A chance encounter with a citizen, whom we did not know before and never saw again, defined the highlight of a Saturday which, but for that moment of excitement, threatened to slip by in a most unspectacular fashion.
We stood ruminating, willing the interminable redness of the stop sign to transform as if by magic into green. A flutter of activity caught the eye and, mildly interested, we turned in unison towards the cause of disturbance. A young woman, seated at the wheel of the small-segment car favoured by mobile mothers, was gesturing wildly. Interest piqued, my best half lowered the window and smiled inquiringly.
“Excuse me! I’m so sorry to bother you, but could you please tell me the way to the nearest McDonald’s?” All delivered in one flustered breath. Momentarily nonplussed, we then noticed the source of the commotion in the form of her daughter sitting behind, visibly distraught, hands and chin plastered to the window, a look of desperate hope etched on her young features.
“Yes, of course! Take a left from the traffic light, follow the road for a kilometre and a half, and take the first turn after the metro station. You’ll see the mall, and McDonald’s will be right in front of you, you can’t miss it.”
Gushing with gratitude, the young mother lost no time in whisking the apple of her eye away to paradise. The little one needed her fix of the most famous fast food in the world, and she needed it now. It is how it is.
In the wake of the retreating car, and the comic strip of events etched in frame after amusing frame, husband and wife looked at each other and burst out laughing. The sleepiness of a late weekend morning had evaporated in the sheer cuteness of the incident. How familiar the story, variations of which we have lived with our offspring, and how predictably it must play out in a hundred million households and counting.
How amusing to note the immediate recall of an adolescent mind piping the name of a food logo to trump all brands, how tangible the pain of that little girl, and then imagine her joy, no, the greater relief of her mother, then picture again the child face down in a “Happy Meal,” that flagship of the speed menu, complete with the toy of the day. Heaven! Oh, sweet heaven!
Mcdonald’s without the beef
The “Golden Arches” logo appeared on the radar of the Indian public in 1996, courtesy the negotiation and closure of a master franchise agreement which, effectively, carved up the expanse of India into two vast segments -- the Western and Southern sector and the Northern and Eastern sector.
But could the two master franchisor-promoters, signatories to one of the most valuable contracts ever crafted in corporate India, have foretold the revolution to be wrought in the culture, ethos, culinary habits, and avenues of recreation in their country?
I have been given to understand through word of mouth and the occasional reportage that the name “McDonald’s” is and can only be associated with the beef burger. The magnitude of this association is reflected in the statistics, for during an era when McDonald’s meant that one single product, the billionth burger was grilled to patent perfection as long back as 1963, followed two decades later in November 1984 with the serving of burger number fifty billion.
The number and volume represented by the statistic is doubtless mind-boggling. Nevertheless, one should be at least mildly suspicious of numbers and purported reputation, because the evidence of the eyes suggests that the giant “M” perched high atop a pole, is and can only be a truly iconic Indian brand.
Consider the evidence for a moment. For obvious reasons, I have never seen a beef burger advertised in either the paper menus at the ordering counter or in the overhead neon display of any “McDs” outlet anywhere in the country. Because of the religious and cultural tradition that permeates India and the overall sensitivity of the citizenry, it shall never be advertised, much less served.
Therefore, within the remit of India, the edifice of an empire built on the foundations of a solitary product has already crumbled, if it ever even existed. Instead, we are overwhelmed by the cornucopia of standalone food items molded, bent, caressed, into a battery of dishes and meal combinations to suit a palate distinctly and wholly and solely Indian.
The permutations and combinations make one dizzy, and the slender youngster behind the counter is trained to hair-trigger perfection to assemble a meal marketed as the complete dining experience designed to be light on the wallet, birdsong for a South Asian mentality honed from birth to identify and pounce upon a bargain.
And shuffling along in the hungry queue, impatiently waiting our turn in the closest neighbourhood outlet even equipped with a room that caters to all family functions and the youngest son’s birthday party, we stand fascinated, witness to a global phenomenon that may have been built on the Big Mac but has since been reshaped to create a behemoth which is and can only be Indian.
In the times in which we live, where political and economic leverage is as crucial as never before, we have created an instrument of economic force, an export commodity with the potential of catering to an overseas sub-continental population of 24 million swimming in the ocean of a shared diaspora, a figure which intersects with the official figure of 32 million people of Indian origin as published by the Ministry of Home Affairs.
Cricket = India
The Board for Control of Cricket in India, more familiar to us as the BCCI, is the governing body for cricket in India quaintly headquartered in Wankhede Stadium, Mumbai. Its formation in December 1928 was the culmination of the desire of princely India to be officially represented at the Imperial Cricket Conference and participate in matches and tournaments with a team fully drawn from the talent on offer across the length and breadth of India.
