Amul Moppet : Branding of Amul Butter and Urban Middle-class Identity

Print media have played a pivotal role in evolution of the modern Indian nation, especially in the development of a common national consciousness of our society. Colonial English education created a literate middle-class aware of the world beyond their own door-step. Imagery, especially, was instrumental in developing the identity of the nation as well as the new state. Political cartoons, in particular, have come about as a mode of expression of views of this middle class.

Amul butter has become one of the fixtures of this middle class, especially thorough it’s advertisement campaign with the Amul moppet. These advertisements have had a tremendous impact and have, in a way, become a part of culture. In this essay, I seek to analyse how these underlying factors that resulted in its success, relating it to the middle class identity created by the language of political cartoons.

Political cartoons and middle-class consciousness

R. K. Laxman, in his ‘Freedom to Cartoon, Freedom to Speak’, charts the evolution of cartoons in India. The subject matter of graphic arts in India has tradionally been derived from religious narratives, and satire and social commentary found their place in folk plays and songs. Political cartoons, born in England, came to India via the English press, notably the London weekly, Punch. This exposed Indians to the so-called British humour, and also a novel mode of expression, of critiquing the quirks and foibles of civil-society and the state without the use of, or with a minimal use of, words. English education had created a class with English-sensibilities, which was very receptive of this new form. More significantly, because the form transcends linguistic barriers, it was adapted by the nascent vernacular press (in which publications were often imitations or translations of English publications). Though these cartoons were not political right at the outset, the emerging nationalist movement provided ample fodder for native cartoonists, who dressed up their subject in classical imagery of Indian mythology and symbolic animals, which, apart from being familiar to a majority of the readers who could relate to it, did not tread beyond the limits set by the colonial government. The influence of the plain Punch cartoons, which were not quite caricatures, was very much there. It was only with the increasingly vociferous calls of the nationalist movement that cartoonists became bold enough to draw satirical caricatures, when one Shanker Pillai, in the 1930s, was employed by The Hindustan Times, a nationalistic national daily. His impact on the public was enough to trigger a flurry of cartoons in other publications, seeking to imitate him. The socio-political cartoon had found a firm footing among Indian public.

Laxman himself came onto the stage soon after independence, when Partition had utterly disrupted society and the new state was developing its democratic identity based on the principles of equality, liberty, fraternity, and most importantly, freedom of the press. Our founding-fathers working to shape this identity were themselves, by and large, English-educated urbanised men and women. The bureaucrats running the state machinery were the quintessential English-educated babus. Thus, while the idea of the new nation was much more pluralistic, there was a dominance of this class in the nascent state, and it was best positioned, by its education and awareness, to comprehend the state. Newspapers like The Times of India, which employed Laxman, found their readership chiefly among this urbanised,English-literate and politically aware class (of which Laxman himself was a part). This, I contend, reflected in the content of the English publications, and the issues concerning the new state were seen mainly from the perspective of this middle-class. It is in this milieu that Laxman’s cartoons came into being.

Laxman depicted in his cartoons the drama in the life of common people resulting from the stumbling experiment of the Indian nation-state, the incompetencies of and dishonesty and bickering among the people in power, among the politicians and bureaucrats, as well as attempts of common people to grapple helplessly with these problems, as well as the quirks of their society. In ‘You Said It’, his daily series in The Times of India, he gave a ‘freewheeling commentary on socioeconomic, socio political aspects in rather a lighter vein, free of real political personalities or factual political events’. The feature was ‘not an attempt at serious analysis but meant to expose the general mood of the country’.. His earnest attempts to faithfully depict (as caricatures, of course) the cross-section of society – the Maharashtrian, the Punjabi, the brahmin, the baniya, the industrial tycoon, the fruit-seller, etc. had to give way, under the pressure of deadlines, to fewer and fewer individuals as representing all of India, until he was left with one man, dubbed ‘The Common Man’. This character has featured as a witness in the depiction of all goings-on in the country, in high-power meetings, at state-banquets, etc., as a silent and helpless observer to happenings that shape his life.

