I am ad(dicted) to you

Love of cricket hasn’t forced me to watch IPL but the summer break after many years has. I do love cricket, though, but had lost its track in the wild-wild two decades in the voluntary field and the so many leagues jostling for attention simultaneously. It was more of an “off-on-off” affair, and mostly confined to reading (stale) news about what had happened a day (or a night) before, and then listening to stories over lunch.

Watching cricket has made me to watch ads that pop up after every over or wicket fallen or a six soared over into the crowd. The wow moment of the out-swing beating the bat and pad is replaced immediately by non-padded heroes of the Hindi film world walking over hot waters and falling with grace from the skyscrapers, with magnanimous skills, in a pool of currency notes. I enjoy the ads for their funny part, and except for a few which are really good and etched in our minds, the utterly disgusting ones light up our dinner together.

Last night, and you must understand that I have to be a Mumbai Indian fan with two growing kids in the house, one of whom plays for under fourteen at school level, and a wife, who is deep rooted in the cultural traditions of Indian “kirket: class cheering Amitabh Bacchan in “Koun Banega Crorepati”, as passionately supporting Indian team in whatever colours except green; and when that precious blue diamond is put on by Mumbai Indians, I had to watch Mumbai Indians take on Royal Challengers (my wife asked our younger son, the most pertinent question a mother has to ask in the aftermath of ED issuing a red corner notice for Mallya: “who owns RCB? The youngster answered nonchalantly: even the captain does not whom he plays for!).

People tell me that they change the channels to give their fingers exercise during ad breaks. That is an innovative way of staying fit at the tips. Some people discuss serious and mundane family matters over muted volume. That gives a perfect (equi) vocal background to the plots and sub-plots that hatch and catch fire too often. I’m a non-familiar (I mean non discussing family person) wretch of a laidback person not wanting to raise even a finger against the hospitality of the small tube. Hence, I watch the ads with same intent and purpose and absentmindedness as I watch a player spitting on the pitch and the captain rearranging his troops.

A few ads have caught my fancy. The good ones that I would like to see again and again, for example the flipkart ad; the bad ads where monies being splashed on some Hindi film stars to drive us mad with boredom, and curse the brand, and single-mindedly deciding not to buy the product. What if, it is not intended at me or likes of me, but I have to swear to keep my insanity. I like the bad ones as passionately as the ones which are disgusting. For surely I cherish the making up of the lost chance of reading or watching moments of passion, vigour, madness, and fearlessness” in young children’s literature and comic books.

The soft drink maker is absolutely right. Once you are addicted to this brand, you won’t settle for something else-‘voh kya hota hain jaane-mun hum nahi samajhate’. That is brand loyalty (or is it brand addiction as in “I am addicted you”), and that takes me back the memory lane and in Goa some thirty years back. One of my friends was then working for Sesa Goa, and the multinational company had arranged a party in one of the beach hotels for its management people. It was rumoured that for this special occasion, the company had brought coca cola from abroad (thanks to dear George Fernandes, coca cola had to pack and leave the shore in seventies). One of the engineers who had a night shift that day, told my friend to bring a coca cola bottle. Next day, before the ‘night shift engineer’ was to arrive, my friend had a big fight with his wife and young son, and eventually he yielded to their numerous pestering and pleadings, and opened up the bottle for them. What next? He brought in ‘thums up’ which then was a local Indian brand, poured the content in the coca cola bottle, just pressed the cork waited eagerly for the night shifter to arrive.

The’ night shift engineer’ did arrive and he was restless to taste the ‘great coca cola’. My friend started narrating anecdotes from the yesterday’s party to drive his attention but the ‘night shift engineer’ was not interested in ‘made-up stories and drunken brawls. So my friend went to the fridge, uncorked another bottle which made a hissing sound, turned to him asked if wanted it straight or in a glass. Straight, no touch with the adulterated bloody Indian glass! He handed over the ‘thums up’ filled coca cola bottle to ‘night shift engineer’. He took almost five minutes to swallow the soft drink, and with each little sip, he smiled, raised the bottle to his eyes, watched it with admiration, looked at my friend, and at last got up, walked to my friend, gave him a hard hug and said, ‘thanks Rajesh, coke toa toa coke, thums-ups-bimps-ups teka laagta!” (Loosely translated from Konkani, it means ‘coca cola is “the coke”; thums-ups-bimps-ups (the petty ones) are not a match, even remotely to this).    

The brand loyalty aside (is it a brand addiction? Perhaps not; it could be inverted jingoism), the icing on the cake was when my elder son said, ‘raste par to gaadi think se chala nahi sakta, paani pe tufani kya karega?’ That sums up the way the young adults look at the ads and the Hindi Stars.

Though some ad-man are addicted to big stars (like the mobile companies trying to sell the “selfi(sh)” mobiles endorsed by big stars), there are a few good ads that resonate with all alike. I liked ‘flipkart mutlab bilkul pakka’ the expressions between the words, and the way Amol Palekar and ‘Apna Sumit Sabhal Lega’ speak without words. That’s perfect brand development.