Kalathi Newspaper Mart at East Mada Street in Mylapore may not tick all the boxes for a great brand-building exercise, but manages a compelling brand narrative. The simplicity of the narrative is also what makes it riveting. It is essentially this: The local equivalent of a five-and-dime stumbling upon a sweet drink. Though based on a straightforward formula, its rosemilk has survived tastebuds of successive generations.
Before launching into its brand story, a heartening update about its current status.
Its owner K. Mani points out that the shop is run with stoic resignation to the prevailing situation, and is focussed on keeping the legacy going.
“No layoffs. There are only two employees, and they were paid their salaries even when we stayed shut during the complete lockdowns. Only 50 p.c. of the usual business was possible during summer (a key business season), but that is alright.”
Having pared down its offerings much before the pandemic probably helped the shop in no small measure to weather the crisis.
On hindsight, the wider recognition gained via the popularity of its rosemilk — which began to be offered in 1952 — seems a reward for just this kind of stick-to-it-ness, something evident from how successive generations have picked up the baton. And also for how the shop integrated itself into the larger story of a neighbourhood.
Take away Kalathi’s simple story of being relevant in small ways to the local residents in early days, and its honest-to-goodness rosemilk, and there would be little to interest the seeker of brand-building wisdom. Because the regular brand buttons remain unpushed.
One, it does not engage with its target group (TG) with an aggressiveness that is expected of brands. In fact, there is hardly any engagement to wax about. For, its TG is hardly recognised, leave alone being clearly etched.
Thankfully, gastronomic adventurers active on social media have ticked the engagement box on its behalf, continually creating some buzz around it, reporting their visits.
Two, it does not even attempt to make a pretence of adapting to the times — the new normal, if you like. During the pandemic, there was not even a half-hearted attempt to embrace technology. Its owner K Mani makes it clear: No home-delivery of rosemilk. Only cash payment at the shop.
A natural brand story
Its rosemilk being spoken about as much as it has been gulped down since the early 1950s, the brand story evolved just naturally around it.
It is a story that is easy to weave, as it combines three appealing threads — history of a neighbourhood, “hyperlocal-centricity” and industriousness.
The shop is actually 94 years old straddling three generations and changing socio-economic profiles of an evolving neighbourhood. From 1927, when Kalathi Mudaliar established the shop; to 1951, when his nephew N Kannan took charge of it; and then, from 1974, when Kannan’s son K Mani began to run the show to the present, the shop has adapted to changing expectations of the local population without overreaching itself.
“From 1927 to now, we have operated from a 10ft by 10ft space at the same spot,” reveals Mani. “It is a shop we have owned over the decades.”
At its inception, the shop dealt in inexpensive items wide-ranging in their purposes and therefore defying being pigeon-holed into easy categories. Loosely, it traded in utilitarian and leisure-oriented items.
From accounts handed down to him by the family, 71-year-old Mani names a few items to underline the eclectic composition on the shelves. There were pressurised paraffin lamps, betel leaves and nuts, newspapers and magazines, trinkets and playthings.
“It was the only shop of its kind at East Mada street,” says Mani, surmising that to find another, a resident had to hop to West Mada Street.
From the 1960s to 1980s, the shop sought to meet the changing consumer aspirations, but still played within itself shunning huge investments.
“Even before Aavin arrived, we were selling milk packets from MRP company using a card system. It was only after Aavin spread that people became familiar with the card system of selling and buying milk. But we started it much before that.”
This new approach was also signalled by attempts to hitch its wagon to big brands, as brand-consciousness was beginning to sprout stronger shoots.
“In the days when Coco Cola arrived in these parts, it would be available in only two places in the locality — Mylapore Club and then at Kalathi,” claims Mani.
Kalathi Newspaper Mart gives the sense of an enterprise that has grown and aged gracefully alongside a neighbourhood, even
shining from its reflected glory.
The institutions located close to its coordinates have contributed to its brand story. There are accounts that link these institutions with Kalathi. Often repeated, they may even sound cloying. However, successive generations have enjoyed parroting those accounts. But, is that the stuff of all legends? And why should we even think of moving the goalposts because a shop did not expand beyong its 10-by-10 over nearly a century?
One account is that legendary artistes in the theatre and film industry would stop by Kalathi Newspaper Mart, during visits to RR Sabha. They still do. Another is that a sweet made of dried coconut kernel and betel nuts would be offered free to students of schools nearby when they visited the shop. That seems closest to a brand-building exercise Kalathi Newspaper Mart had undertaken in its lifetime.
Having captured a neighbourhood’s mind-space , Kalathi could even scale down without appearing to be diminishing. From selling rosemilk in four flavours, including pista and almond flavours which could have entailed significant additional costs, it is now down to just one flavour: Just the straightforward rosemilk. “We do not have a substantial workforce to make rosemilk in four flavours,” explains Mani, who manages the show with just two employees.
The fact that the variety has whittled down to one flavour has not affected patronage, even less the admiration from the wider world.
Industriousness also contributes to this brand story’s appeal.
Look at this. Three generations plugging away at it, and the last one particularly staying at the post ignoring the pull of easier alternatives. Mani is a retired bank official, and he balanced the demands of a 9to5 job with an after-work shop-keeping responsibility. Before Mani’s retirement in 2010 from Indian Overseas Bank, he had managed the shop with his cousin’s support.
“My father (N Kannan) died young at age 48 in 1974, and the mantle fell on me,” says Mani, a commerce graduate from the 1971-batch of Vivekananda College. Mani underlines that he chose to rule himself out for promotions with his bank, continuing to work as a clerk. Promotions and going up the ladder would have meant transfers. “So, only two years before I retired did I receive my promotion,” he explains. “This way, I could continue to work in the city and look after my shop after my office hours.”
It is probably this determination to secure the legacy handed down to him by his forbears that encourages Mani to keep the show going despite challenges from the pandemic.
(‘ Hyperlocal Brandemic’ catches up with shops that have grown alongside a neighbourhood, gained a recognition beyond it but have kept their hyperlocal character intact, to find out how they are managing the pandemic situation )
