People want to be told what to do so badly that they’ll listen to anyone. Don Draper from the American television serial, Mad Men.
It will come as no surprise to you, dear reader, that the advertising and marketing loonies who inhabit the internet space on our smart phones and elsewhere, most gallingly and annoyingly on the former, have formally pronounced me an almost gone-case diabetic. Not that I am one of course, but simply because my HbA1c reading on my latest blood test revealed a 6.1 score. How my mobile internet got wind of my medical report is a mystery for the ages. More of that anon. Now any confirmed hypochondriac and his doctor (if he or she has taken the Hippocratic oath), will tell you that a 6.1 reading is properly classified as ‘pre-diabetic,’ a mild warning shot across the bows to go easy on the sugar and carbs, the alarm bells firmly kept on hold. Which means you still have some distance to cover before starting to ostentatiously turn away from chocolate pastries and sinful jalebies and laddoos.
As my GP, as sound a medical practitioner as ever said ‘Take a deep breath and stick your tongue out’ told me, ‘Consume sweets in moderation by all means, but do not gorge on them. And walk briskly for half-an-hour every day.’ A medico after my own heart I felt, as I treated myself to a sugar doughnut layered with frosted icing from the hospital’s franchised café, washed down with a rich chocolate milk shake. If that is not moderate, I don’t know what is. The girl at the delivery counter gave me a conspiratorial smile as if to say, ‘6.1 is fine Sir, just don’t ask for seconds.’ She doesn’t know the half of it, unlike my Samsung smart phone.
Now here’s the thing. As soon as I got into the car and opened my mobile phone, the first thing that greeted me on Google was an advert for an ayurvedic concoction that would take care of all my diabetic troubles. Not that I had any. Troubles, I mean. The message was supported by a short video featuring several individuals, men and women wearing tee-shirts with HbA1c 5.6 emblazoned on them, who have tried this treatment and are now wolfing down all manner of sweetmeats without a care in the world. While it is not for me to pass judgement on the wisdom or otherwise of these ‘patients’ tucking into whatever noxious substances they were tucking into, my larger concern had to do with how my mobile phone sussed out my pre-diabetic findings and targeted me for their precisely aimed BrahMos missiles. It is uncanny. You just have to say something to someone. Next thing you know, your mobile internet has got you down pat. Big brother is not just watching you, he is sitting on your left shoulder, ears pricked up. You complain of stomach ache, and you are greeted with a slew of ads and snippets on gut management. All ending with some form of medication that will solve your problems in the equatorial belt, as one of my school masters was fond of describing your midriff. Watch those bowels move!
Orthopaedics is another favourite on the internet. Make an innocuous inquiry of the best ‘bone doctor’ in the city and you will promptly receive several recommendations and on occasion, some unsolicited calls as well. ‘We do knee replacements, Sir. We also specialise in keyhole surgery. You have medical insurance?’ While you’re about it, why not have a go at the hips as well, you are tempted to ask. However, the telling blow is the mind-boggling array of messages from makers of orthopaedic equipment – exercise bikes, knee guards, myriad unguents for pain relief and much, much more. You can even liberally spray yourself with a magnesium aerosol and sleep like a baby. And if you are male and above the age of 60, you are spoilt for choice from several brands promising relief from prostate problems. ‘No more waking up at night, no fear of surgery, prostate size shrinkage guaranteed, hundreds of satisfied users testify to the efficacy of this magic potion.’ I could have sworn I heard Bob Dylan’s Watch the River Flow in the background, but that could just be my fevered imagination. The prostate-promise extends to a couple of other issues which cannot be discussed in a family blog such as this. Which is a silly thing for me to say given that the ad on your mobile, not conspicuous for its reticence, does not hold back on anything. Then again, one has one’s inhibitions.
Then there is the challenge of coming to grips with one’s eating choices. It is all very well to go around saying philosophically, ‘I am what I eat,’ but when one section of experts is of the opinion that anything one loves to eat is either illegal, immoral or fattening, then we are faced with an existential dilemma. In principle, I don’t have an issue with brands that advertise their succulent offerings on my mobile with no lofty pretence of lowering my calories or making wild promises of getting me fighting fit for the next Olympics. What they promise is not illegal or immoral but almost certainly fattening. Their sole appeal is to your taste buds. I can take them or leave them. The choice and its consequences, deleterious or otherwise, is mine and mine alone. The late, lamented journalistic pundit Bernard Levin, who wrote relentlessly and coruscatingly for The Times of London, had this to say on the subject. ‘The essence of a free society is that the citizens should examine such evidence as they think useful and appropriate, even if it comes from a source the Foodies think unreliable, and then make up their minds. But I reject the claim that some people have the right to make up the minds of others.’