In the 50 years since he was first drawn, India has seen three full-scale wars, the Emergency, assassinations, riots, etc. It has experienced the optimism of the 50s, the reality-check of the 60s, the revolutions of the 70s, the new directions of the 80s and the liberalisation of the 90s. Before independence, cartoons depicted and lampooned society and the colonial government; post independence, the subject of You Said It was the democratically elected government and political system of India. Before independence, cartoons created the identity of the nation; post independence, The Common Man shaped the identity of our state in the eyes of its citizens. He has endured famines and floods. He has taken arrested development and enduring poverty in his stride and become the consciousness of the millions. Yet, owing to the readership of the publication which carried him and the perspective of its creator, The Common Man remained an urban middle-class person. Indeed, that the rich can buy a comfortable life, while the poor are too poor to be entirely aware of the wretchedness of their situation, and it is the middle-class that experiences having both the knowledge and the awareness of the problems still unresolved by the state that promised to resolve them may well serve as an aphorism for what The Common Man effectively conveys, although the poor depicted in You Said It are quite sagacious with regards to their condition, which is not entirely untrue as over 60 independent years, political awareness has permeated deep in India, out-running literacy and education. Thus we have, in the young nation, a middle-class with consciousness shaped by cartoons like media represented by You Said It, and which is now well acquainted with the form of socio-political satire depicted in the cartoon.

Branding Amul butter – the Amul moppet

‘It is her four-year-old who draws her attention to the hoarding that has come up overnight. "It was the first Amul hoarding that was put up in Mumbai," recalls Sheela Mane. "People loved it. I remember it was our favourite topic of discussion for the next one week! Everywhere we went somehow or the other the campaign always seemed to crop up in our conversation."’. ‘"I have made an album of them to amuse my grandchildren," laughs Mrs. Sumona Verma. "They are almost part of our culture, aren't they? My grandchildren are already beginning to realise that these ads are not just a source of amusement. They make them aware of what is happening around them.”’

It has been 40 odd years since the ‘Amul butter girl’ was first introduced to India, in its polka-dotted dress and playful innocence, and seen in many more avatars in the Amul advertisements. It is enough to read some of the comments quoted above to gauge the extent of its impact on the consciousness of urban middle-class. While Amul butter had been in the market since 1945, it was Polson butter, with a sexy village belle as its mascot, that had the largest market share. It was Sylvester daCunha who, in 1966, conceptualised the Amul girl who could rival the Polson girl, ‘a girl who would worm her way into a housewife's heart. And who better than a little girl?’.

We have since seen the moppet celebrating Eid, Diwali, Ganeshotsav and Christmas. We have ridden with it the first escalator in Bombay and celebrated sporting events with gusto. It has made us chuckle at the latest corruption scandals, infiltration along the country’s borders, and made us look at infrastructural deficiencies in a lighter vein. The moppet has also commented on certain movies and television serials which enjoyed wide-spread popularity. It has also courted controversy with comments on Ganeshotsav, with the Shiv Sena threatening violence, and Indian Airlines threatening a boycott in response to its comment on a strike by its employees. The advertisements have seldom shied from making bold statements as with the topical on the MR Coffee controversy. This ad-campaign is the longest running in history and in doing so, it has made the Amul moppet one of the most recognisable symbols in the Indian market, along with the likes of the Lux-women and Lalitaji of Surf.

In all of these advertisements, we see a pre-dominance of urbanised middle-class ideas and perceptions of the affairs of their society, couched in their own language (the curious hybrid of English and Hindi). The political, entertainment and social issues touched upon are the ones that resonate most with this class. Indeed, the very target of these advertisements were originally the urban housewives, who would be charmed most by the image of a little girl, with the topical comments striking a chord with their awareness of current affairs in a cultural aesthetic familiar to them.

