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The Rediff Business Special/ End of gossip and chit-chatting

Browse-and-buy bazaars push friendly neighbourhood stores into a corner

Shobha Warrier in Madras

In the Madras of yore, this was the one place better than the local telephone exchange. All varieties of gossip met their match here and, like in Chinese whispers, evolved, modified and grew before staling and dying out. The place we are discussing is the neighbourhood shop.

For more intellectual topics of interest, there were, of course, the reading rooms, even the teashops. But the local talk and more salacious stuff -- the latest love affairs, trouble local guys got into, etc -- all were grist for this mill. And, before we forget, yes, goods too exchanged hands here.

Sajan, one of those seeing the number of such shops dwindling, is a little sad about it all.

"Where are the corner shops? As a young boy, I used to stand unseen and unheard in the crowd and hear the adults gossiping. I used to return and pass on all that to my mother. The chain was never broken. Now the corner shops look dead, with no hectic activity taking place. Sometimes I miss those sessions. Am I starved of juicy news!''

Irrespective of the size of the corner shop -- and they are invariably small -- the shop-owners and their boys make all the customers feel at home.

"How are you, sir? How is the business going?"

"Oh, Amma, didn't you still get a servant? Let me see whether I can find one for you."

"How were your exams? And how much did your neighbour Ramu get in his board exams?" And more such titbits from personal life.

The people there knew everything about their customers, their business activities, their internal and external problems, even how their children were doing at school.

In contrast, the new supermarkets provide just impersonal service, said a corner shop loyalist, angrily. But there is no question that supermarkets are catching on in Madras. And even the old guard, represented by the conservative mamis, have been lured over.

"To tell you honestly, I do miss it. I was initially reluctant to go to a supermarket because I feared they were expensive. Why should we pay more for dal and rice just because they provide us with cool air and beautiful plastic packs? I conveyed my fears to my daughter-in-law too. But these youngsters prefer only supermarkets," says one such old lady.

But after her first visit, the old lady, the die-hard fan of Iyer's corner shop, also betrayed her old friends.

"I must admit, though unwillingly, that supermarkets are good. I've the freedom to choose what I want. to check the prices of all commodities in the market. Of course, I feel bad for Gopala Iyer. Poor chap!" There's both guilt and pity in her voice.

Iyer turns out to be a man given to wild mood swings. He could be very pleasant one moment and fly off into a violent temper the next. Some customers didn't mind it, others didn't like it much. But they all lived with his eccentricities. But after several supermarkets came up in the neighbourhood, Iyer's pleasant moments became fewer and fewer. But people only pity him, even those who were irritated by his acerbity. They all speak of him with compassion now.

"Don't think I've lost all my customers," he barked when asked about the changes the supermarkets have wrought. "I still have many. No, not the upper- or middle-class. To hell with them...

"I feel the world is unkind to the poor. Who will cater to those who get daily wages, who want 100 gms of dal, 100 gms of sugar, tea leaves for two rupees, 250 gms of rice?. I'm their saviour.

"If not for me, they'd have died of hunger. Do any of these big -- what do you call them, supermarkets? -- serve the poor?" Iyer, the beaten, moody Communist, still has a point there.

Pushpa Shoppe was one of the first high-class supermarkets in Madras in the post-liberalisation period.

Earlier, Nilgiris Supermarket and TVS had tried to set up chain stores and failed. They were far ahead of their times. Things changed after liberalisation and people were more sensitised to the presence and free availability of foreign goods. And not just at some dubious hole-in-the-wall smuggled good outlet. It didn't help directly, but the middle and upper classes were finally stirred into checking out the new supermarkets.

The most difficult converts, of course, were the mamis, who were convinced that supermarkets were a rip-off. What intimidated them most were the air-conditioners, which, in most shops affected the bills.

"People checked, rechecked and re- re-checked the prices, and soon we wooed them over. People also understood that it wasn't very expensive in a supermarket. Luckily, we started in an area with many upper-class and middle-class people. We used to get an average of 400 customers a day when we started in 1992; now we average 1100," says Pankaj, the manager of the highly successful Pushpa Shoppe.

Spencer's entered the market scene with a bang, opening their chain of Foodworld supermarkets on every upmarket bit of real estate they could find. At least 15-20 stores are planned in the near future.

But Spencer's had the advantage because it came in after the ice was broken. Now they have spread their operations to cities like Bangalore and Hyderabad.

It has a technology tie-up going with the Dairy Farm International in Hong Kong which provides expertise in shop design, merchandising, information technology, etc.

The first thing that Spencer's establishes is a huge warehouse which can store goods for at least 15 stores in the city, from where goods can be transported to all their retail outlets.

"We buy pulses, rice and other commodities, in bulk. The cleaning, weighing and packing are done at the warehouse before the goods are sent to retail stores. The design of each store matters a lot -- the placement of materials is very important.

Staples like rice, dal, etc are kept at the back so that people have to pass the area where other items are kept. Through various promotional schemes, we tried to convince customers that an air-conditioned supermarket needn't be expensive, that it's actually less expensive than the neighbourhood store.

"We take into consideration the sentiments of the local crowd, not stocking non-vegetarian items in a predominantly vegetarian area," says Prakash Menon, general manager, properties and projects.

The ambience, the freedom to unhurriedly choose, to pick and or leave, without calling on anyone unless necessary, the relative anonymity during the purchase phase.... These are the elements that attract people to a supermarket here. And though older people do come in, it is the young that flocks the most to these places.

Ram Manohar, a bachelor, likes them so much, that he overspends every time he steps into a supermarket.

"Still, I don't mind. If I have to spend some time in choosing an item, why not spend it in a cool atmosphere rather than sweat profusely. The variety here -- that's what attracts me. I can verify the price difference, the quality difference, etc, only when I am shopping in a supermarket. I love the experience. All of them accept credit cards and there is no hassle about not having money on you. Yes, I over-spend all the time! Of course, if I want just a toothpaste, a shaving blade or loaf of bread urgently, there is the corner shop...."

His mother butts in, interrupting Ram Manohar.

"Yes, I'm scared of overspending. But the younger generation is least bothered. I can't accept this credit card system. See, it makes you over-spend."

That is what also keeps Radha, a middle-class housewife, from shopping at a supermarket. Yes, she likes the atmosphere, the choice... And no, she doesn't think the prices are high.

"But I tend to pick up a lot of unwanted and unnecessary things and our monthly budget goes haywire. In this terrible period, can any middle-class person afford to spend more?"

Supermarkets also encourage that new phenomenon, pester-kids, who stuff the trolley with chocolates, jams, biscuits and other ''unhealthy'' odds and ends. And the television ads have already been targeting this segment of the market.

This often causes some conflict. Radha objects to her daughter Varsha having picked up a Barbie doll, Cadbury's chocolate and Maggi noodles. The mother rolls her eyes, warningly. But young Varsha just avoids her looks. And Radha ends up spending a few hundred rupees more to avoid the ignominy of having people watch her berate her daughter in public.

Sudarshan, another pester-kid, also likes supermarkets.

"Who wants to stand in a sweaty little shop? I just roam around and see the new arrivals. Like I browse in a book shop...? I browse in a supermarket too."

Not all are enamoured of the big shops though. Shanthi isn't.

"I'm a lazy goose. I like my corner shop... I have to just make a call and the thing is there at my door step."

But this representative of the middle-class is already in a minority. The largest segment of supermarket customers now are the upper classes, who prefer the antiseptic and anonymous environment within. And the number of such stores keeps increasing, killing an old culture.

"Yes, we are eating away into the corner shops," Prakash Menon admits. And the watching Iyer just gets moodier every day.

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