PSO has all the right in the world to come up with such an aggresive (not to mention fickle) ad campaign. And although it is the largest networked fuel-distributor nationally, in terms of both physical presence and revenues generated, the reality is that its mechanics, processes and posturing remain outdated. As PSO- basful as this whole thing sounds, the point of this post was to show the power of marketing and how brand wars are being fought in our very own city. Granted, that Shell is a client that I work on, but transparency, responsible advertising, and claim-legitimacy are fundamentals that can not be played with. Before launch an onslaught, one needs to be sure they are on sound-footing. PSO failed in this venture and ended up looking desperate in their print camapign targeting Shell. Make no mistake, Shell will respond but at its own discretion and within the boundaries of credibility and corporate responsibilities.

Advertising may seem to have come a long way in Pakistan, but it really hasn’t. Part of it is agency-oriented short-comings, i.e., lack of risk-taking initiatives, lack of client-specific persuasion, subservience to the client, poor account-planning, incomplete or loose understanding about marketing principles and so forth. But an even larger reason for the abysmal state of advertising in Pakistan lies with the clients themselves. Corporations, big and small, tend to under-estimate the intelligence of the common man in Pakistan. Villagers in remote interiors of Sindh and Punjab now have access to television and foreign channels, especially Indian channels, have somewhat attuned, educated and flexed the masses. They have infused a certain sense of sub-tolerance, key understanding and evocative imagination, along with redefining boundaries for routine-humor, to catapult the local consumer from lack of basic marketing awareness to understanding key attributes, functionalities, symbolism, imagineering tactics, and embedded humorism in ad campaigns. We as agencies, and our clients as the pay-masters and approvers, must come together to allow for our intelligentsia (the masses), whom we take for granted, to be exposed to ground-breaking and exciting integrated marketing communication campaigns. Campaigns that are built along the lines of well-defined brand vision, expressive brand essence, and larger than life branding ideas. Only then will our country, and our city (the nerve-center for all major marketing campaigns and corporate accounts) can compete with our local, regional and international counterparts.

The zeal in their curiosity, the discipline of their masters, the keenness of their watchful eyes, the sweaty years of their laborious toil, and the indomitable fire inside of them, to imitate the highest of standards and expectations, is what fuels them to achieve success at what they practice and do to make a living. Invariably, these skilled professionals also contribute to an often overlooked, yet thriving, vibrant and important, sector of our national economy. This is the parallel market that, if fully reported in all earnesty and honesty, would yield in a far greater domestic output (higher GDP).

Returning to the topic, barring a few high-end options, one can usually get his beard shaved or trimmed, his hair cut and shampooed, and even throw in a massage or two for no more than a hundred rupees. Or how about haute couture spree for men; suits stitched to impeccable standards, and thoroughly customized for a thousand or two bucks. And then there are the mechanics, though corrupted to the core in many cases, they can fix your transmission for a thousand or two rupees. Or the plumbers and electricians who would do the most intricate of jobs on your flushes and switches, and do them well, for a mere couple of hundred rupees. And the list of privileges available, for a price, just piles on and it is all remarkably performed by men and women who picked it up through sheer observation and trial and error.

In reality, most of the above prices, that I quoted, are probably on the higher side due to my ease of access to more expensive options. In all likelihood, these rates, that sound rather reasonable to many of us, are probably challenging and even exorbitant for most Karachiites. Therefore, in context of our populace and our prevalent purchasing power, the prices on offer are competitive to say the least for most citizens of the city.

The aim of this entry was to make sure that this silent yet crucial component of our city, and its hardworking people, are not forgotten amidst the gliterrati of engineers, bankers, IT consultants, businessmen, doctors, dentists, fashion designers, and others. All it takes is a simple step back and wide-open eyes to look at what many of these artisans do, with the little that they have (in terms of book knowledge or formal training) and the wonders that they achieve.

We must appreciate and admire the display of skills and talent laden across our city, and for that matter the entire country, in various styles and forms. Perhaps, I am more marvelled at it all, due to my newness to the city, but I am sure glad for it. To take it all for granted would be to miss the essence of our city, its glaring realities, its dynamic settings, its vibrant offerings, and the exciting possibilities that make up this greatest of cities.

Coming back to the purpose of this post, I had a strange encounter the other day, and it has left me feeling a bit disturbed.

In order to comply with my doctor’s massive prescription (he shoved a pill for every symptom I told him of), I stopped at a local pharmacy (the sign above indicated it was a medical and general store) to purchase the require medicines. On initial inspection, it seemed loaded with medicines on scores of towering shelves. And it was only when the dispensing process began that I saw some major discrepancies.

