get from the basement parking to the required floor. Ofcourse, for a list as diverse as the one the wife had armed me with, i could have begun on any floor, but that’s another matter. Then there was the patience test of trying to find the right things amongst other things on racks. Requesting bored looking staff where one could find them dint help much. And the tiresome task of traversing floor after floor trying to locate stuff on my list, some of which i couldn’t. Carting the purchases all the way back to the car and loading it in. Keeping the trolley safely away. All of that done, ninety minutes later, i was exhausted and barely had the enthusiasm to drive back home.
The next day it was to the local grocer with an identical list. What a paradox! Much to my belief in the supernatural, this is what actually happened. Believe me or get lost. Sample this: I pull over the car to the side of the road bang in front of my intended destination, “Ishwar Mini Market”. Trot up a few easy steps. Exchange warm pleasantries with no less than the owner himself. Take out my list. I only utter the item on my wish list much the same way as Alladdin, and the genie embodied in the baniya would miraculously produce it instantly from the innards of his ‘few bricks that made a wall’ store. And this happened again and yet again until we ran through the entire list. All of this was done with a smile of true home-hearted service. The longest search- which really had me annoyed - was for a particular brand of mosquito repellent, took impatiently long. A large part of sixty seconds! I dint have to lug a basket or a trolley around. Dint have to do tiring and repetitive start-stop-search walks. No fuss. No nothing. Everything just came to me. And even found its way to the boot of the car. I was being served. I dint feel like a king here. I was king. I was enjoying the addiction of being served ever in wonder of how our ancestors or the ‘gora sahib’ would have felt back then. While it lasted it seemed royalty was being relived. I was out in 15minutes flat with a 100% strike rate. And not without a complimentary toffee and an ‘do come again’ smile from the grocer’s wife!
No matter what the big daddies of retail might think of strategy, buyer psychology, market segmentation, target customers and such jargon in their upcoming mega business models, for me the middle class, moderate, responsible and time conscious consumer, the kirana wala rocks big time. FDI beware!
dictionary:
kirana wala: local grocer. (such a mom-pop store)
memsahib: upwardly mobile, mid-aged, loaded, yuppie Indian woman
aloo-pyaz: potatoes-onions
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