This article is an excerpt from McCann’s study of the extent to which people in the SEC C, D and E categories in India are part of the bigger waves of consumerism that are inundating the metro and class one towns
This article is an excerpt from McCann’s exploratory study of the extent to which people in the SEC C, D and E categories in India are part of the bigger waves of consumerism that are inundating the metro and class one towns. This segment is currently residing on the peripheries of consumption, dipping its toes occasionally in the running waters of a new India. In the days to come, it is going to emerge as an important consumer segment of the new India.
The members of this segment watch it all from the opposite side of the road, from the crooked windows of their slums and ‘jhuggis’, nestling side by side with the shinning skyscrapers where the neo-moneyed middle class vies with each other to flaunt their wallet power. They provide the labour, they set up shops to make available the essential supply and maintenance chains that ensure the smooth running of the lives of the middle and upper middle class, but they themselves live problem-riddled lives, seldom honoured at their workplace, unknown in their habitats, worrying constantly about their employment and housing, their family’s mounting medical bills, their children’s education, and life after retirement.
Kishore Chakraborti
Who are they? What principles do they follow? Who are their role models? How do they look at the change? How do they leverage technology? Are branding and consumerism relevant phenomena for them or just sound bites? What future do they see mirrored for themselves on the surface of the shining India that winks at them from across the road?
We went across the major metros and cities of India with these questions to this segment – to ‘jhuggis’ and shanties, inside low income group government flats, in ‘benami’ company staff quarters, inside thatched cottages and huts. What we found was a group of human beings that is anything but simple and predictable.
Rather, this is a community that appears to be full of contradictions. They talk of living hand to mouth, but they repose major trust in brand values. They talk about ‘mehangai’, yet do not hesitate to buy soap costing five times their regular bath soap just to please their children.
Throughout the day, they fight constraints, and yet they extract a strange contentment from their deprived existence. Lack of space compels them to live in isolation, but in many ways, they are far more strongly bonded with their invisible extended family and the heterogeneous population they call their community.
In their own way, they run a parallel system which includes shelter, placement, finance, transport, arbitration and training – whatever is needed to keep the pot boiling. In any family, you will find people who are not part of the family, but staying with them in the city: “Humra gaon ka … mera rishtedar…”
Q: Who stays in your house (one room in a chawl)?
A: Two of us and our two children, then the three children of my elder brother and the son of my sister.
Q: Your brother’s and sister’s families also stay here?
A: No, only their children stay with us. They are here for education.
-- A clerk in Nashik
“Joginder, the driver of our company, used to run a finance company. We used to get soft loans of up to Rs 5,000 from him; on salary day he used to recover the money from us.”
-- A typist
Q: What are these girls doing in this tailoring shop?
A: They are learning, they help me.
Q: Do you pay them, or do they pay you a fee for learning?
A: No one is paying anybody.
-- A housewife who is running a small tailoring shop from her home.
They have common water and electricity, and share bathrooms, sometimes even resort to a Sulabh Shauchalay. Benches in front of a chai shop act as a universal drawing room. When a cricket match is on, they crowd around the common TV set and cheer the proceedings lustily. Amidst this shared existence, there is an intense effort to create a sense of exclusivity inside their own dwellings.
Q: “If you get a lot of money, what would you do?”
A: “Stay nicely, eat good food, have good clothing.”
“A good house” features number one on their wish list. An attached bathroom is a luxury and also features high on the list.
They say a woman’s domain is her kitchen. We did not see a single kitchen that was disorganised and dirty, even inside the slums – stainless steel gas stoves, sparkling rows of stainless steel utensils, neatly stacked PET jars storing spices and cereals, casseroles, mixers, pressure cookers, water filters, TV sets, fridges, even some second-hand washing machines, a bottle of Zeoline, phenyl, you name it, they have it.
There is an effort to add a touch of beauty even in the most modest dwelling. Prints of landscapes on the walls and a showcase with the simplest of cups and saucers or plastic flowers on display are the women’s attempts at adding a touch of the TV-serial décor they see every evening.