The cardboard boxes that my medicine bottle was stored inside had a couple millimeters worth of pure dust that had webbed itself together and would not go away without a damp cloth, and even then it left an indelible charcoal-colored mark. The pharmacist simply shrugged it off. On my request to have another box, I was shown that it is all the same and the bottle inside is sealed so nothing to worry about. When I saw the bottle it was indeed sealed, but the instructional leaflet was missing. Once again, when I asked how come it was removed? The answer was, ‘it’s the right medicine, don’t worry’.

Then, I needed to purchase medicine for a couple of shots (apparently doctors here tend to poke those needles into your bum quite regularly). So out came the two bottles, one was properly refrigerated and the other was not. The instructions on both of them indicated they had to be refrigerated. I asked the pharmacist again, and by now he was visibly agitated at my percieved circumspection. The answer this time was, one medicine needs the fridge and the other can survive without it. He challenged me to go next door to the neighboring pharmacy and see if they stored it in the refrigerator or not. I decided to shut up and go with the flow, thinking that is how things are probably meant to be (I tried to convince myself that the city is alive and kicking, and people continue to survive so why get all finicky?).

Next, and the most disgusting of processes was when the pharmacist took out a huge bottle of capsules, and blatantly exposed his bare palms to the opening and tapped in the exact number that the doctor had prescribed. He then cupped his palms and smoothly slid the capsules inside a small brown envelope that he first blew into to create an opening! I was appalled. No gloves. No spatulas. No mini-trays. No nothing. Bare hands! By this time, I had developed a mini-stitch in my stomach. Better sense had prevailed over me by now, and I hushedly paid for the medicines and rushed out. The pharmacist never gave any instructions on how to use the medicines and instead gave me the coldest of stares that I have had in a long, long time.

I still recall the experience everytime I pop one of the many signature pills that I take. Doctors here seem to be forwarding the interest of pharmaceutical firms much more aggresively than back elsewhere. Looking at the pharmaceutical paraphernelia flaunted inside the clinics, it seems there is a mass-marketing campaign going on. The number of pills prescribed is also outrageous…it’s like hey kiddo, here’s a skittle for the headache, and a malt ball for the runny nose, and a runts for your ear ache, and if that body aches, there you go just pop in a smarties or two, now let’s get to your tummy ache, there are a total of four more pills….yada yada yada). Pharmacies must make a bloody fortune in this country! Doctors are definetely on their side. Anyways, I am moving away from the issue of pharmacy standards.

I hate to sound so cynical guys, but I felt I had to write this. Perhaps it’s because I am not feeling that well, am alone in a new city, am up so early and have just recounted an experience that’s left me feeling disgusted and want to be more careful next time.

The questions I want to pose are:

1) Are similar practices and standards, as mentioned above, the norm in most pharmacies in Karachi or is my story a one-off incident?

2) Does the city have Health Ministry officials patrolling and inspecting pharmacies for safe conditions and proper practices?

3) Are pharmacy licences issued after thorough inspections? And do pharmacists carry pharmacology degrees or diplomas?

4) What are the names and locations of the most dependable pharmacies in Karachi? (I live near the Clifton bridge, any particular ones near me?)

5) I have heard of a thriving counterfeit drug manufacturing racket in Karachi. How true are such rumors? And, if yes, how does one differentiate between the poo and real juice?

My questions may make me look like a complete paranoia-stricken asswipe, but I feel it is important to air such experiences and apprehensions out here. I think your insights will help people new to the city get smarter about such facets to life in Karachi and adjust accordingly.

Head out to the intersection that joins Delhi Colony to Punjab Colony and you’ll find billboards selling soap bars, Energic Candy (the moving cow), Adamjee Insurance (the tiger), and the Blind Cricket Tourney that is just around the corner. For many, billboards are a hassle (a defacing nuisance) and their sentiments are justifiable. It lampoons the city with wooden boards, gigantic steel frames, floppy fabric skins, unsightly wirings, and distasteful lighting. Even the wordings (”we set the pace, you win the race” - Standard Chartered, Boat Basin)….like wow, let’s give Jim a super sticker for his ’show and tell’ poem! Then the images (like the male model with the twisted lips and fake jaw line in Cornetto Bits)… and of course the color schemes (Tibet Snow Cream…green, blue, white, hint of red, golden, black and a dollop of just about everything else that misfits well together). And if that was not enough, there are always the grammatical and connotative delusions of some copywriters, like how about the ‘Now make your house a home’ mortgage ad from Askari near the Abdullah Haroon Road. Talk about chicken-head translation of Urdu into English! I mean c’mon, so people who live in a house aren’t technically in a home, thanks to this ultra-chic metaphor. And so ordinary people renting out apartments, who are not property-owners, are therefore not living in homes? Ok, I think I got my point across. As finicky as it seems, I think there was a much better way, out there in the cosmos, to market Askari home financing than forcing an Urdu adage into some ugly semblance of an English sentence with an even uglier connotation!

