The Fizz Of Child Labour

In recent times, we have seen the Indian cricket team get into a huddle each time a bowler takes a wicket.This was interpreted to convey that a hitherto-unseen team spirit was suffusing the team; that the team hadshed its brahminical aversion to physical contact between players (TheRetreat of the Brahmin). But it may well be that this apparent display of team spirit has been entirelysponsored by an MNC that has signed on a majority of the team members.

Once the Indian huddle became a regularity, Pepsi was quick to issue an advertisement, where the moment a wicket falls, even before the real playing team huddles, a Pepsi-recorded image of a cluster of blueshirts is shown celebrating for a few seconds. It was almost like saying: this wicket was sponsored by Pepsi!And now, beginning with the Natwest series and carrying into the ICC Champions Trophy, we have this newadvertisement.

A young boy carries eleven bottles of fizz in one hand and an old transistor-radio with another listeningto the commentary. On the field, Irfan Pathan has taken a wicket, the huddle is on, as the muffled backgroundcommentary (in Hindi) talks of how this is the world-famous huddle, India’s newfound team spirit. Cut to theboy, probably 9 or 10 years old, abandoning his radio, and making a dash through a secret tunnel…

It is not clear whether he is running through a sewer--with exhaust fans and pipes in the quick,underground shots--but he might well be. On the field, the huddled team begins to move in unison towards apoint on the field as a woman spectator from the stadium points to the strange movement. From the middle ofthe huddle, as Sachin signals with a sly, shrill whistle, the boy emerges with eleven bottles of Pepsi toquench the team’s thirst. The eleven players sip through extra-long straws.

At this point, Saurav asks the child, ‘Hey Hero, aur ek Pepsi milega?’ (Remember, the punch-line is ‘Yehpyaas hai badi’.) And the child, who always sports an expression of perpetual delight, shoots back: ‘Ekaur wicket milega?’ The huddle crumbles and the players get back to the game, hopefully to get anotherPepsi-driven wicket. The boy is sucked back into the manhole from which he emerged and is seen with his radioawaiting the fall of the next wicket.

This entire scenario, played out in about a minute, has several stories wrapped in it. If you are reallygenerous, and immoral, you could say that it depicts the reality of child labour in India. The advertisementsimply portrays a lived reality and there need not be any pointless moral indignation over it. Several modelplayers like Rahul Dravid and Sachin Tendulkar are such good philanthropists anyway. Sachin has posed forphotographs with CRY (Child Relief and You), which deals with issues of child labour. Most players make timeto visit spastic children homes, HIV+ children, children with cancer, orphanages etc. The media promptlycovers these moments. So the Indian team does have a conscience and indulges in occasional displays of socialresponsibility.

Given this, the Indian team and Pepsi, it may appear, do not directly contribute to the problem of childlabour in India, which has an estimated 120 million working children. For that matter, how many times dojournalists like yours truly refuse to drink a glass of tea served by a child labourer? In how many Chennairestaurants have I not eaten where the tables are cleaned by 9- and 10-year-olds? Have I picked quarrels eachtime, and have I been able to resolve the problem? If no, do I have the moral ground to point a finger at theIndian team and Pepsi? Since I have no easy answers, should I just sit back, ignore the offensiveadvertisement, and carry on with life? Will writing this piece make a difference?

The culpability of the Indian team in justifying and accepting child labour as a service has far greaterimplications than the action or inaction of an individual in everyday life. Pepsi, as an MNC brand, seems toacknowledge that part of its profits are made by young child workers who are robbed of school, play (perhapscricket) and innocence in the process. By beaming this image onto the televisions of millions of middle-classand upper middle-class households, both Pepsi and members of the Indian cricket team are conveying the messagethat it’s okay to be serviced by child labour.

That thousands of middle-class Indian homes employ child domestics and treat them inhumanely is a dirtylittle secret we all love to keep (AFew Blind Spots). This Pepsi advertisement assures these middle class families they are not doing anythingwrong. It conveys the same message to privileged children in these families: it is alright for some childrento sweat while others study. Most families get away with abuse because India has no law that makes employingchild labour a punishable offence. The Child Labour (Regulation and Prohibition) Act, 1986, merely bans workby children below 14 in hazardous processes and industries like match factories, bidi-making units,carpet-making or cinder picking. According to Indian law, the labour that the nameless ‘Hero’ of the Pepsiad performs is non-hazardous and hence not illegal. This is similar to child labour in the hotel industry thathas the sanction of law.

The Pepsi advertisement romanticises child labour and offers it celebrity endorsement. It justifies andencourages the use of child labour. Perhaps the Advertising Standards Council of India will see reason andurge PepsiCo India to immediately withdraw the advertisement. Colas not only seem to have permitted levelsof pesticides that could harm your body; their ads have permitted levels of irresponsibility that can harm themoral fabric of society.