Branding and cultural forms

In ‘Thinking through Emerging Markets: Brand Logics and Cultural Forms of Political Society in India’, Arvind Rajagopal brings out a relationship between the market-economy and political-economy. Both, he argues, function along similar lines in reinforcing and exploiting existing cultural notions. Both try to give their products (a political product being a promise of representation of ideals, satisfaction of economic and social needs and good governance) a perception of value and an identity. These, however, are highly subjective in that what works for an urban constituency may not work in the hinterland, and in a country like independent India, there are added divisions of caste and regional identities that further complicate the scenario. Advertisers for both these kinds of products would do well, therefore, when launching their product, to aim at niches left in this mosaic, along with using existing cultural motifs to make an immediate impact.

On this last point, Aravind Rajagopal uses the example of the rise of Hindutva as a social movement as well as a political movement. While the Indian national movement was dominated by Hindu imagery, the idea of independent state of India was decidedly secular. He argues that Hindutva politics filled the void of representation of those groups that felt alienated in this state by its support of minorities and posited itself as a champion of their cause by the use of evocative rhetoric of Hindu identity and Hindu symbols. He also notes that this political movement lead to use of such symbols in market-advertising in regions where it was strongest. He also gives some examples of brand-wars (Surf versus Nirma) as representing this strategy of maximising market share.

Analysis of this branding of Amul butter among the middle-class

We have noted the development of the identity of the urbanised middle-class. This has been very well represented in the cartoons of R. K. Laxman, specifically his character ‘The Common Man’. The themes of Amul advertisements can be seen as running on the lines of those in ‘You Said It’. They both depict and comment on administration, politics, corruption and infrastructural issues. In addition, Amul’s cartoons venture into popular culture and gossip too. While Laxman’s cartoons are satirical caricatures, Amul’s cartoons are light-hearted parodies spun to show the Amul product as the subject. One may recall at this point that the Amul moppet was created to rival the Polson girl. It is also to be noted that Amul’s advertising till 1966 had been quite routine and basic and that humour in advertising, especially of food products, was little known [4]. The appeal of Amul’s cartoons is immediately clear if one sees this in light of Aravind Rajagopal’s analysis. Thus, we have the Amul moppet riding on the cultural identity of the middle-class as developed by political cartoons in the language of humour. The wholesome innocence of the little girl too can be thought of as calling forth maternal instincts in housewives, who may also see a bit of themselves in the little girl, something which a male character wouldn’t have done, and definitely something the Polson girl did not have. More importantly though, the middle class could relate to the comments of these advertisements, which was in their own language and reflected their views, giving the product instant-recall and it is this that has resulted in the kind of impact that this branding has had.

Bibliography

1. Freedom to Cartoon, Freedom to Speak – R. K. Laxman

2. Thinking through Emerging Markets: Brand Logics and Cultural Forms of Political Society in India – Aravind Rajagopal

3. "Westernised Middle Class", Intellectuals and Society in Late Colonial India - Michelguglielmo Torri (Supplementary Reading)

4. http://www.amul.com/story.html

5. http://www.amul.com/hits.html

6. http://www.thestatesman.net/page.news.php?usrsess=1&theme=&id=90266&clid=21

7. http://www.nirmaltv.com/2007/11/30/friday-fun-r-k-laxmans-cartoons/

8. http://dogranavneet.blogspot.com/2008/12/rk-laxman-cartoons.html

9. http://www.kamat.com/database/pictures/cartoons/r_k_laxman.htm

10. With special thanks to Prof. Sharmila and Prof. Ratheesh who taught me in the course 'Culture and Media' and also evaluated this essay for me.
    
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Lessons in Democracy

Let me begin with an an editorial that appeared in The Times of India, Bombay Edition. I don't remember the date when it was published, but it was a few (definitely more than 3) years ago. I had put it up on another, long defunct, blog of mine.

Lessons in Democracy

Tocqueville anticipated the decline of reason.

