The quest for creative awards

Several senior creative executives recently were given the boot from one of India’s largest advertising agencies. Their crime? They produced some ‘inappropriate’ advertisements for a leading global brand of cars, just to win awards. The brouhaha was less because of the ads but more because the guys got caught as this was a common practice in the advertising field.

The quest to win awards for creativity starts from one’s childhood. For instance, the school fancy dress competition. The complacent (or lazy?) mother enters her offspring as Gandhi, pirate or Mother Teresa. Easy ones with raw material readily available at home. Unfortunately for the child, the competition comes up with a toothpaste tube, or caterpillar or even a tree with a sign proclaiming “Save the environment. Join the chipko movement.”

The other platform for a creative prize is the school exhibition where samples of children’s SUPW projects are displayed. This actually reflects the mother’s inventive talent and not the child’s. For his project my younger son had to make a model of a house. My wife, in turn commissioned her architect cousin to design something exotic. The result was a Spanish hacienda which my son submitted as his handiwork without an iota of guilt.

This competitive spirit continues in adulthood and manifests itself rather strongly in people in artistic fields like advertising and films. For a creative person awards help in career advancement and also in fattening one’s wallet.

A person aspiring to become a hotshot copywriter is brought down to earth within a few months of joining an advertising agency. What he or she thought of as a great idea is dissected and filtered, first by the client servicing executive and then the client. The first signs of frustration start here. It is particularly more so while handling international FMCG brands because the creative work ends up going through a committee. The end product has a nil chance of getting any prize for creativity.

By the seventh year or so the copywriter just goes through the motions of writing. That is the time when every copywriter through generations writes inane headlines like, “The soap with a difference.” Or “The better noodle.”You can substitute any product in these headlines.

I once made the mistake of taking my creative director to a presentation. He took it personally when the campaign was rejected and got into an argument with the client. He later blamed me for not ‘selling’ the campaign strongly enough.

My time in the sun (or almost) came several years back. I had won an award at the Advertising Club, Mumbai. Luckily I was in that city on the day of the function. When my category was announced I got up from my seat. To my surprise I found that my colleague from the local office had made his way to the stage and collected the award and got photographed with the chief guest. Later I found that he was not aware of my presence. At least he had the grace to hand me the trophy.

The advertising awards season will start soon and you can be sure that murmurs of a ‘fixed’ match will manifest itself from the losers.

Golfing woes

With television sports channels going on overdrive to telecast golf tournaments, it is but natural that more people are showing interest in playing that game. Unfortunately, in India one needs to be a member of a golf club to enjoy the sport. That is easier said than done. On an average, one needs to wait more than ten years after applying to start playing, unless one is ready to pay an obscene sum to get early membership. I struck gold some years back and now play regularly in a nice golf course. 

I underestimated the skill required to play the game when I started. Thanks to watching a few videos of some professionals easily hitting long shots, I presumed that my old skill at college level cricket would serve me well to master the new game.

The first day on the course was eventful. I was dressed no different than any of the professional golfers one sees on TV. Plus, a brand new golf set acquired through a relative in the USA. I placed the ball on the tee and took a couple of practice swings with my club. I was now all set to hit my first shot on a golf course. I took an almighty swing and was confident that the ball was headed towards the flag. There was a hushed silence all around from the spectators. To my horror, and embarrassment I found that the ball was still there in all its glory on the tee just the way I had placed it. To cut a long and tragic story short, my ball moved about a hundred yards after five shots. The next day I enrolled for coaching.

Golf and Bridge have two things in common. A post-mortem of the game, and exchange of recrimination between the losing partners. However, unlike in the card game there is a therapy centre at the golf course to calm frayed tempers. It is universally called the 19^th hole where a few mugs of beers will soon cool down the antagonists. This is also the place where one drops names and talks about one’s encounter with Tiger or Rory or Jeev (it will always be first names to show familiarity).

For a golfer, the Old Course at St. Andrews, Scotland has the same status as Tirupati, Mecca or the Vatican. It was my dream for a long time to breathe the air there. A year back, with a reluctant wife in tow, I reached the course. I went through the normal routine of photographs of me against the background of the club house, to prove to my pals that I actually visited the course. Then it was off to the proshop to buy some mementos to give to my golf pals. Like in any other tourist spot the prices were a rip off. Today I can proudly claim that I am St. Andrews returned.

