I hope this doesn't turn into a partisan debate about globalization, like the post on ASR Bankrupcy 
Razor wars on the subcontinent...though he gave up his DE razor and is buying cartridges, you can sense in his voice the nostalgia...perhaps we can get him to change his mind?
From 'The Hindu', India's third largest English daily (and if in the US, # 3, just under USA Today and above the NYTimes):
http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/article520823.ece
A razor for Rs.1,500 — that's cutting edge technology for you!
K. T. Rajagopalan
!
For my first shave, like practically every teenaged boy, I used my father's razor. ‘Stealthily', I must add, to set the records straight. My grandfather's razor would have been my tool, had I not been mortified by its looks. Its business end looked menacing, but it was the most basic of implements: three inches of gleaming steel with a dark grey-and-tan handle made of buffalo's horn. Grandpa would sharpen it by rubbing it against a small grey slab of slate, with a drop of water to ease the movement.
My father, having been more urbanised, used a safety razor. This one inspired courage because its cutting edges were both nearly masked. Though the all-metal, double-edged blade needed to be changed once a week, in my father's view, the blade was meant to last for e-v-e-r. When it lost its edge, he would rub it along the inner face of a glass tumbler, lubricated with a drop of water.
One of the first purchases from my salary was a safety razor made of gleaming metal and a clean, sharp blade. It had doors on the top and the handle had a knob that needed to be rotated gently to open the doors. It was one of the most advanced contraptions that I had handled till then. The replacement cost of the blade was the princely sum of Rs. 2 for a five-pack.
Then a revolution of sorts was ushered in: a model with just one cutting edge appeared. The apparatus was light and you had to buy a cassette containing five blades. When the handle was slid into the cassette, a blade would get engaged to it – and, hey presto, it was at your service. The cassette cost a fiver, I guess.
Then spring-loaded blades exploded on the scene. The blade would retract, they claimed, if they came into contact with the facial skin instead of hair. This was a quantum jump in comfort as well as price. I think the blades cost Rs. 10 each. I used to feel so guilty indulging in this extravagance.
A few years passed and, sure enough, models with two blades came. More comfort, more money, more guilt. Rs.25 apiece. I bought this hi-tech product, was extremely satisfied with it, and thought that I had found my life-partner. Once you used it, there was no going back to cheaper stuff. You stayed wedded for life.
I had to eat my hat soon, as the serpent dangled the apple in the garden again. In the form of a three-blade razor — the ultimate in shaving comfort. It required fewer strokes as it gently caressed the face. I tried to resist the temptation to buy one, but soon succumbed to the marketing blitzkrieg.
I found the trade-off between a Rs. 100 note and mornings of pure delight to my advantage, but squirmed in remorse every time I bought them. Not once in the last four years have I been disloyal to this ultimate gizmo.
Famous last words they might turn out to be. There is a model with — hold your breath — five blades. I have been eyeing this beauty at the local mall for quite some time. I can see it standing there, staring at me, egging me to give it a try, daring me to move on. I know that sooner rather than later I am going to buckle under the strain and buy one.
A friend told me of a battery-powered model which has a vibrating head that will make the hair stand up and be slaughtered. And the price, a whopping Rs.1,500 for a blade. I was not sure he was not pulling a fast one on me.
The ultimate blade
That night I dreamt of the ultimate version of the shaving razor: one with a thousand micro-blades guided by laser and driven by dedicated micromotors. It would seek out individual facial hair and destroy it without a trace and sprinkle aftershave on its reverse stroke. It had a micro-chip loaded with a thousand MP3 files. The chip would also sense the mood of the owner from his face and play the appropriate music. At Rs. 10,000 apiece.
(The writer is a former General Manager of State Bank of Travancore. His email: [email protected])
Razor wars on the subcontinent...though he gave up his DE razor and is buying cartridges, you can sense in his voice the nostalgia...perhaps we can get him to change his mind?
From 'The Hindu', India's third largest English daily (and if in the US, # 3, just under USA Today and above the NYTimes):
http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/article520823.ece
A razor for Rs.1,500 — that's cutting edge technology for you!
K. T. Rajagopalan
!
For my first shave, like practically every teenaged boy, I used my father's razor. ‘Stealthily', I must add, to set the records straight. My grandfather's razor would have been my tool, had I not been mortified by its looks. Its business end looked menacing, but it was the most basic of implements: three inches of gleaming steel with a dark grey-and-tan handle made of buffalo's horn. Grandpa would sharpen it by rubbing it against a small grey slab of slate, with a drop of water to ease the movement.
My father, having been more urbanised, used a safety razor. This one inspired courage because its cutting edges were both nearly masked. Though the all-metal, double-edged blade needed to be changed once a week, in my father's view, the blade was meant to last for e-v-e-r. When it lost its edge, he would rub it along the inner face of a glass tumbler, lubricated with a drop of water.
One of the first purchases from my salary was a safety razor made of gleaming metal and a clean, sharp blade. It had doors on the top and the handle had a knob that needed to be rotated gently to open the doors. It was one of the most advanced contraptions that I had handled till then. The replacement cost of the blade was the princely sum of Rs. 2 for a five-pack.
Then a revolution of sorts was ushered in: a model with just one cutting edge appeared. The apparatus was light and you had to buy a cassette containing five blades. When the handle was slid into the cassette, a blade would get engaged to it – and, hey presto, it was at your service. The cassette cost a fiver, I guess.
Then spring-loaded blades exploded on the scene. The blade would retract, they claimed, if they came into contact with the facial skin instead of hair. This was a quantum jump in comfort as well as price. I think the blades cost Rs. 10 each. I used to feel so guilty indulging in this extravagance.
A few years passed and, sure enough, models with two blades came. More comfort, more money, more guilt. Rs.25 apiece. I bought this hi-tech product, was extremely satisfied with it, and thought that I had found my life-partner. Once you used it, there was no going back to cheaper stuff. You stayed wedded for life.
I had to eat my hat soon, as the serpent dangled the apple in the garden again. In the form of a three-blade razor — the ultimate in shaving comfort. It required fewer strokes as it gently caressed the face. I tried to resist the temptation to buy one, but soon succumbed to the marketing blitzkrieg.
I found the trade-off between a Rs. 100 note and mornings of pure delight to my advantage, but squirmed in remorse every time I bought them. Not once in the last four years have I been disloyal to this ultimate gizmo.
Famous last words they might turn out to be. There is a model with — hold your breath — five blades. I have been eyeing this beauty at the local mall for quite some time. I can see it standing there, staring at me, egging me to give it a try, daring me to move on. I know that sooner rather than later I am going to buckle under the strain and buy one.
A friend told me of a battery-powered model which has a vibrating head that will make the hair stand up and be slaughtered. And the price, a whopping Rs.1,500 for a blade. I was not sure he was not pulling a fast one on me.
The ultimate blade
That night I dreamt of the ultimate version of the shaving razor: one with a thousand micro-blades guided by laser and driven by dedicated micromotors. It would seek out individual facial hair and destroy it without a trace and sprinkle aftershave on its reverse stroke. It had a micro-chip loaded with a thousand MP3 files. The chip would also sense the mood of the owner from his face and play the appropriate music. At Rs. 10,000 apiece.
(The writer is a former General Manager of State Bank of Travancore. His email: [email protected])
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