Touchstones: Lifebuoy hai jahan…

As one ages, joints, hearing and names begin to falter. However, what remains inviolate is one’s sense of smell and touch. Today, let me remember some that will stay with me till I die.

My most abiding memory is that of Lifebuoy soap, universally used in all middle-class homes in my childhood. Its strong carbolic pong is still fresh in my nostrils, as is the feel of the viscous goo that it oozed. For some unknown reason, the bar was always cut into half: one was put outside the toilet for washing one’s hands and the other half was given to the domestic servant for bathing. In those frugal and thrifty times, nothing was ever wasted. For years, ‘Lifebuoy hai jahan, tandurusti hai wahan…’ was celebrated as a trusted germ killer.

Perfumed soaps were rare and available in a limited range. The top of this line was Lux, the soap of filmstars, and magazines carried full-page ads devoted to dewy-skinned beauties who declared, ‘Lux is the secret of my beauty’.

There were also a whole range of Indian soaps based on Ayurvedic plants and herbs. Margo was made from neem (hence the name Margo after the Margosa, or neem, tree). Its bitter acrid smell and hard cake were said to be very good to clear acne and kill body odour (BO).

In the humid climate of the northern plains, the other indigenous soap valued for eradicating BO was Cinthol, made by our own Godrej company. It had a secret chemical in it (G-11) and was also green in colour. Mysore Sandalwood soap, manufactured since the ruler of Mysore set up a factory in 1916, was made from pure sandalwood soap and still has a geographical indicator to secure its brand name. Moti soap, another exotic brand, was also manufactured in India and came in a set of three, inside a long box: its unique shape (round with a dimple on top) made it slither dangerously while using it and certainly was too large to be handled by little hands.

Tata was a late entrant into the soap industry but its delicately perfumed Eau de Cologne soap was much desired. Legend has it that Pt Nehru asked JRD to start manufacturing cosmetics in order to halt the wasteful expense on foreign cosmetics. This led to Simone Tata launching the Lakme brand, a Frenchified version, one presumes, of the Goddess Lakshmi. However, like everything that the Tatas touched, it took off and their bottle of eau de cologne became the non-Indian sounding perfume used by middle-class ladies. Till then, our attars were the favoured perfumes.

Asghar Ali Mohammad Ali, the famous attar manufacturers of Lucknow, had a whole range of them: Khus, Gulab, Shamamatul Amber, their names were as refined as their perfume. The Tata bottle had a shape that rivalled the famous 4711 phoren brand and came with a black and gold label, with Eau de Cologne written in curvy italics.

We were a fiercely proud country then and swadeshi in a way that was so different from the aggressive get-out-of-my-way atmanirbhar mode currently promoted. Our parents belonged to the Swadeshi movement launched by Gandhiji and had actually thrown their foreign-made clothes and toys into the fire. They wore khadi and homespun cloth with pride that helped preserve our unique textiles. It must be admitted that Nehru’s India (for that is what India in the ’50s and ’60s was to all of us) ensured that we were able to manufacture almost everything we needed in our daily lives.

Another early memory is that of hair being washed with Shikakai soap and occasionally with the soapy water of an amla and reetha (soapstone) concoction boiled at home and vigorously rubbed into scalps after a good oiling session. The water smarted one’s eyes and I still carry the frightening memory of a dark steamy bathroom, with an old maid shouting at me to stay still. Later, when we graduated to shampoos, the first one I can remember was Tata’s watery yellow one. I can’t recall its smell but when we were first allowed to use Sunsilk, with its perfumed and thick swirl, we were in heaven. Lever Brothers had now become Hindustan Levers and, like Colgate Palmolive, became Indian brands that stamped their name on the product. ‘Colgate kar liya?’ meant ‘Have you brushed your teeth yet?’

Colgate also manufactured a tooth powder, for many Sanatani homes still considered using the same toothbrush every day unclean. Others wondered whether the bristles were made of animal hair. Whatever the reason, tooth powders had a place of their own in our homes and reigned for many years. Monkey Brand Kala Dant Manjan and Dant Mukta are two that I remember best. The Monkey Brand one was blackish in colour with a faint odour of cloves. Dant Mukta was reddish brown with a base ingredient of dried walnut skin.

‘Kulla’ was a habit ingrained in each of us and I found it odd that my foreign friends did not know how to rinse their mouths without a tumbler. They were unaware of skills like drinking out of a bottle or glass without touching it with one’s lips, something that comes so naturally to those of us brought up in Indian homes with inflexible laws regarding shuddh and ashuddh or jootha/succha.

Far away from depressing political news all around us, I hope these memories make my readers smile.

— The writer is a social commentator

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