Like horse-racing, golf also has a handicap system. The lower the handicap the better you are as a player. Unfortunately, with my stratospherically inclined handicap golfers find it embarrassing to play with me. So I plough a lone furrow on the course week after week. But I am not going to give up.

Cut to size

At times most of us need some alteration to be done to our clothes. Whether it is to reduce the length, increase the waistline or even change a defective zip. On Lodhi Road in New Delhi you have a whole row of alteration specialists going under exotic names like 9th Wonder, 12th Wonder and even Wonder Ka Wonder. However, tailors in Bangalore are a snobbish lot. They feel it is below their dignity to accept such menial jobs like alteration.

In our apartment complex we had a tailor named Ramanna who thrived on doing alteration work. He had been provided a place in the basement along with the ironwallah. No one knows what exactly he used to do in the past but from the time he arrived here it was like manna from heaven for the residents.

I bought a lot of ready-mades in a sale in the US. However, as my physique is nowhere near that of an average American these clothes were lying unused for a long time. Thanks to Ramanna I was able to resurrect them. He in turn reduced the length of trousers, narrowed the bottom, removed or added bottom folds. He even converted my Nordstrom gabardine trousers to stylish golfing shorts. 

For shirts he  shortened the half sleeves, altered the full sleeves cuff, or even reduced full sleeves to half sleeves. However, there were times his judgement went haywire. A couple of Hilfiger shirts had to be shortened. He took the measurement and returned the altered ones in an hour’s time. Unfortunately, he forgot that American shirts generally have a curved cut on the sides. So the front length was okay but he had gone ahead and cut the sides too, in a curve. When I wore those shirts they looked like something the modern Indian girl wears on top of her jeans!

My wife gave blouses to be altered or a fall to be stitched on a sari. In a weak moment she also gave him a brand new material to stitch a salwar-kameez. Ramanna was at his creative best. One leg of the salwar had vertical stripes and the other one had horizontal ones. He claimed there was not enough cloth to match both the legs. If that had been designed by Manish Malhotra or Abu Jani my wife would have worn them and showed off.

Unfortunately, Ramanna has a weakness for a tipple. He used to complete quickly any work given to him on a Friday morning and collected his money immediately. The after effect of a hangover generally delayed his arrival to work on Saturday mornings.Several times there were  moves to throw him out. Most residents, including yours truly, stood by him and persuaded the residents’ association to keep him back.

But his stay did not last long.Soon after he moved on to greener pastures.Presumably to do a Tarun Tahiliani on an unsuspecting housewife at some other apartment complex.

Yes, Mr. President

Post retirement most people go through certain amount of withdrawal symptoms. How do I make up lost income? How do I spend my time? Am I a nobody? After weighing various options one generally finds that there are no takers to satisfy one’s expectations. However, there is one avenue that will, if not anything else, provide a balm to the hurt ego. That is the position of President of the residents’ welfare association.

With apartments spreading like the plague across Bangalore, a major requirement is to have a resident, sorry, owners’ association. Each complex may call it by any name but ultimately there is a caste situation that exists. Owner or Tenant. Invariably, one has to be an owner to hold the post of office bearer.

When residents move in to a new complex, the early settlers flaunt a sense of superiority and tend to pull rank. They are the ones that moot the idea of a welfare association. The problem starts when some pushy individual insists that there should be bye-laws. There is a frenetic search through friends from other complexes to get a copy of the bye-laws. Once you print that, it is like releasing several monsters all at once.

For the rest of the foreseeable future, the bye-laws are interpreted the way one wants to. There is generally one bye-law pundit whose word is considered law. Every now and then some resident suggests a change in the bye-law and a special general body meeting is called. By the end of the meeting the proposer will be made to feel like Napoleon after Waterloo.

In the initial stages the position of president goes to the person who speaks with some authority about his or her experience in other complexes. In a couple of years groups tend to get polarized. There will be a revolt from the so called ‘young Turks’. But like most spring revolutions, this one also is short lived. The greyheads eventually triumph because the younger ones are too busy earning a living and cannot spare time for such activities.

To become the President of the association has several advantages. The first thing you notice is that the security personnel salute you every time they sight you. Then you realize that the plumber and electrician come to address your complaints much quicker. But there is also a downside. One would not like to be woken up at 6.00 am by a resident complaining that his toilet has got blocked and that it should be repaired immediately.

For a retired person the advantages are many. For one, you get to sit in an office with all the attendant paraphernalia. The admin staff accepts you as their czar for that one year of your term. But they also use you to pass the buck when uncomfortable decisions have to be taken.