Which brings me to the utter confusion that surrounds me when I come across many of the health fad ads for what kind of fruit, vegetable or meat I should eat or not eat. ‘Perplexed in the extreme,’ as Othello was wont to put it. One dietician will visually demonstrate to you with the aid of frightening graphics that potatoes and grapes will lead you to an early grave. The following day, probably aided and abetted by the Potato & Grape Growers Union, a 95-year-old man (I have to believe the blurb), looking fit as a fiddle and holding a tennis racket, addresses you while you stare at your hand-held instrument disbelievingly, ‘I have been eating potatoes since I was born and I can still play a 5-setter without breaking sweat. Bring on Carlos Alcaraz. Carrots? I feed them to my rabbits.’ The same insane contradiction applies to bananas, papayas and watermelons. Rich in vitamins and fibre. One day they are great, the next they are killers. And that old chestnut – egg white is good for you; egg yolk is bad. Say that the other way round and you will still be right! To be on the safe side, they will tell you to eat any of these comestibles in moderation, which is repeated immoderately. White rice, red rice, millets, take your pick. The millet-wallahs have gone one step ahead of the others. They roped in our Prime Minister to attest to the enormous health benefits one can accrue by substituting rice with millets. That pretty much seals the deal. For the record, I tried millets recently. They pair well with dal or sambar. As to its claimed health virtues, the jury is still out, notwithstanding the PM’s testimonial.
Cornflakes is great for Kellogg’s but bad for you, according to some self-appointed experts. Oats is great for you and for Quaker but bad for Kellogg’s, if it eats into their market share. And let us not forget the ‘sugar-free daddies.’ Biscuits, cream crackers, chocolates and ice-creams come with a sugar free variant. Beware of the label ‘No added sugar.’ It hides more than it reveals. Tea, coffee and all manner of fruit juices should be had with sugar free tablets or powder. To make confusion confounded, we are also helpfully advised that fruits are better consumed whole than in juice form, as the latter is divested of all healthful fibre content. As for sugar-free options, they do not taste like natural sugar as promised (there’s an unpleasant after-taste) and some doctors even go to the extent of warning you that certain types of sugar-free additives can trigger other ailments. With so much contradictory advice bombarding you over the smart phone, it may be wiser to just follow your own dictates without obsessing over it. Your body will tell you what is good and not good for you. As celebrated, yesteryear English radio and television comedian Tony Hancock said so unctuously in his most famous episode The Blood Donor, ‘You look after your body, and your body will look after you.’
That takes care of the homo sapiens. Finally, let us spare a thought for our dumb chums. Our Rovers, Lassies, Bingos, Totos, Paddys, Rajas and Ranis need their daily nourishment and looking after. Just once, just this once, key in ‘Dog Food’ on your Google Search and see what happens. An avalanche, that’s what happens. Every available brand of dog food will vie for your custom – Royal Canin, Pedigree, Eukanuba and Kibbles n’ Bits. Not forgetting grooming tips, collars and leashes, and how best to look after your loving pooch in sickness and in health will demand your attention whenever you open your mobile. And in between, a vet will appear on your smart screen and speak to you about anti-rabies, parvovirus and distemper injections and similar while a cute Golden Retriever will be climbing all over him. You will wonder why you ever listened to your 5-year-old daughter when she cried, ‘Daddy, I want a puppy. Like my friend Disha’s got.’ But does Disha take her Frisky out walkies, clean up after her when she does her poo-poo on your expensive hand-knotted rug or give her a nice bathy-bath? Not a chance! Incidentally, in case cat-fanciers are miffed about why I have left out the feline of the species, it’s nothing personal. Cats can look after themselves. They lick themselves clean and there’s always a few rodents and other creepy-crawlies to keep their hunger sated. A saucer of milk won’t go amiss, though.
At the end of the day, let us be realistic. You are not going to chuck your mobile phone into the trash can and you are not going to stop hunting for things on the internet. Therefore, you will be inundated with ad messages. Après moi, le deluge. Learn to live with it. If you can’t beat them, join them. One of the finest crime fiction novelists of our times, Dorothy Sayers, started her career in advertising in the 1920s as a copywriter and is widely credited with coining the phrase, ‘It pays to advertise.’ She also said, ‘Very dangerous things, theories.’ Had she been alive today in our social media era, she would have plumped for the latter pronouncement. With knobs on.
Published with permission from Suresh Subrahmanyan – A long time advertising professional, now retired, and taken up writing as a hobby. Deeply interested in music of various genres, notably Carnatic and 60’s and 70’s pop/rock. An avid tennis and cricket fan. Voracious reader of British humour and satire. P.G. Wodehouse a perennial favourite. He blogs at – https://sureshsubrahmanyan.blog/