A promise by certain powers that be to lobby for inclusion in the Imperial Cricket Conference was contingent upon the promoters of the game in the land coming together to establish a single controlling body for the game. Those who promised British India participation in world cricket were true to their word, and in December 1928, the BCCI was registered under the Tamil Nadu Societies Registration Act with six associations affiliated to it.
Today, the BCCI is constituted of a consortium of state cricket associations, whose representatives elect the chief executive of the BCCI, a pattern and process relatively unchanged from its inception.
Looking back at a seminal career, words are inadequate to describe the journey of perhaps the most important individual to attach to the world of cricket in generations. Jagmohan Dalmiya, the scion of a Marwari family with business interests in and around Kolkata, would possibly have remained largely unnoticed beyond the immediate and extended circle of friends, family, and professional acquaintances had it not been for the very public persona of a cricket administrator which culminated in his ascendancy to the top job of the BCCI.
Joining the BCCI in 1979 as a representative of the Cricket Association of Bengal, and becoming its treasurer in 1983, along with Inderjit Singh Bindra and NKP Salve, Dalmiya floated the revolutionary proposal of hosting the 1987 World Cup in the Indian subcontinent, vigorously opposed by England, who had hosted all three previous World Cups.
However, in 1984, with support votes from associate nations, the proposal passed with majority through the International Cricket Council, the successor to the venerable Imperial Cricket Conference. The 1987 World Cup was the first time the Cricket World Cup was held outside England, and paved the way for a rotation system for hosting the tournament among member countries.
Maverick by nature, Dalmiya proposed the re-entry of South Africa to international cricket in 1991 and ensured South Africa’s three-match one-day international tour of India in the same year. In November 1991, South Africa ended their international sporting boycott in thunderous style, playing their first match since their suspension from international cricket in 1970 before a packed house at Kolkata’s Eden Gardens.
In 1993, Dalmiya along with Bindra won a legal battle against national broadcaster Doordarshan for selling the television rights of cricket matches in India. The outcome of the legal battle was that Doordarshan had to pay the BCCI for acquiring the rights to televise Indian matches.
In 1995, the rights were ruled by the Supreme Court of India as a commodity owned by BCCI and could be sold to the highest bidder. This was the watershed in the fortunes of the cricketing body, as the ruling allowed the BCCI to generate more revenue and strengthened their position in the global marketplace.
Dalmiya was instrumental in securing hosting rights for the 1996 World Cup for the Indian subcontinent. In 1997, he was unanimously elected as president of the International Cricket Council, becoming the first Asian and the first non-cricketer to take the helm.
It was through his herculean efforts that Bangladesh was rocketed to world status in test cricket. He brought about a major overhaul in the International Cricket Council and is credited with helping the body generate more revenue. The profits made from the World Cup were directed to the International Cricket Council instead of the host nations, strengthening its power over the World Cup, so much so that since the 1999 edition of the tournament, the World Cup has been officially rechristened the “ICC World Cup.”
After his stint as president of the ICC, Dalmiya was elected the president of BCCI for the first time in 2001. From then on, we are witness to demonstration after demonstration of the new-found power that a truly Indian administrative body could wield in the less-than-elegant global politics of the gentleman’s game.
The furore caused by the “Denness Affair” displayed the no-nonsense style of a chief executive who would eventually prevail. It was also through Dalmiya’s efforts that contracts to Indian team players and pensions to former cricketers and umpires were first awarded in 2003. A recognition of the significant contribution made by Indian cricket on the international stage was finally registered, albeit a recognition long overdue. The power of Indian cricket had come of age. There was no looking back.
Unsavory, suspicious, Orwellian, ubiquitous, larger than life, dogged by controversy, a morbid unwillingness to abide by the basic tenets of compliance and corporate transparency, an equal reluctance to “open the books”, these are all negative attributes that can justifiably be attached to the organization that is the BCCI. But for all its faults, the Board for Control of Cricket in India has put the country on the map.
And in the manner of the charming bully, and sheer monstrous money power, the BCCI rides roughshod at whim over the fortunes and curriculum of member nations. Imperialism appears to now manifest itself from East to West, it is what we crow about, but we must also be prepared for the adverse consequences that are associated with the political and economic power of the most powerful cricketing body that the world has ever seen.
All South Asian restaurants are Indian
The enduring joke in the world is the phenomenon of the “Indian restaurant.” While the feeding public today may be somewhat more discerning and generous of the contribution of neighbouring nations, till just a few years ago, restaurateurs of sub-continental origin, whatever their nationality and ethnicity, would have little option but to subsume their culture and identity to the overarching demand of needing to demonstrate a certain “Indianness.”
It was simply not possible to market Bangladeshi or Pakistani or Nepali or Sri Lankan food in its own right, it had to be under the guise of the food of Big Brother. And this is symptomatic of the hundreds and thousands of “Indian restaurants” that continue to dot the map of the world, regardless of the ethnicity of the proprietor and her family.