By about the fifth year, residents could not care less who is the President. They know that like the government, it is the babus who run the system. The handymen and the housekeeping staff call the shots. After all, the President is only a titular head who needs to be humoured for one year.

Allrounder Academy

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The ‘Beyond Classrooms’ course that will help your child gain confidence to face a highly competitive environment.

Allrounder Academy has been set up by S V L Narayan to mentor and train children between 10-16 years to become successful beyond the classroom.It is his belief that academics have to be supplemented by all round knowledge and self-confidence.

Course Content:

Public Speaking: Debate, extempore speech, group discussion, book reading.

Creative Writing: Article writing, blogs, essay, travelogue.

General Knowledge: Subjects across a wide domain. Quick response to questions. How to conduct quizzes.

Course Duration :  April 1 -19,2013 (9 sessions of 2 hours each)

Course Timing: 9.00 am - 11 am

Venue: Rotary House of Learning,11 Promenade Road, Near Coles Park, Fraser Town, Bangalore 560005

Registration at same venue 10.30 am-12.30 pm, March 29/30

For more details: www.allrounderacademy.org

Contact: S V L Narayan: Email: mentor@allrounderacademy.org.   Ph: 9880007979/41213001

About S V L Narayan

SVL is an Independent Marketing Strategy & Brand Management Consultant based in Bangalore.He has a degree in mechanical engineering and is a Fellow of the Institution of Engineers.His professional experience encompassed a panoramic perspective of strategic business processes across industries- Information Technology, FMCG, Automotive, and Industrial products.

S V L brings to the academy his rich experience in the corporate field and his success in various extra-curricular activities.He is also a regular contributor to various publications.He will be supported by various domain specialists as required.

His Wiki page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samaga

His blogsite: http://svlnarayansmeanderings.blogspot.in/

His Linkedin page: http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=8137092&trk=tab_pro

My Romance with Mills&Boon

A few years backj I was quite thrilled to note that Mills & Boon would be releasing books with Indian characters. I presumed it was a final acknowledgement that India is a big market for western publishers. 

I will come back to M & B a bit later.

My early life was spent in Delhi in the tony Chanakyapuri area, with predominantly children of senior central government officers as gang mates. Added to that was my schooling in an Irish Christian brothers school. This skewed my reading habits completely towards books written by British authors aided and abetted by British publishers who made sure that their books were prominently placed in well-known book shops lead by B D Galgotia & Sons in Connaught Place.

My first memory is of being addicted to Noddy books by Enid Blyton. I followed his adventures in Toyland along with Big Ears. I then graduated to The Five Find-outers, Famous Five and the Adventure series. This was more or less the end of my ‘kid’ phase. I loved the misadventures of “William” by Richmal Crompton, closely followed by “Billy Bunter.” A little later I got hooked on to “Biggles” by Capt. W E Johns.

By this time I was big into American comics, particularly the cowboy ones like Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Rex Allen and the Lone Ranger. As my comic reading habit ate a lot into my school homework time I used to hide them under my pillow so that my dad wouldn’t find them. My friends and I would also exchange comics on a regular basis. I remember reading my first Beetle Bailey comic on the train from Delhi to Bangalore at the beginning of my school summer holidays. The travel time was good fun as we would be allowed to buy comics for the journey. In the north the station bookshop would be run by A.H. Wheeler while Higginbothams took care of the south.

However, I was not very fond of American authors as far as books were concerned. Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer were just names to me. Even in later years Mark Twain came into my life as only a college quiz question when I correctly answered the question, “By what name was Samuel Clemens better known?”

America came back into my life via Erle Stanley Gardner. I devoured Perry Mason books till I finished every one of them. I remember once I was traveling alone by the Deluxe Express from Madras (Chennai) to New Delhi. There were two Anglo Indian ladies (they looked like school teachers) in the seats next to me. When I took out three Perry Mason books they looked pretty disapproving. Presumably they thought that these books were not appropriate for someone as young as I was. This was also the time for “The Saint” series by Leslie Charteris. I was not too fond of Agatha Christie as I thought it was too slow paced.

When I was in Senior Cambridge I started a love affair that continues till this day, even though my ‘partner’ has been dead for several years. I am, of course, referring to P G Wodehouse. I have his complete collection and every time I get bored I take out a tome from my book shelf and read it at one sitting.

