Metro Plus
Bangalore
Chennai
Delhi
Hyderabad
Kochi
Thiruvananthapuram
Shopping till you drop dead
|
World Consumer Rights Day falls on March 15. Whatever the state of the economy, it's the middle class' right to buy...and buy....
|
As an old timer who grew up in a little mofussil town in the forties and fifties, I am intrigued by the notion of what, in these times, one needs to have, to enjoy a good life.
There is a recession of sorts, say economic pundits, that there is no money around.
Shop-owners claim that there is a distinct decrease in the amount of money customers are willing to spend on nonessentials.
Yet the ringing check-outs at the many city supermarkets belie the traders' pessimism: here is a society eager for all the things that money can buy.
Forget the obligatory TV set, the music system and ceiling fans.
They are not recurring expenses.
What does the middle class buy from day to day to enjoy a good life style?
How have the shopping baskets of this upwardly mobile group changed in recent times?
Food outlets, it seems, multiply from year to year, in Kochi.
The goods displayed on the counters also undergo sea changes.
Absolutely every spice that you need for cooking is available in instant packages: Sambar powder, Rasam powder, Thiyyal and many other Malayalee staples.
And more to the point, in spite of the mixies and the grinders there is a brisk trade in the powdered variety.
Obviously, not many of today's housewives are willing to spend hours in front of a grinding stone working out their pectoral muscles.
At one well-known super market in town, you have to queue up to get served at the vegetable counter, because there are so many people trying to buy.
The fruits and vegetables tumbling out of the damp sacks are fresh as they can come and the demand is high.
Gone are the days when the basics for lunch and dinner were pulses and indigenous vegetables along with the ubiquitous fish curry.
Today's middle-class, middle-income housewife wants all the other types of vegetables as well: beans, cauliflower, cabbage, carrots and capsicum that used to be called `English' vegetables once upon a time and found their way on to our tables only on high days and holidays.
There is a brisk trade in packaged meat at the back of the shop, in spite of it being the period of Lent.
At the refrigerated counters, the packaged veal bits and chicken are going fast.
The minced beef is also doing well.
Quite obviously, though we have not given up our addiction to fish, meat is a substantial part of our table-fare.
I remember the times long ago when meat was a rare treat meant for festive days and celebrations, but today the Kochi middle class obviously takes meat for granted.
At the check-out, I sneak a look at the baskets and trolleys lined up in front of me.
The most expensive items are the toiletries and washing and cleaning stuff: soaps, washing powders, shampoos, tooth pastes etc.
Going herbal is the latest and the middle class cannot always afford it, I guess.
Quite a few baskets also had hair dye discreetly tucked away under all the masala and instant coffee.
A tiny rung up the shopping ladder and there are more interesting happenings. At an upmarket store in another part of the town, there is a whole floor reserved for the self- indulgent, if they are willing to march up and down the two flights of stairs, lugging the baskets stuffed with goodies.
This is mainly female territory; there are few attendant males pushing trolleys.
This is also definitely browsing corner; one feels that there should be a few scattered seats for the shoppers to sit and contemplate the atmosphere of plenty.
Women gaze purposefully at a whole section devoted to crockery and glassware.
Some pick up cuddly toys and conditioners, steel ware and other kitchen goodies like earthenware jars: the kind that sit around, gathering dust and rarely get used, because they are not ant-proof like the more recent plastic dubbas.
And who has the time these days, with all the entertainment on TV, I wonder, to dress the jars up in head knots to make them air-proof?
While the parents browse, the children are busy picking up crayons and colouring books, notebooks and fevi-sticks from the stationery racks.
Occasionally one can hear a muffled reprimand when little Anil gets a little too demanding and Mummy is not having it.
But the reprimand is half-hearted.
The rogue item, I notice, stays in the basket that Mum has to eventually carry down the two flights to the check-out counter.
By this time I am really curiouser and curiouser.
What else, I say to myself as I climb into an auto-rickshaw and get to the other end of town where all the embroidery shops and ladies shops proliferate.
I hang around outside one such, plucking up courage to enter.
After all I am a stranger to this territory, but the shop windows are a dazzle with colour and they are beckoning.
Cars and autos drive up and disgorge confident, no-nonsense shoppers, and they stride into the shop as into an old, familiar club. Occasionally there is a doting man in attendance.
A few are college students with more ideas than money in their pockets.
Finally my curiosity gets the better of me and I am inside.
The counters are shimmering with beads and ribbons, hair bands and costume jewellery.
There are handy mirrors to try on all the colourful necklaces.
There is not much hesitation; the girls are here to buy.
The counter hands are bustling about looking for that particular colour of bead, for a favoured deodorant or perfume.
Prices are reasonable when you think of the work that goes into a bead necklace.
An affordable price of between Rs. 100 and Rs. 200 for a work of art that would cost a small fortune in any western town.
Where is that recession? I ask myself.
Not far off all the upmarket tailoring establishments are busy.
There is a waiting list a month long to get a blouse sewn at over a hundred rupees an item, and across the road in another ladies shop the trimmings for those special Salwar-kameez outfits are being bought up fast and furiously.
Interestingly, in spite of all the costume jewellery, the gold shops are even busier.
At one such I peep in, the cool purveyors of the pricey metal are quietly efficient.
The counter hands will soon suss me up, I think, as a person with no intention to buy.
It is not the wedding season, but the gold keeps moving smoothly.
The recession, like the emperor's new clothes, are invisible.
The Kochi middle class is as busy as ever, buying into the very good life, bouncy and confident.
A. N.
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Metro Plus
Bangalore
Chennai
Delhi
Hyderabad
Kochi
Thiruvananthapuram
|
