A Pen-ny For Gandhi’s Thoughts
Montblanc’s marketing honchos have transported the Mahatma to a new level of corporate iconography
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July 8, 2010 at 1:00 AM
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| A magazine reporter once asked the late Dom Moraes, one of India’s best-known English-language poets and writers, how he wrote. Meaning, did he use a pen or a typewriter — manual or electric — or a word-processor? “My old manual typewriter, of course,” a mildly irritated Moraes snapped, and added: “But why should that matter? Ultimately a writer writes with his mind, the physical process of writing is quite irrelevant.” Maybe for Moraes, but not for Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, alias Bapu, alias the Mahatma. For Gandhi, every little aspect of the process was as important as the final product, and unless and until the means matched the end in terms of ethics and morals, the entire activity stood vitiated. Which is why he once asked his grandson Arun — then a toddling school kid — to retrieve a used pencil from the street where the latter had discarded it, because it had not yet been reduced to a tiny stub and so could be used some more. And why one of the 20th century’s greatest politician routinely wrote letters — some conveying momentous and historic decisions — on scraps of paper, including the backs of used envelopes. The reason behind such simple and Spartan — even ascetic — living was not cosmetic. If Gandhi’s personal lifestyle did not embody his political values of peace and non-violence as well as his deep abiding concern for the poor and downtrodden, his entire life would be but a sham. No surprise then, that even his choice of writing instruments — apart from pencils, he used reed pens — would reflect his care for the environment, his empathy with his deprived fellow-Indians, and the most judicious use of available resources.
The flagship version, named Mahatma Gandhi-241, was the centerpiece of the launch — and also of the controversy. According to the Montblanc website, the exclusive MG-241 (sounds like a distant cousin of AK-47, doesn’t it?) “is a homage to the 241 miles traveled by Gandhi on the Salt March from Ahmedabad to the coast. A march which, 17 years later, was to result in freedom for India. To mark this milestone in history, the precious fountain pen is limited worldwide to just 241 pieces. As befits its historical significance, the hand-crafted rhodium-plated 18 K solid gold nib of this Limited Edition, which is crowned by the Montblanc emblem in mother-of-pearl, shows an [sic] finely engraved image of Mahatma Gandhi on his path towards Indian Independence.” Its price: $24,000. What the website does not mention — probably meant to be a surprise bonus for those 241 buyers worldwide — is an eight-meter golden thread that comes with the pen: it can be wound around it, representing the spindle and cotton Gandhi used to weave simple cloth. How corny can marketing honchos get? There were probably some smug faces in Montblanc’s corporate headquarters after the internal presentation which finalized the pen project, thinking: What a marvellous opportunity! The world’s largest emerging market for luxury goods. The clever choice of its most durable celebrity icon. The exquisite symbolism of limiting the order to 241 pens, and of crafting the end-product to look like the spindle and thread of the old man’s charkha or spinning-wheel.
The litigation was anti-climatic. Montblanc balked at the fierce Indian resistance to its marketing genius and promptly gave a court undertaking that it would not use Mahatma Gandhi’s image for commercial purposes. Also, the Gandhi pens would not be sold in India or elsewhere anymore. Unlike similar imbroglios last year concerning the auction of Gandhi memorabilia and the sale of his South African home — both of which were matters beyond the immediate jurisdiction of Indian courts — the pen controversy looks settled for now. But it leaves behind some nagging questions. Didn’t Montblanc’s legal department — and particularly, its Indian lawyers — warn the company of the obvious violation of a well-known statute? Or did the top brass brush aside the warnings and take the plunge in a developing country, expecting the filthy-rich elites to embrace eagerly a world-class status symbol and the unwashed millions to be zapped by its high-voltage publicity campaign? Montblanc CEO Lutz Bethge sounded genuinely astonished at the cold reception to his company’s brilliant idea, and remarked: “We thought who better than Gandhiji as a global icon to communicate to the world the values of our company.”
If not, why did New Delhi fail to clamp down on Montblanc during the run-up to the sale? The statutory violation was clear. And the campaign was no secret. Giant hoardings with Gandhi’s picture and the pen conspicuously lined several of the country’s major highways and roads. Why did the government wait for a public outcry and a couple of PILs to jolt itself from its stupor? Initially, it tried rather clumsily to pass on the onus, saying the copyright in Gandhi’s works lay with a trust run by the Mahatma’s kin. Only later, when confronted by court orders and spooked by the prospect of a negative fallout did the government suddenly turn sanctimonious and nationalistic.
And to support Gandhi’s quasi-endorsement of Montblanc pens with the tenuous argument that the name was not being used “for selling guns or booze” is the equivalent of condoning rape because it did not lead to the victim’s murder. Montblanc may well consider itself fortunate for getting off with a verbal proscription — and not even a light rap on the wrist — for its latest Indian mis-adventure. Had CEO Bethge and his ilk attempted a similar mischief with an emblem of a less “Gandhian” country like say, the United Arab Emirates, they would have spent one year in prison and paid a fine of 100,000 dirhams. Which, by sheer cosmic coincidence, happens to approximate the price of one exclusive Gandhi pen. |
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