The Hindu Business Line : Old gives way to the new?

Resting on one of the pavement benches, one wondered whether BPO, IT, retail and all the rest from the West formed a process of “creative destruction” elaborated by the economist Joseph Schumpeter and appreciatively quoted by Alan Greenspan in his book.

“Oru warsham pona theriyum (In one year one will know),” remarked Muthukumar in Tamil on the opening of a well-known retail outlet – S-Stores – on Linking Road, off Yogi Nagar.

For years many in the area have been buying potatos and onions from Muthu’s road shop under a rain tree in Yogi Nagar.

Raids by the municipality quietly miss him for Muthukumar from Tirunelveli district in Tamil Nadu has been there before the time when my family moved to Borivili in 1993.

A crumpled striped shirt, pant and a beedi held between thick fingers with the nails chewed closely, 40-year-old Muthukumar lives near Ekasar Road with his wife and daughter.

On festival days, he stocks Guruvayur pappadams and Thangam pickles for the thin Palghat Tamil population; in fine spirits he will exhort you with a Tamil sales pitch – “Saar, Thangam, Thangam than (Sir, nothing can best Thangam pickles)” – and one regularly picks up Thangam pickles. With S-Stores coming into being, Muthu, has moved into making idli, dosa and wada dough priced at around Rs.20 per kg.

He will not go beyond the Tamil “aan (yes)” when one inquired of the dough business coming at a time when Nashik onions are ruling at Rs.22 per kg and the smaller variety from Tamil Nadu at Rs.30 per kg.

Like Muthu, there is nariyual bai (coconut lady), delivering coconuts at our home with a clientele spread over Yogi Nagar, Vazira Naka and Ekasar Road. Going by the name of Shanthi, she is at our home every Wednesday evening, selling coconuts at a one rupee discount to the open market prices. At one time, her husband carried two jute bags of coconuts while she negotiated deals with her customers. Now, Shanthi lugs around the heavy commodity as her husband does not much care. “Maloom nahin, aajkal wo athe nahin; ghar mein baithe rahte hain ( He spends most of the time at home),” she told us on an evening in a weary tone.

Her son lives off her earnings with her only hope being her daughter, who graduated in May and is now working in a BPO. “Mera ladki, ghar sambhal leti hai (My daughter manages the house),” Shanthi says with pride.

One asked her whether there has been a drop in her business with crowds making to the light green coloured S-Stores. “Humko, koi chhoda nahin hai (Nobody has left me),” she admits.

By 6.30 in the morning, Shyama is there on Linking Road, marketing flowers and in-season vegetables. She gets up at 3 in the morning, prepares food for her family and catches the local shuttle to Borivili from her village Saphale (beyond Virar) and there are many who come with her to do business along the entire stretch of Linking Road.

Every woman has her piece of pavement and Shyama is finished with selling flowers by 7.30 a.m. to the many old men and women, regular at their morning prayers. None can negotiate prices with Shyama as she prides on the quality of her wares; she marks up prices on the birthdays of the many gods and goddesses. She has a cup of tea at 8 and works as a housemaid at four homes in Yogi Nagar before making it back to Saphale in the afternoon, exhausted. “I go to sleep by 7 in the evening,” she told my wife Rama.

The three, whom this writer knows well, are not scared of S-Stores, being sure of their clientele. “Wo dukan, phool nahin bechtha (The retail store does not sell flowers),” says Shyama in Hindi.

S-Stores opens at 7.30 in the morning and closes at 10 in the night, working on a two-shift basis, says my friend 20-year-old Vijay.

One is knocked by the choice, variety and dazzle of the place, conveniently located on the ground floor. To get buyers like me, S-Stores started offering one kg. free of Basmati rice for every paid kg of Basmati.

When the rush started, the offer was pulled back. “I am happy earning about Rs.4,000 per month. This is my first salary and I am just a Class X pass,” says Vijay in the official green uniform at S-Stores.

This writer is a regular at S-Stores as it is air conditioned and plays soft music while digging into one’s pockets. Mostly, the public is tricked on price or weight or both by the footpath shop-keepers; then one is not sure of the quality.

At S-Stores, the weight, prices and expiry dates are mentioned on the package; of course, there is the chance of being shorted as one is never sure of the corporate world, East or West. But S-Stores does not offer credit facilities. A lady behind a computer taps the keys and the public has to pay up on the spot. With a Muthukumar or Shama, payments can be delayed. “Odiya poporel (Are you running away),” is the Tamil refrain from Muthukumar when one is short of cash.

Old economic processes die away for new ones. The IT plus computer technology phase has lifted productivity to levels where banks and inflation have seemingly become redundant. Its happening in US, claims Greenspan but can it be replicated in India. Old-style links of wholesaler, semi-wholesaler and retailer have been skimming farmers.

How much of Rs.22 per kg for onions reaches the onion farmers of Nashik? Modern retail arms of big houses may break the old formation to reach the farmer directly. In a world of imperfect competition, will the farmer be able to square up to the big players when they make purchase offers? Otherwise, higher prices for onions will mean nothing for onion growers.

There is just a chance Muthukumar, Shanthi and Shama may be around for long; or will “creative destruction” end them?

P. Devarajan

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