It all started with a forwarded message on my WhatsApp group. The message linked the falling rupee to the use of ‘imported’ rather than Indian products, and challenged all Indians to buy only Indian stuff. I decided to give it a go.
I guess the NaMo wave and the promise of acche din was playing on my emotions and ‘Indian’ feeling.
I announced the launch of the ‘Home Swadeshi’ movement at dinner-time to a rather bemused audience. My entrepreneurial kids immediately let me know they would be happy to help in my endeavour by relieving me of all my imported electronic items, “No way, it’s just that there is no phoren stuff from now on,” I said. What has already been bought stays.
And thus started my ‘Swadeshi Yatra’. My monthly shopping expedition for groceries took me to the local store rather than to the supermarket.
Unfamiliar turf After three hours of reading the fine print on every product (not for the ingredients, rather for the manufacturer), an excessive Internet bill (almost every company was Googled), an exasperated salesgirl, an irritated and exhausted husband and a headache, I headed home armed with a bag laden with unfamiliar bottles and jars, smells of rose, sandal and neem, an unappealing brown-coloured toothpaste and local lemonade.
The familiar cereal was replaced by Indian oats and local atta . Dairy products were not a problem, thanks to ‘Amul’.
A month later, what had started out as a whim became an obsession. My hapless family was at the mercy of their dictatorial mother, and the word ‘imported’ was relegated to the category of ‘never to be used bad words’.
The occasional protest was dealt with swiftly with some emotional blackmailing (I carried you for nine months ... you can’t even give up iced tea for me!)
Hubby was a silent spectator and put up with my eccentricities and herbal toiletries.
My office colleagues pitched in too; I was presented with handmade Indian soaps. At potluck parties I brought lime juice instead of colas. My local supermarket did home deliveries for me, and also recommended ‘Agmark’ branded products.
To my surprise, I found that there was no difference in the quality of the products. The bigger surprise was that my grocery bill had come down. This coincided with a slight rise in the rupee, which I was convinced was also because of my own efforts.
I was basking in my success. This reminded me of what my grand aunt had told me of the swadeshi movement while she was in university in Delhi. They had lit bonfires and burnt all their English lace underskirts and fancy clothes.
Her voice had a tinge of sadness when she narrated that. After all, the stuff was lovely, but I could also sense a pride which comes from knowing that your actions are for your nation. Slowly but surely the same sense of pride was creeping into me.
Acid test The acid test came in the form of a large box of my favourite Swiss chocolates presented by my uncle. The box remained unopened on the sideboard for two whole days.
Finally my husband, sensing my dilemma and weakening resolve, said: “Go ahead, it’s a gift, you didn’t buy it!” I then gave in ... just that once, I confess.
This Independence Day, I pledged to carry on this journey and make a conscious effort to buy and use local products, of course while being acutely aware of the fact that there might be the occasional compromise.
I would recommend this swadeshi business to everybody. Go ahead, give it a go. It’s exhilarating and liberating in a way I can’t explain.
anitaramdas2002@yahoo.co.in