Gone are the days when a ‘halwai ka beta’ could only become a ‘halwai’. There is a conscious effort to move away from traditional or ancestral professions.
“They should not lead the life we are leading.”
— A carpenter in Mumbai
“He (my son) should not follow our path.”
— A Mumbai shopkeeper
Farmers don’t want their sons to become farmers. “My son wants to go to Germany. He’ll do something or the other there,” says the wife of a farmer in Ambala.
It’s as if they are silently putting an end to a dynasty whose only identity was its profession. In this war against the moneyed class, their biggest arsenal is education, especially education in an English-medium school. English, which became an instrument of enforcing social apartheid on illiterate India, is being countered with English itself.
Q: What have you thought about your children’s education?
A: The elder one is in an English-medium school, the younger one is in the second standard.
Q: Marathi medium?
A: Yes, but she will also move to English medium from the fifth standard.
— An auto rickshaw driver in Pune
Q: Which newspapers do you read?
A: ‘Navbharat Times’ in Hindi and ‘The Times of India’ for the children. The idea is to encourage children to learn English and be fluent in it.
-- Wife of a clerk
If this is one side of the picture, the other side is equally true.
They will go hammer and tongs to educate their children, but will not lament if the children don’t take to education. “I don’t have any education, but my eldest son is a graduate. The second son has studied up to Class 10. ‘Woh kharab nikla’ (he turned out bad). He has become a mechanic.”
-- A gardener in Chandigarh
There is a strange flexibility in their value system. It may be interesting to look at how this community with its practical and flexi-value system, looks at brands.
Brands are important, but brand loyalty is not. It is in food products that brands command the most respect from them. There is practically no mention of loose purchase of cereals, oils and sugar. It is hard to believe that just a few years ago, this was a common practice even with the middle class. As medical expenses are spiralling, they feel it makes sense to eat well and keep healthy.
There is greater concern about the diet of children. Like all other parents, those in emerging India also suffer from anxiety about not providing enough nourishment to their children. The traditional belief is, “Bread is not good for health, they should be given ‘roti’. ‘Roti’, or wheat, gives strength and also fills the stomach; bread gets digested soon and one starts feeling hungry again.” Even milk does not match up here.
Hence, the popularity of costly milk additives. Brands such as Bournvita, Horlicks, Complan and Milo are seen in households that find it difficult to make ends meet. As far as other categories are concerned, they are open and without prejudice. They go for whatever suits their value system.
Q: In which products would you buy local brands?
A: Mixers, irons, fans, furniture, these you can buy local products, but the branded ones are longer lasting, buying local is just a compromise.
-- A juice shop owner
Q: Which soap do you use?
A: Normally, we use Lux, its suits everybody, but we sometimes shift to Hamam or Godrej, whoever has a scheme. We may even buy two months’ quota under a scheme. Earlier, we were using Lifebuoy, but it was cracking, so now we use Lux.
-- A trader in surgical instruments
Q: Do some brands suit you better than others?
A: Everything suits us.
-- A housewife in Ambala
“We mix Ariel and Tide. One is expensive and the other is cheap, so we mix the two to get the best results.”
-- Wife of a clerk in Delhi
Some value system! Are marketers taking note of this?
In a nutshell, emerging India as a community turns out to be the nursery for a new Indian middle class. Whoever you are, whatever your origin, emerging India will provide a support that is both tangible and intangible. There is enough connectivity to open up a choice of professions to earn ‘do waqt ki roti’.
While emerging India appreciates education, it does not depreciate the talent of an individual who does not want to study. If nobody is there to inspire you, nobody laughs at your efforts either. Be what you want to be. This is a nursery whose doors open both ways. You can enter the community and leave at your convenience. Just take off and fly to your destination.
(The writer is vice-president, consumer insight, with McCann-Erickson. You can write to him at Kishore.Chakraborti@ap.mccann.com)
Follow Us/afaqs/media/agency_attachments/2024-10-10t065829449z-afaqs_640x480.png)
/afaqs/media/post_attachments/f916fa416a20ca214b7823793ee73a425a876837540b148f052163bee30fc937.jpg)