
GOOD morning, I8217;m here to tell you about this great new offer,8217;8217; I practise in my most beseeching voice. Staring back at me from the mirror is a desperate face, similar to the ones I8217;ve dismissed from my doorstep so many times. The face of someone who8217;s about to take her first turn as a door-to-door salesgirl.
Bars of lemon- and strawberry-scented Harmony soaps clutched in one hand, my jhola laden with more, I8217;m ready to take on my first customer. The sultry weather has already styled the fatigued look that I need to evoke sympathy. Appropriately outfitted in a simple salwar-kameez, I saunter through the gates of the River Park housing complex in Mumbai8217;s western suburbs. To my relief, the guards don8217;t bother to stop me. Is that a bad sign?
Mrs Sudha Bakshi on the first floor is about to help me find out. The door swings open, and the face of a two-year-old appears. A shrill screech assaults my ear drums: 8216;8216;Mummmmmyyyy!8217;8217; Before I can recover, there is Mrs Bakshi, clutching her belan and looking most fearsome. 8216;8216;Good afternoon,8217;8217; I stutter. 8216;8216;Would you like to buy some fragrant Harmony soaps?8217;8217; A second8217;s wait, and the door slams in my face.
Time to try a different home and tactic. They really should change that commercial to har door kuch kehta hain because you can tell a lot about people from their front doors. It may sound like sour grapes, but the Bakshis8217; knocker8212;with a scowling gargoyle8212;was positively devilish. The Sharmas, on the other hand, have a simple white door8212;no frills, no evil aura. An elderly housewife, with streaks of white in her hair, answers the door. 8216;8216;Yes beta?8217;8217; she asks gently. Before I know it, I am calling her aunty, and going over the sales pitch again. 8216;8216;Beta, salespeople are not allowed in the building. You8217;ll get into trouble if you get caught,8217;8217; she says, quick to add that she will not report me.
With a wink and a friendly smile, she closes the door quietly, providing some succour to my ego, deeply wounded on the first floor. 8216;8216;Try the neighbours,8217;8217; she offers. 8220;They8217;re shopaholics.8217;8217;
So I do a 180 ordm; turn and find myself at the Panjabis8217; doorstep. Mrs Panjabi turns out to be an affable woman with a full-bodied laugh. Before I can say anything, she steps out. 8216;8216;What are you selling?8217;8217; Taken aback by her prescience, I mumble 8216;8216;soaps, fragrant soaps,8217;8217; thinking in my head, 8216;I8217;m not marketing James Bond.8217; 8216;8216;Just Rs 8, on the market they8217;re priced at Rs 10,8217;8217; I add hopefully. When she offers me a tumbler of water, I know my first sale is in the bag.
One down, it8217;s time to switch to a more effective and demanding technique called 8216;Just for you.8217; Though statistics guarantee results, my capacity to butter is about to be tested. So I head off to the B wing of River Park. The guards glance curiously at me. Are they catching on?
Eenee,meenie, myna, mo, I think I8217;ll go to the fifth floor. The Lambas8217; doorbell jingles a Wish You A Merry Christmas tune, but the face that appeared may as well have belonged to the Grinch. Nevertheless, this is no time to be cowed.8216;8216;Good afternoon, may I take a minute of your time?8217;8217; An encouraging nod softens the stern countenance, and the rest as they say, is sales history. I am at my best, telling her about the special offer and even pitching a 8216;buy two, get one free8217; scheme. Ultimately, she buys two.
On the way out, the guard hurries towards me, but I am faster. One thing I8217;ve learned is that few salespeople land up uninvited anymore.
Direct marketing has given a facelift to door-to-door selling, and it means no more aimless bell hopping. They call, make appointments and turn up in business suits. But then, it8217;s not half as much fun as being insulted, thrown out, and still making a sale.