And whatever may be the origin of the ingredients which go into constructing the menu of your favourite South Asian joint, they would almost invariably have been diluted and lost in the monolithic concept of “Indian food.” This notion is a global phenomenon nourished on the experience of decades and, all told, shows little sign of abating. How much more effectively could this culinary imperialism par excellence manifest itself?
The Henley and Partners Passport Index of 2021 has published its latest ranking of the world’s most powerful passports, and in it India ranks 85th out of a possible 195 countries. Not bad, all told, although with sufficient room for improvement. But while the quest for parity with the crème of the First World shall prove to be long and arduous, without doubt the notion and concept of India is more powerful in the Comity of Nations than it has been for the better part of 60 years.
Over the last 20 years, it is the Indian plutocracy, or at least pockets of population and select communities in the country, which has discovered and colonized the swathe of countries which compose the lush and still relatively pristine expanse of Southeast Asia. It is the looming magnificence of Angkor Wat, to cite the name at the top of the list, which constitutes the preferred backdrop of the “destination wedding,” as it has come to be known, rivaled only by locations which are found along the pristine shorelines of Vietnam, Thailand, and Sri Lanka.
The Indian Rupee rules, and rules mightily, as the national governments of our neighbours to the East, and the Indian legations occupying their capital cities, are mobilized to ensure the instant obtaining of visas and seamless transfer from airport to hotel, catering to every senseless whim and fancy of the over-spoilt Indian guest, little different in behaviour and attitude from the colonial predecessors who were evicted 70 years ago for essentially the same reasons. Surely this is an example of economic imperialism in its most pristine form.
Indian music and film
The music of India, the collective album of a huge country, along with cinema has been transported on the wings of the notion of a burgeoning India. It was 15 years ago in the neighbourhood Kaufland, the supermarket for everything under the sun, our haven in a corner of picture-perfect Germany, that we came across not only DVDs of Hindi movies but, astonishingly, DVDs of Shah Rukh Khan movies which appeared to have been shot for a non-resident and international audience.
The music, the exaggerated pathos, the over-dramatics, the complex dance sequences, the de Mille-like pageantry and colour associated with even the lowliest budget flick, appear to have descended upon the universe beyond the traditional cultural and emotional borders and captured the imagination and smile of even the stolid German nation. Quite an achievement, I would imagine.
In the age of pandemic, the American Idol franchise continues to persevere in Season 12 of its local avatar, the enormously popular Indian Idol. Judging by the trend of international brands being converted into something truly homespun, I wait for the day when the most famous reality television in the world is re-exported to the country of its origin as a distinctly Indian product. The day may not be too far off.
During an emergency meeting of the Communist Party of China on August 7, 1927, at the beginning of the Chinese Civil War, Chairman Mao famously said that political power grows out of the barrel of a gun, for whoever has an army has power, for war settles everything.
This pithy axiom eventually found immortality in the Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung which, typically bound in a bright red cover, became known to the world as the “Little Red Book.” How many divisions has the Pope? This equally famous phrase is attributed to Joseph Stalin, and is used to pose the dilemma between material power and moral strength, and seemingly to dismiss the latter.
The two statements, which have passed into the folklore of twentieth century history, epitomize the quality and nature of the colonial imperialism experienced by the subjugated half of the world for the better part of one-and-a-half centuries.
The disciplined redcoats, drawn up in three rows going through the motions of the drill of loading, cocking, and firing the musket, supported by field artillery and squads of cavalry, would lay waste the native army, following which the sovereign territory would be assimilated into the imperial fold through a contract replete with elegant Anglo-Saxon doublespeak, subsequent to which the refined effects of total rule were brought to bear through religion, manners and education.
This blueprint was replicated with little variation by countries with similar overseas ambitions. But what we experience today is radically different.
In the first week of July, and on the auspicious occasion of the inauguration of a newly-renovated Silat Road Gurudwara in Singapore, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong graced the occasion complete in traditional attire, white Sikh turban and mandatory face mask, where he expressed his delight at the inauguration with a hearty “Good morning and Sat Sri Akal!”
We have arrived, and we are exploiting the opportunity of stamping our imprimatur on the consciousness of a receptive world through a new mode and method of colonial imperialism, gentle, non-violent, and yet permanent.
It is powered by a vast South Asian diaspora which forms the vanguard as no vanguard could ever have hoped to achieve in the terrible days of traditional imperialism. We seek to assert our hegemony in an age of neo-colonialism in the avatar of a mildly belligerent nation eager to make an indelible mark on the surface of the earth.
We appear to be doing rather well, all things considered. I wonder why we complain.
Sumit Basu is a corporate lawyer based in India and is a freelance contributor.