Around twenty years ago, India’s most grown up soft drink, Thums Up, suddenly became synonymous with Salman Khan. It was like they collectively gave up on being nice guys and joined hands – rebels who internally reasoned that the only thing the meek shall inherit on Earth, is the opportunity to ride pillion with them.
I’ve always wondered if Salman’s shedding of his trademark lover-protector image, the persona of a boy who went up against the world for love, was an admittance. A confession.
India has always had a strangely intimate relationship with its stars. When Salman’s illegal-hunting, drunk-driving, mafia-linking, girlfriend-bashing stories had suddenly come out in the open, it shocked fans and haters alike. But in an odd submission to this relationship with his audience, Salman, in his silent unmade justifications, came clean. There was nothing to hide. He was done pretending to be Prem. Here on, he was Bhai.
It was akin to India discovering its brother’s secret stash of weed and getting upset, but saying nothing. An eerie silence loomed, the air heavy with disappointment between him and us. But in his silence, we saw his pain. In typical Indian fashion of familial acceptance, we acknowledged the strange contradiction of being Salman Khan – a man with a good heart and really bad ideas.
This was the age of cricket and cola wars. It was before Coke found happiness and when Pepsi was proudly bubbly, light and fizzy. One spent millions over the other, television was dominated by cola presence. They were cut throat.
This was the stage to Bhai’s new entry.
Bottle to lips and nothing to lose, he roared into our screens and dared the sweet, bubbly, fizzy Indian youth to grow a pair, man up and taste the thunder.
It worked. With one endorsement, Bhai politicised all of India’s local kirana stores, making Pepsi, Coke and Thumbs Up camps in every college group. You couldn’t even meet a friend for an egg puff and cigarette without getting into a cola debate.
It was tough for a Pepsi drinker. And the advertising really didn’t help. It was all silly and happy and teenagey, so as to speak to both genders, and as young audiences as they could allow the badge of youth. It just punctuated Bhai fans’ criticisms, contrasting well against their rugged idea of coming of age.
“It’s too sweet, like it’s for kids.” Some hard core Thums Up fans would say about Pepsi. If the taste didn’t agree with you, they insisted that Coke was better. It changed nothing, knowing that they failed taste tests between Coke and Pepsi often enough. It was the association that was key.
In the 90’s and 2000s, Pepsi and its siblings were part of the new Indian middle class grocery list- a purchase, like biscuits, made exclusively for guests. Accessible in large 2 ltr bottles in the 90s kid’s fridge, it was routine for moms in a good mood to occasionally siphon some off for their kids. I’ll bet that this is one group that would never fail a Cola taste test. Bunty and his mom. That was the test – how Moms chose beverages. Could it be served to both, adults and kids? Yes. Add to cart, literally.
The multi-million dollar cola wars were fought in a 20 inch space, in the bottom drawer of a Videocon fridge door. Shoved and forced in, label against label, stood Pepsi, Mirinda, 7Up, Rasna and Rooh Afza, indiscriminately bought and stacked together, waiting to be emptied, washed and filled with RO water. Branding be damned.
Only, Thums Up was never mom-friendly. Not in look nor tonality, and besides- kids didn’t like the taste. It was just like one other cold drink that moms never bought.
Soda. Only dads ever bought that.
Like Soda, Thumbs Up was clearly a man’s drink. Even the imagery was all about a masculine vision of youth, friendship and rebellion, a rejection of boyhood. All in all, attributes of the surrogate advertising of the day.
In the era of the cola wars, Thumbs Up was the measure of adulthood. The move from a mom-approved refreshment choice to the adoption of a previously shunned adult palate. It was a powerful rite of passage and fit with the next step – an Indian’s first hard drink. For a new drinker, Thums Up best softened the unfamiliar depth and heat of rum and cheap whiskey, India’s most affordable, most favourite spirits. Second best was Coke. Water, worst case. It seemed like Pepsi was fine with that.
How things change.
In 20 years, a glass of cola that was fine for Bunty the kid, has become a symbol of irresponsible parenting for Bunty the parent. Mothers may not necessarily be thinking of Cola in their monthly grocery list, nor of guests. The bottom of the refrigerator is looking freer. Invalidating the healthy choices at the bottom of the fridge, though, is a curious change in the traditional Indian household – the normalisation of restaurant food in our diets, in urban India and beyond.
This is important in the context of Cola because it turns every meal into a purchase-decision opportunity. This is an association we learnt early enough – that colas were perfect accompaniments to ‘special’ meals. If buying a soft drink is a difficult internal monologue to have for consumers today, the normalisation of ordering outside food has made that mental conversation so much easier.
Simply, buying a beverage with a meal is a much less stressful decision than buying only a beverage. This is a decision that, taken enough number of times, can become a new habit for the user. The bottom of the fridge might be freer, but as long as the top shelves are cluttered with restaurant packages, all is rosy for cola consumption.
Interesting how the erstwhile symbol of adventure and youth culture is now a guilty pleasure hitching a ride with another. Cola, like the restaurant deliveries it accompanies, is a weakness. An unhealthy habit.
The innovations in packaging tell similar stories. Smaller cans and changing sizes have come to the market to encourage soda uptake. There is a tiny 250 ml offering, allowing for a microdose of indulgence with minimal guilt. And in a similar vein, they offer consumers an out from the guilt of a 1 lt bottle and 750ml with a 600ml. Too much for one serving, too little to worry about the second. It feels like value for money on a cheat day pushing its luck. Also, you can’t beat the economics of small sells.
Pepsi was always aware that their biggest challenger in the cola wars was not Coca Cola. Aiming for the same TG, whatever was Pepsi’s fate would also befall Coke. The backbone of both brands has always been the glorification of youth culture and its impact on gender and generational dynamics.
Guilt is not a youthful sentiment.
Losing control to the trap of life and convenience is not a youthful sentiment.
The only thing about cola that was established as older, was its use as a mixer. Like dad’s soda.
And just like that, the sheen of the new generation, youthful urban consumer wore off. From younger stars to older celebs, cola across brands suddenly aged.
Both PepsiCo and Coca Cola Company, in the era of the cola wars, did so much to highlight new age aspirations, change youth culture and gender dynamics, and brought gender inclusivity to their consumer segments. Today, they are looking away. Like the rest of Indian marketers, they are transfixed on that larger behemoth, the Other India. It’s described as a massive, momentum building mirage of urban Indian sentiment in a semi-rural ethos. Urban folk awaiting their city to build itself around them. Where the youth is young, but their youth culture is older.
Twenty years ago, If someone stood up in the Pepsico boardroom and said that one day moms would stop stocking Pepsi, the youth would be going on keto diets, and people would look at their cola and food habits with a sense of guilt, they’d ask that someone to wash their mouth.
And then, they’d hire Salman Khan.
