My Fit India Movement
By Any Prabhakar
Early this week, Baba Ramdev really did seem to have all the answers.
The news of Maggi returning to supermarkets’ shelves should have gladden my maidadeprived heart, but the Food Safety and Standards Authority of India’s (FSSAI) ruined the moment for us all, by calling the Bombay High Court’s order ‘erroneous’.
Strangely, it was while the two camps argued over the matter that I came to see The Light. The real problem, I realised, was my overdependence on global brands. Didn’t that one American sports company — guilty of making the words ‘Just do it’ so popular that it gets thrown at you by wellmeaning friends and family members before every life-changing decision you make — deserve a firm beating down? And why do we have to look at a Swiss brand for atta noodles? This unexpected discovery of my hidden addiction to all things global made me quite aghast.
So to remedy the situation, I vowed to do a crash course on all things Bharat, ala Patanjali style, in honour of the man who answered my most pertinent questions that week. If not Maggi? Patanjali atta noodles it must be. No to multinational sports brands?
Then say yes to khadi. Oh, and why didn’t I win a Pulitzer yet? Just as Ramdev, in his infinite wisdom, had rationalised his Nobel Peace Prize denial, I too had to look at the mirror and know I was ‘black’.
My plan was simple. I would visit three Patanjali stores in the city to observe and learn. My first stop was the Chembur outlet. Finding the store itself was a breeze, with Ramdev grinning down from posters hanging outside.
Inside, I was surrounded by those who seemed totally at ease shouting out words like ‘Pachak Ajwain Aloevera’ and ‘Peedantak Taila’. And just as the shopkeeper looked over at me, I quickly glanced over the hideously green (forgive me Baba!) bottles of amla juice and sachets of ‘premium detergent’, for a product name behind which I could hide my utter ignorance. “Choco flakes,” I finally yelled out. Admittedly, it wasn’t a proud moment — I didn’t intend on starting my quest to attain that liberating state of being Indian with some foreign-sounding cereal.
I eagerly enquired about the atta noodle which, I was told, was yet to make an appearance in the market. The lady at the counter must have noticed how visibly upset the news had left me, for she handed over an A4-sized products’ list.
If you’ve ever, at some point in your life, wondered about how large a brand Patanjali is, the product list can be something of a revelation. The list is broadly classified into categories such as pachak/digestives, eye care and bakery (maida free). And if you harbour any doubts about the efficiency of the 35 products listed under the category ‘Medicines’, just try saying them out aloud — you will probably feel cured by the end of each enunciation.
There are names like Madhupashini Vati, Mukta Vati, Sanjeevani Vati and the controversial conception and infertility pill Putrajeevak Beej which, I learnt with a tinge of disappointment, doesn’t quite guarantee a son. Like a true Indian, though, I continued to soldier on.
My sense of wonderment continued at a Ghatkopar outlet. I spotted a herbal, rakhtchandanbased sindoor, asatofedia and mixed fruit jam (not fit for diabetics, the label said. My heart soared with pride at the honesty of it all). The only time I snapped out of my trance was when the shopkeeper looked horrified at my timid request for an English version of the product list.
Suitably chastened, I quickly bought a packet of cream biscuits to hide my discomfiture. The cover of the product said ‘sandwich biscuits’. A euphemism perhaps, I thought guility, before snuffing out the thought with steely determination. I ended my sojourn in Dadar. The store began to accommodate an evening rush of customers, calling out for bel and amla candy. I enquired about bulk orders and was told that I will have to place orders beforehand, for there were “too many to handle”.
I tried to strike up a conversation with the youngest customer at the store — a college girl susceptible to sudden fits of laughter while staring at her mobile screen. “I am getting these products for my mother. I have my reservations about them,” she said. I smiled beatifically at her, comfortable in the knowledge that it’s only a matter of time before she too gets lured by that all-pervasive Baba charm.
Lately, I have kept myself busy. I have purchased a couple of Ramdev’s yoga CDs, followed him on Twitter and chuckled while thrashing Maggi and the FSSAI on Facebook. Meanwhile, I anxiously await the noodles’ launch in the market. Nirvana is surely just a fortnight away.
Early this week, Baba Ramdev really did seem to have all the answers.
The news of Maggi returning to supermarkets’ shelves should have gladden my maidadeprived heart, but the Food Safety and Standards Authority of India’s (FSSAI) ruined the moment for us all, by calling the Bombay High Court’s order ‘erroneous’.
