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Headstart for a Business
May 26, 2002
Who watches ads? So, create an environment where people market products to each other—that’s the new concept.
Here's an idea for marketing people: Let loose a virus to push products. I don’t know what you do when an ad break happens along. I quickly rush to the fridge for a refill. The wife hurries to the kitchen to check if the microwave has been switched off. Then, as the serial restarts, we re-group in front of the TV set. But you can’t always dodge the ads. The same commercial will come on again when you least expect it. Sometimes you flick channels; sometimes you just endure the darned thing—drinking more lager than you planned to. I admit some of these ads were fun. The fare today is largely insipid, inane. Viewers are likely to develop ‘ad fatigue’ when the same messages are hurled at them night after night. Messages meant for ringing up sales end up dangerously putting off customers.
Probably, Ad agencies and marketing people should consider the old-fashioned way of communication, of feeding the grapevine—to create interest in new brands.
In the book, Unleashing The Ideavirus, Seth Godin takes this proposition to interesting new heights. He suggests ways to let loose a commercial concept among those who are most likely to ‘catch’ it—and then stand aside as these recipients become ‘infected’ and ‘spread’ it to others who might do the same.
“The future belongs to marketers who establish a foundation and process where interested people can market to each other,” writes Mr. Godin. “Ignite consumer networks and then get out of the way and let them talk.”
In the winds of change sweeping the advertising business, it is just not enough to stick to the old and tried formula of figuring out your customer needs, developing products that satisfy these needs, and then whipping up interest in the brands through a media blitz in these cost-intensive times. “Today, most basic consumer needs have been largely satisfied,” says Satish Mahinder, promotion consultant, Hong Kong, “even in India. So it is tough for companies to come up with ideas for genuinely new categories of products. And even when they do, the spread of low-cost manufacturing technology, such as that from China, means any advantage is quickly lost by cheaper versions that work just as well.”
That’s a dilemma facing Indian companies. Instead of comparing the advantages of a given brand against its competition in expensive ads—which may not always work—it may be worth considering beating competition on marketing.
“Marketing is about spreading ideas,” writes Mr. Godin, “and when other competitive advantages have gone, ideas are all you have left. In his ‘delightful, practical, concise’ book, Mr. Godin cites several examples to substantiate his claims. In a world where people actively resist marketing, Mr. Godin continues, you cannot go on interrupting them with unwanted messages: They have too little time and too much power to stand for it any longer. There is, however, an alternative. Instead of marketing at people, you create an environment where people market to each other. But in today’s world, Mr. Godin continues, idea viruses are becoming much more powerful partly because the Internet is spreading them more quickly, but also because they help guide people through the growing cacophony of information and choices. Successful companies will be the ones that make accidents happen by manufacturing their own idea viruses.
Mr. Godin suggests several ways to put the idea virus in circulation. The old and well-tried free sampling is one. Opinion leaders/peer groups are given samples to taste. Bangalore, for instance, has seen any number of parties where beer companies organise such events for select groups. Or offer members of leading clubs ‘one free for every one purchased’. Other tips in the book include public relations, product placement and sponsorship.
If you can’t get the hard copy of the book, read it online by downloading the e-book from the website, Ideavirus.com. It is the most downloaded e-book in history!
Unleashing The Ideavirus by Seth Godin; US$ 11.20
Where are they now?
August 24. 2002
The other day I was pushing the shopping cart and working on a small chit of things to pick up from the club’s departmental store. I had dropped noodle sachets, a box of farm eggs, sachets of milk, a tin of ghee, a brick of vanilla ice-cream and other grocery into the cart. It wasn’t always this convenient for us Bangaloreans, I thought. Practically everything you need for the house is here, under one roof, but some of the romance of how things were done in the good old days, seemed to be lost.
In those ‘good old days’, in the early fifties, shopping was so different. Provisions for the home – and goodies – were obtained in novel, interesting ways.
In the bungalow in Cantonment, for milk, we got it off the tap! Every morning, the milk man would come – with a cow in tow.
Strapping the ruminating, slow moving animal’s hind legs with a cloth rope, he’d wash the udder with water from a bucket and then call out to mother. When she answered and struck her neck out of the kitchen window, the milk-man would hold the bucket upside – signaling two things: a) there was no water in the bucket, and b) that fresh milk would be filled in it.
