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One day when I was an urchin in Class VIII, I was trailing behind my Father on the Trunk Road of Nellore. My Father used to visit Nellore, our District HQ, once a month for purchases for his school and home. And I was his invariant tail (I used to look so puny that the Bus Conductor never ticketed me).
On that busy and narrow street, Father entered a tiny Medical Shop selling Ayurvedic, Unani, Homeo, and other non-allopathic drugs. Father's interest was Bhaskar Lavan, a horrible salty digestive, while mine was the supremely appetizing Chyavanapras. Before entering the shop I noticed a new sign board with the bold letters: NOPAIN. Not exactly...the first N was written ok, but the last N was its mirror image, the cross bar along the wrong diagonal, like the Russian 'i' as in k(i)ss: И.
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One day when I was an urchin in Class VIII, I was trailing behind my Father on the Trunk Road of Nellore. My Father used to visit Nellore, our District HQ, once a month for purchases for his school and home. And I was his invariant tail (I used to look so puny that the Bus Conductor never ticketed me).
On that busy and narrow street, Father entered a tiny Medical Shop selling Ayurvedic, Unani, Homeo, and other non-allopathic drugs. Father's interest was Bhaskar Lavan, a horrible salty digestive, while mine was the supremely appetizing Chyavanapras. Before entering the shop I noticed a new sign board with the bold letters: NOPAIN. Not exactly...the first N was written ok, but the last N was its mirror image, the cross bar along the wrong diagonal, like the Russian 'i' as in k(i)ss: И.
So, I thought I will display my knowledge of English and stood on my toes and told the shopkeeper: "Your signboard for Nopain is faulty...the last N is wrong". Upon which the elderly shopkeeper lifted me and patted me on my head and said: "You are the 100th person to tell me this during the last one week. And my sales of Chyavanapras increased by leaps and bounds."
I couldn't follow the logic of how a wrongly spelt word increases sales. And was too afraid to ask. Now I know it was the first 'advertising gimmick' in the Nehruvian Socialism. Till then Amrutanjan was the monopoly cure-all for every pain. And Nopain, the first competitor that got license, had to try hard to sell itself and the Science of Eye-Catching Advertisement was born in India...now of course there are several 'balms'...my wife's favorite is Menthoplus, a vial of which can always be found under her pillow.
And then there was this monopoly Telugu weekly, Andhra Patrika, incidentally owned by the maker of Amrutanjan. And a rival was launched with lots of fanfare. It was called, Andhra Prabha, and was not making any headway. One Sunday morning when the School Magazines arrived in our house, we were woken up by a wafting sweet scent. And it was traced to the copy of Andhra Prabha. Its pages were loaded with a rose scent. On the first page was an ad for a newly launched scent bottle, Kunega Marikolundu, which was liberally laced over each copy of the magazine sold. It was a double whammy: men then on switched over to Andhra Prabha and their wives to Kunega...
And then there was this English Daily, The Hindu, still in print. One day, another daily appeared called The Daily Mail (not the British but the South Indian). Its front page didn't have the usual headlines like the notorious Amrit Bazar Patrika's four inch disaster: "TIKKA KHAN SHOT DEAD"...unfortunately he wasn't. But its entire first page was dedicated to fine-print ads for jobs that lay here and there scattered inside The Hindu.
This gimmick apparently didn't quite succeed because although everyone was looking for a job, they wanted to first read if Tikka Khan was really shot dead ;-)
The clock turned a full circle. Today's Deccan Chronicle as well as all the other dailies had a full-page color ad by the Tamilnadu Government detailing its successful programs in the past one year or so. The only non-text item was a huge portrait of, you know, who...the Lady CM of the said state. And for the past one year and more, every Sunday Times of India had its entire first page (as well as page 2) asking us to instantly buy a flat in an upcoming Township doling out sumptuous freebies for the early worms...like free furniture, free Registration and stuff. I always thought if they had invested all those crores of advertizing revenue in making the Township more livable and lovable, it would have a big market...but I must be wrong as always.
And for the last couple of days there has been a big row among our Elders that their dignity has been compromised. How? Apparently the monopoly Rajya Sabha TV crew (who thought no one watches their handiwork...they were wrong...their MPs do...to see if their faces were 'covered' when they were not asleep) had their bit of fun. The new entrant to the Rajya Sabha happened to be taking her oath. The TV crew, instead of focusing on her eminently viewable face, also showed switching naughtily on the rather dour face of her rival in the Hindi Movie, Silsila. If you haven't watched the movie, here is the link:
Hyderabad is funny. A few years ago we were looking for renting a bigger apartment in view of my son's impending marriage. I was going by the traditional ads in the Hyderabad Chronicle for Rentals. My son one day woke me up early in the morning and dragged me to the chaurasta on his moped. And on the pavement were lying spread several newspapers. And my son picked up one titled: 'Free Ads' and started walking away. I thought he forgot to pay...but he said: "It is 'Free Ads', no? It is indeed free...the early bird gets to pick it up for free." It was as bulky as Sunday Times...but there was no news in it...the whole thing is ads, ads and ads...from Rentals to third hand BMWs...they call them 'Pre-Owned' but it is the same shirt...
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