Later, news outlets exploded with the news of Baba Ramdev’s plan to launch Patanjali atta noodles, followed by a line of khadi yoga wear with a special aim to challenge sports conglomerates like Nike and Adidas. But that familiar villain, the FSSAI, played spoilsport again, by claiming that the noodles did not have the requisite approval for a launch. Seriously, what does one have to do to have a warm bowl of comforting (albeit questionable) noodles in this country?
Strangely, it was while the two camps argued over the matter that I came to see The Light. The real problem, I realised, was my overdependence on global brands. Didn’t that one American sports company — guilty of making the words ‘Just do it’ so popular that it gets thrown at you by wellmeaning friends and family members before every life-changing decision you make — deserve a firm beating down? And why do we have to look at a Swiss brand for atta noodles? This unexpected discovery of my hidden addiction to all things global made me quite aghast.
So to remedy the situation, I vowed to do a crash course on all things Bharat, ala Patanjali style, in honour of the man who answered my most pertinent questions that week. If not Maggi? Patanjali atta noodles it must be. No to multinational sports brands?
Then say yes to khadi. Oh, and why didn’t I win a Pulitzer yet? Just as Ramdev, in his infinite wisdom, had rationalised his Nobel Peace Prize denial, I too had to look at the mirror and know I was ‘black’.
My plan was simple. I would visit three Patanjali stores in the city to observe and learn. My first stop was the Chembur outlet. Finding the store itself was a breeze, with Ramdev grinning down from posters hanging outside.
Inside, I was surrounded by those who seemed totally at ease shouting out words like ‘Pachak Ajwain Aloevera’ and ‘Peedantak Taila’. And just as the shopkeeper looked over at me, I quickly glanced over the hideously green (forgive me Baba!) bottles of amla juice and sachets of ‘premium detergent’, for a product name behind which I could hide my utter ignorance. “Choco flakes,” I finally yelled out. Admittedly, it wasn’t a proud moment — I didn’t intend on starting my quest to attain that liberating state of being Indian with some foreign-sounding cereal.
I eagerly enquired about the atta noodle which, I was told, was yet to make an appearance in the market. The lady at the counter must have noticed how visibly upset the news had left me, for she handed over an A4-sized products’ list.
If you’ve ever, at some point in your life, wondered about how large a brand Patanjali is, the product list can be something of a revelation. The list is broadly classified into categories such as pachak/digestives, eye care and bakery (maida free). And if you harbour any doubts about the efficiency of the 35 products listed under the category ‘Medicines’, just try saying them out aloud — you will probably feel cured by the end of each enunciation.
There are names like Madhupashini Vati, Mukta Vati, Sanjeevani Vati and the controversial conception and infertility pill Putrajeevak Beej which, I learnt with a tinge of disappointment, doesn’t quite guarantee a son. Like a true Indian, though, I continued to soldier on.
My sense of wonderment continued at a Ghatkopar outlet. I spotted a herbal, rakhtchandanbased sindoor, asatofedia and mixed fruit jam (not fit for diabetics, the label said. My heart soared with pride at the honesty of it all). The only time I snapped out of my trance was when the shopkeeper looked horrified at my timid request for an English version of the product list.
Suitably chastened, I quickly bought a packet of cream biscuits to hide my discomfiture. The cover of the product said ‘sandwich biscuits’. A euphemism perhaps, I thought guility, before snuffing out the thought with steely determination. I ended my sojourn in Dadar. The store began to accommodate an evening rush of customers, calling out for bel and amla candy. I enquired about bulk orders and was told that I will have to place orders beforehand, for there were “too many to handle”.
I tried to strike up a conversation with the youngest customer at the store — a college girl susceptible to sudden fits of laughter while staring at her mobile screen. “I am getting these products for my mother. I have my reservations about them,” she said. I smiled beatifically at her, comfortable in the knowledge that it’s only a matter of time before she too gets lured by that all-pervasive Baba charm.
Lately, I have kept myself busy. I have purchased a couple of Ramdev’s yoga CDs, followed him on Twitter and chuckled while thrashing Maggi and the FSSAI on Facebook. Meanwhile, I anxiously await the noodles’ launch in the market. Nirvana is surely just a fortnight away.
