Opinion The return of Campa Cola: From bottled nationalism to bottled nostalgia

Once, it was a symbol of our deprivation. In 1977, Coca-Cola had chosen to exit the Indian market over divulging its “secret formula” and diluting its equity stake in Indian firms. A government-owned company launched a swadeshi cola called Double 77, which fell flat. As columnist and marketing professional Santosh Desai told The New York Times, it “was a government-produced cola and it tasted like that.”

Coca-Cola’s main bottler in India, Pure Drinks, hurriedly launched Campa Cola. That hit the jackpot. Campa Cola and Thums Up became India’s answer to the Coke and Pepsi wars.

Of course, we knew they were not the real stuff. Salman Rushdie called them “disgusting local imitations.” A little harsh, but, from its name to its font, Campa Cola was always pretending to be its American cousin. Unlike Thums Up, which was a bit spicier, Campa Cola’s USP was how close it could be to the dearly departed Coca-Cola. And we played along because we had no other options — just like many Indians wore Levis knockoffs called “Lavis”. Campa Cola promised us “The Great Indian Taste”. But as soon as anyone went abroad, they ordered a Coke. Nothing tasted like going abroad as a real Coca-Cola.

That’s why when Coca-Cola returned to India in 1993, Campa Cola’s popularity fizzled out. In 2009, The New York Times went to the Campa Cola factory and found one elderly accountant sitting under a lone flickering bulb scribbling in an old ledger. Even the company directors seemed to have forgotten about him.

Now, the cola is being relaunched in three flavours by Reliance which hopes older family members will “cherish the nostalgia” while younger ones will love the “crisp refreshing taste.” What was once packaged as nationalism is being repackaged as nostalgia.

But what are we nostalgic for? Is it for a time when we craved Coca-Cola but made do with Campa Cola? Or for a time when we still believed that whatever the world produced, cars, appliances, or colas, we could jugaad at home? Or for the days when we swigged colas without worrying about the health effects of sugary drinks? Perhaps it’s just nostalgia for a time with fewer options that we now choose to remember as “times of fun” and “times of joy” when in reality we were begging our NRI cousins to bring back Toblerones, Kit Kats, and Dove soaps.

Companies like Paper Boat are the ones that have truly managed to bottle nostalgia. As its tagline makes clear, Paper Boat sells “drinks and memories” like aam panna, jal jeera, and jamun. It’s nostalgia, but hygienically sealed in a pouch. Those flavours truly evoke memories of childhood. Unlike Campa Cola, they are the real great Indian tastes.

Campa Cola, for all its made-in-India nationalism, was still a wanna-be. The irony is we live in no less hyper-nationalistic times, perhaps even more so. After the uproar over the recent BBC documentary on the Gujarat riots, India: The Modi Question, some politicians wanted to throw the BBC out, the way Indira Gandhi once did. But no one wants to throw Coca-Cola out despite the renewed made-in-India rhetoric. We like the open market and all the fizzy options it provides. In 1977, Campa Cola was a substitute for Coca-Cola, not a competitor. Now, Campa Cola will have to compete cola-to-cola with Coke and Pepsi. Its “extra twist of taste” might be its backstory but no one really wants to go back to 1977 anymore.

When Campa Cola came out with a television ad in 1983, it showed a teenage Salman Khan and Ayesha Dutt (now Shroff) partying with other youngsters on a boat somewhere near the Andamans. At that time, neither were stars. As they dived off the boat into the clear blue waters and the jingle warbled “When you’re feeling good and having fun with all the rest”, young India looked on and daydreamed. About 99.99 per cent of Indians knew that lifestyle was an unattainable fantasy. But at least they could drink Campa Cola and pretend to have it just as Campa Cola was pretending to be Coca-Cola.

Now as Campa Cola tries to get its fizz back, could the same stars make the same splash? Perhaps, instead of a sailboat, the now middle-aged people could chug down their Campa Cola while sitting in an Ambassador car for that truly retro feel. Or will it just be campy cola now?

The writer is a novelist and the author of ‘Don’t Let Him Know’