When my father was posted to Gauhati (Guwahati) our bungalow was inside the office campus. The library there per force had to stock English books by Indian authors. My reading list got upgraded to Manohar Mulgaonkar, Anita Desai, and Raja Rao.

Over the last several years I have been hooked on to Jeffrey Archer, Sidney Sheldon, Frederick Forsyth, and John Grisham. They are comparatively easy reading and do not require much intellectual calisthenics to understand, unlike Robert Ludlum whose books are beyond me. For quality literature I turn to Asterix and Iznogoud comics.

Now back to Mills & Boon…

Till I got married I had never heard of them. One day I saw my wife reading a book published by M & B.As I was comparatively free I decided to give a shot at reading the book by some unknown author called Penny Jordan. It was like opening a Pandora’s Box. I got sucked into a whirlpool I have not been able to get out of. There was a circulating library near Commercial Street which stocked a whole lot of M & Bs. I knew the kind of stories each author would write. The scenario would shift from England to Greece to Brazil to Spain and Italy. Sometimes to the US and Australia. I knew that Betty Neels would write Doctor/Nurse stories based in Holland.

The heroine would generally be a self-sacrificing virgin of modest means whose first boyfriend would be a good natured blonde. The hero would be older, rich, mostly dark-haired with graying temples and a rather disapproving type. In the Italian setting the hero would say ‘cara’ instead of ‘darling’. The European setting ones would generally have a grandmother who controls the family and is the first one to realize that the heroine is the perfect choice for her grandson, irrespective of the social mismatch. The ‘villi” would be modeled on our Hindi film Bindu type. In the initial years sex was a no-no. However, to keep pace with modern times the Victorian attitude has made way to ground reality in the recent books. They now come with such alluring titles as “Lessons in Seduction”, “Revealed: His secret child”…

Just like Jeffrey Archer has realized that his future millions will be earned from sales in India, Mills & Boon have also joined the bandwagon. Their books are now available for less than  Rs 100 through online stores.

I need to find more place on my bookshelf.

Howzaat!

With IPL round the corner, my mind boggles at the amount these youngsters earn for a few weeks of fun and frolic on the field.There was a time when I too imagined that both my sons would laugh all the way to the bank playing cricket.Plus,keep my wife and I in the lap of luxury.

With this thought in mind, I enrolled them in a cricket coaching camp run by a well-known national cricketer.At the venue there were hundreds of parents with a similar objective.The conservative mindset of an Indian middle-class parent meant that my sons had to pay more attention to academics and a career in industry to make a decent living.The nearest my family came to international cricket fame was a couple of years ago when my younger son playing club cricket in Surrey, was out LBW to a doosra from Saqlain Mushtaq.

Watching cricket from the mango-people stands in the UK is great fun. In 2011, I decided to encourage the Indian team at an ODI in London.On match day it was like being outside the Chinnaswamy stadium instead of the underground station at the Oval. The Indian tri-colour was visible everywhere, either as a flag or a painting on the face. Everyone seemed to be praying for an Indian victory, to wipe out the memory of the Test whitewash.

But it was the same old story. Many of the ticket-holders had not even made their way into the stadium when two wickets fell. The crowd realized that the match itself need not occupy much of their attention. Spectators transferred their energies to having fun and clapped for every run scored. When India was 58 for 5 the only worrying point was on how to spend the rest of the evening if the match got over so early.

By now it did not matter whether you were from Tumkur, Nairobi or Southall. An Indian was an Indian. The most popular song in the stadium was "yeh dosti..." from Sholay. Two rows ahead of me was a guy who, presumably, had his own catering business (or his wife overestimated his appetite). He first took out a large tiffin box full of samosa and aloo bonda. Sometime later it was boxes of chicken kalmi kebab. Just when we thought that was the end of the repast, this chap conjured up packets of huge aloo paranthas. He then entreated his guests to return the tiffin boxes as he had promised his wife he would bring them back safe and sound.

A Chinese couple walked into our stand. To confirm that Hindi-Chini Bhai Bhai was still alive, the man was persuaded to wear the Indian ODI T-shirt.By now the happenings in the middle were incidental. Fermented barley beverage was being consumed by the barrels. Every now and then the crowd cheered when an English wicket fell. But by then spectators had reached a point of no concern.

There were not too many takers for the presentation ceremony. After all who wanted to hear the Indian captain giving explanations for the loss. They had already heard it five times before on the tour.

But we Indians live on hope.We have beaten the Aussies now.The past is history.