Nicolas Tenzer

It seems appropriate that, due to the Iraq war, the world has been debating the nature of democracy 200 years after Alexis do Tocqueville's birth. Tocqueville is justly famous for rejecting reactionary nostalgia and regarding democracy's triumph as our destiny, while warning against the dangers that democracy holds for liberty. Should we still share his worries?

Tocqueville viewed democracy not only as a political regime, but, above all, as an intellectual regime that shapes a society's customs in general, thereby giving it a sociological and psychological dimension. Democratic regimes, Tocqueville argued, determine our thoughts, desires and passions. Just as there was Renaissance man and, in the twentieth century, homo sovieticus, "democratic man" is a form of human being.

For Tocqueville, democracy's systemic effects could lead citizens to deprive themselves of reasoned thought. They could only pretend to judge events and values on their own; in reality, they would merely copy the rough and simplified opinions of the masses. Indeed, what Tocqueville called the hold of 'social power' on opinion is probably strongest in democratic regimes - a view that foretells the growth of modern-day demagogy and media manipulation.

Tocqueville believed that there are no effective long-term constraints on this tendency. Neither local democracy nor small societies, neither governmental checks and balances nor civil rights, can prevent the decline of critical thought that democracy seems to cause. Schools have the power to be little more than enclaves from the corrosive strength of social influences on how mind works. Similarly, while Tocqueville thought that pursuing virtue as the ancients did, or having a religious faith, could sometimes elevate the soul, both conflict with the democratic ideal if they become officially prescribed in public life.

In this sense, Tocqueville's intellectual heirs include the neo-Marxist theorists of the Frankfurt School, as well as Hannah Arenst, all of whom feared above all the disintegration of reason in modern societies. Indeed, the French philosopher Marcel Gauchet entitled a recent book Democracy Against Itself. The democratic way of life, these writers argue, tends to destroy original thought and to suppress 'high' culture, yielding a mediocrity that leaves citizens vulnerable to democracy's enemies.
But while history is replete with murderous regimes applauded by cowed and deceived masses, the greater risk for democratic nations is that their citizens withdraw into apathy and short-term thinking for immediate gratification. The past - despite rituals that seek to commemorate historic monuments - is obliterated by an addiction to the now and the new. Even the supposedly well-educated ruling class is subject to this bewitchment. The essential problem of the democratic mind is its lack of historical consciousness.

Do the defects of democracy really mean, as Tocqueville claimed, that resigned pessimism is the only - realistic but unsustainable - path open to us? I don't think so. There are means to fight against what might be called today's growing 'democratic stupidity' .

The first defence is to push for an educational system that really forms critical minds, namely through the (nowadays) largely neglected subjects of literature, history and philosophy. If the informed and critical citizenry that democracy requires is to be formed, our schools must stop pandering to the latest popular fads and begin to sharpen the analytical capacities of students.

The biggest impediment to such an education is the mass media, with its tendency to create superficiality and amusement. Many people nowadays spend more of their time watching television then they do in classrooms. The passivity that mass media encourages is the polar opposite of the active engagement that democratic citizens nee. But it is hard to imagine that the mass media ( other than quality newspapers ) would, of their own volition, become instruments of an education that enhances citizens' critical capacities.

This concern about mass media is no mere elitist scorn for popular culture. The question is not one of popularity alone - after all, Mozart was popular in his day, and Shakespeare's plays attracted the poor as well as the rich - but of mass culture's refusal to challenge and provoke. The result is a generalised indifference and passivity in audiences.

Indeed, for a long time a globalised media culture, one unable to inspire the capacity for critical thought or create elevated feelings, has been on the rise. It is a culture that, through its carelessness, threatens democratic freedom because it fails to create any sense of obligation - to society, to history, to community.

Is it too late to do anything about a culture that so deadens the spirit? Tocqueville despised the elites of his time for their complacency in the face of the deracinating forces of mass democracy. Will the myopia of our leaders also serve as an agent of his disquieting prophecy?

The writer is president of the Centre d'itude et de riflexion puor l'action politique (CERAP).