"Pity," I say to both my companions, "that these people blindly follow the trend."
They look at me questioningly. Taking a large bite of my sandwich, I explain to them what I have found out in the past week, through some very immature journalism and some very coercive interrogation of my classmates. After having recently read a book on the various allegations of human rights abuses by major international brands, I decide to try and find out if there is any regret in the minds of those who wear branded clothes in my class.
Early Monday morning I find myself blandly asking 16 year old Nikhil, "Do you wear brands?" He considers for a moment before conveying that he wears only branded jeans and shoes. No good Indian brands, he says, make good basketball shoes. I consult my questionnaire. "Right." I say. "Are you aware of any criminal allegations against these multi-national brands?" This time the answer comes fast. "No." I ask him what his reaction would be if I told him these brands he's wearing manufacture their products by exploiting workers of the third world and violating various human rights. "I don't know?" he thinks for a moment. "I suppose I would stop buying their products because I'd have a guilty conscience."
Three years ago, I coached tennis twice a week - practicing my backhands, bringing more life into my forehands and trying to keep the ball within the lines. After a few months of coaching, I was approached by the head coach who informed me that I would not be allowed to play anymore unless I went and bought proper shoes. And where would I get these "proper shoes"? How much would they cost? He suggested I go to a sports shop and ask them for tennis shoes. The shoes I was asked to buy cost 5000 rubles, and unable to afford 5000-buck shoes, I dropped out of coaching the next week.
In the corridor of my classroom, I see Ankita, another 16 year old classmate, coming my way. Quickly picking up the notepad I had been carrying around all day, I put to her the same questions I asked Nikhil. Without hesitation she replies that she does wear branded clothes. Why? "They last longer." Has she, I implore, heard of any allegations against these companies? No she hasn't. Before trotting off into class she says that she will probably not stop buying the clothes she buys even if she had that knowledge? It would take some thought.
Everyone I talked to (some of whom walked off when I told them I wanted to quote them for an article) was unaware of the charges of inhumane behaviour against these multi-nationals. A lot of them refused to believe me when I said that the clothes on their bodies are produced by teenage girls in countries like Bangladesh, Indonesia or the Philippines. Sweatshops are a figment of the imagination which un-cool people like me use to tell off the "in" crowd. In this world of teenage fashion what really matters is how good you look. The primary need is expensive clothes, a knockout perfume and an invisible tag on your head that reads - "permanent coolness." The one person I met who was aware of the existence of sweatshops, thought that it was perfectly justified for them to "provide employment" to these workers who would otherwise be roaming the streets out of work.
"Do you wear branded clothes?" I ask in a somewhat tedious tone.
"No." She says.
I stop writing abruptly and give her a questioning glance. "No?"
"I'm against all multi-nationals."
It turns out that there is one other person who is aware of reality, or as everyone else puts it, "reality." She says that there is something wrong with all major multi-national corporations - right from Coke to Nike. "They conceal information about the work environment." All right. What else? "I'd prefer to patronize Indian companies." She goes on. "Coke and Pepsi dump all their empty bottles in the third world without providing chemicals to treat them with." Perhaps all is not lost, I think. "I," she finishes, "don't want to be thought of as one of the brand wearing people."
There are a couple of shops in a shopping complex a few blocks from my school, that sell exclusively branded products, from bags to caps. "The average age of our customers," the owner informs me, "is 12 to 18? About the time they begin to get brand conscious." Brand conscious teenagers buy (I peep at the price tags) shirts for rubles. 1200 because it is decorated by the Nike swoosh? They spend 850 bucks on wristbands because Adidas or Reebok manufactures them? The shoes they buy cannot possibly cost - I turn the label around – 4500 rs. "They spend anywhere from 150 to 5000 in one go." The owner looks at me blankly blandly. If everything has a price, then coolness is certainly not cheap.
We had polished off our food and are ready to go. "What is your point?" One of my friends asks.
"They are not aware!" I say impatiently as I put on my plain black Reebok cap, tuck in my colourful Benetton T-shirt, pull up my Levis jeans and tie my new Nike shoes. "Awareness guides you to do the right thing," I claim as we step out of the McDonalds, happily sipping Coke.
« return.