With that, he’d work on the animal’s undercarriage – squeezing milk into the bucket. The first jets would make a metallic sound and then when milk hit milk, there’d be foam. Later with a measure, he’d count the quantity of milking being issued to mother.
At about that time would come an old, bare-footed man wearing a turban with two bouncy cane baskets slung on either end of a long spliced bamboo stick. From one basket he’d take out eggs. Promptly an open vessel with water would be brought out. The eggs would be gently eased into the water. If they sank, they were good. If they didn’t, it meant they were rotte
From the other basket would come out two mud-pots. The smaller one held ghee. This essential would be scooped out and filled in a measure and emptied into a wide-mouthed jar. The other black mud pot held curds. Sweet and sour but that’s how it most often was.
Pasta came in two ways. Before sunrise, a vendor on a cycle would go crying “Idiappam! Idiappam!!” Or in summer would come a couple to make vermicelli. First, they’d go about kneading and making the wheat dough. A small portion of this dough would then be put in a little aluminum gadget with a rotating handle. Out came a string of fine but wet vermicelli. This was collected on the arms and spread on a large white muslin cloth spread on the floor, in the backyard. This product would be sun-dried, packed in large biscuit boxes - to be used on a later day to make kheer or payasam. But for us kids in the large joint family, nicking the drying sticks and running off with them would be a treat!
The monthly provisions would be brought in from the peta, city wholesale market. A jutka, a pony driven cart would be used to bring sacks of rice and other cereals, dried red chillies, lentils, cooking medium, sugar, jaggery, matchboxes and such essential items to run the kitchen. Invariably the senior women in the house would be assigned this task.
This shopping chore was a major event for the ladies who’d make our meals. They’d set out soon after lunch in the first week of the month, carrying a shopping list, empty jute bags and return before dusk. Sometimes they’d be delayed at the octroi post at the junction of Sampangi tank and Cubbon Park, near the Hudson Circle. Yes, all goods entering the cantonment area were taxed. But for us kids the delay meant a delay in the candy/toffee treat that invariably followed each such shopping excursion.
The bearded ‘kalia-wallah’ would come about once a year. This specialist in repairing and re-surfacing the metal kitchen utensils, had a longish process before starting work on the dekshis, tawas and other cooking utensils.
Fascinated, we’d watch him as he systematically set about his work. He’d scoop mud and form a hollow in the ground. Next, he’d push a metal pipe into the hollow. Using wet mud, he’d secure the pipe. This would be joined to a large animal hide bag, a bellow to pump in air for the makeshift hearth. Coal would be placed on the hollow and soon a small foundry was got going. The vessels would be heated on the coal fire and the metalwork would proceed.
The knife-sharpener would come carrying his wooden contraption on his shoulders. Setting the machine down, he’d stamp on the wood-pedal and make the grinding stone rotate at high speed. A host of knives, scissors, ‘cut-throat’ razor and such items would be brought from the house for his attention. He’d work on them, with a stream of sparks flying in a brilliant arc! Wow, that was like ‘sur-sur’ bathi, a sight out of Divali!
Two suited Chinese salesmen would occasionally appear at the bungalow gate. Arriving on bicycles – but not together. One would carry a big cloth bundle on his carrier. Within was imported fabric – for clothing. The other chinky eyed person – who for some reason always came in the evenings – carried clay dolls and a separate container of molding clay in a trunk fixed to the carrier of the bi-cycle. His nimble fingers would quickly work on the clay, form figures and then colour them. As we watched in amazement, he’d turn out a range of dolls, toys. Sheer magic!
Another mobile vendor that both the young and old looked forward to seeing on hot summer days was the ice-cream man. His timing was perfect. Hot sweltering day, just about the time when we had finished lunch and the kids were asked to ‘stay indoors and rest for while’.
A solar hat, cotton suit and tie, dark glasses marked this vendor on wheels. “Aa-ISSH- creammmmMM!”, he’d cry while ringing the bell on the cycle’s handle. Mother or grandfather resting, would be shaken awake for this treat. From across the wall the sale would be made. The ice-cream man would pull out the stick ice product from a large thermos flask and quickly close the wide mouth. There would be two large thermos flasks on the bike. If this was a treat beyond compare, it prompted some of us kids to wonder what was a better career – a railway engine driver or an ice-cream salesman!
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