Anyways, back to the Karachi billboard boom. As the above renderings would testify, the plethora of issues dogging the mushroom growth of billboards in our city are complex, irritating and even illegal in many cases. From blocking off sunlight rays and outdoor views from apartments and office windows, to creating serious safety issues like lack of firm grounding, poor wind-resistance, exposed electrical wirings and so forth, the problems are complex. The scope for damaging or tainting the city environment, the scenic sights and the local regulations are abundant to say the least and we must acknowledge them. However, as with everything, there is a flipside to the whole billboard issue as well. And flip it is indeed.

Billboards, yes the menace we were just crying over has helped bring down product prices in Karachi, it has given us more freedom of choice, allowed us to strive for better product quality standards, and much more. For example, billboards attached to traffic lights, though small, have provided for better technologies (LED lights). Other things like electronic time display by Siemens at the Civic Centre roundabout (till a year ago before getting ambushed by zealots), major roundabout monuments (Emirates A-380 Airbus at Park Towers roundabout) and many other such additions to the city help give it a much-needed uplift. Firms indirectly pour in millions of Rupees every year into Karachi’s infrastructure. It may not be apparent but it does help in adding that extra bit to make the city more appealing or at least oddly-amusing to the more stringent of judges. Furthermore, billboards are a live testament to the often-forgotten fact that we as a city have realities to cope with and be on terms with. The Gulab soap bar billboard (Sohrab Board) for the poor masses and the Toyota Altis billboard for the more affluent classes (Gulshan roundabout) are perfect examples of realizing this widening gap between the rich man’s life and the poor man’s world. My point being, these billboards inform us about the choices present, the deals available, the arguments for or against the products and services, the social contributors in our community, and the silent reminder that we have just about everything and anything that is available in the cities East and West of Karachi (as long as our dough can match the locally adjusted price-tags, we are bonafide!).

Additionally, advertising allows the Karachi populace to accept or reject a particular style of branding or concept of marketing. In fact, for the people who wonder why the billboards adorning our streets are almost always transcribed in English, the reason is simple. For some reason, us Karachiites can make out what the product is, even if it is being marketed in English, and are more than happy to buy it, knowing that it has got the English words to lend that much needed ‘air of credibility’. Yes, as bizarre and over-the-top as it sounds, it’s true. The locally conducted studies by advertising groups in Pakistan consistently show that English lingo adds value and prestige in varying degrees to a product class and to a particular brand.

All in all, advertising has greatly influenced the way we act and feel and it has fueled the desire to demand more options in order to make better informed decisions that provide quality products at the best possible prices. Advertising standards, within certain spheres, are also continuing to get better as youngsters embellish their souls with new strategies (i.e. the Tetley Tea billboard parody on Lipton saying ‘Don’t jump, there is hope’ near the Clifton Bridge). Such, tit-for-tat, mini brand-wars are sure signs of a maturing market with all the right competitive juices to self-sustain itself in the future. If the current goings are anything to go by, advertising does look more promising than you might be willing to give it credit for.

So Karachi, the city with vast expanses of lush green sprawling parks, glittering lights, sharp accents, blistering pace, sweltering heat, pleasant evenings, savory delights, culinary treasures, and much more, has progressively or regressively (depending on your take) become swarmed by an influx of corporate giants bent upon selling their goodies through whatever medium they can lay their hands on (buses, bus-stands, railway stations, tea-shops, pan kiosks, billboards and etc.). For some these billboards are the biggest nuisance to have hit Karachi since God knows when, and for others they are a sign of modern-day marketing trends ushering in an era of socialist capitalism at last.

Evil or good, either way, these billboards signal a visible change in Karachi’s urban landscape. To rid the city of this stream of billboards would be an onerous undertaking and perhaps impossible too. If laws can be implemented to some degree then billboard hoardings and their emergence can be kept in relative check and monitored systematically. There is no reason why Karachi’s fast-emerging reputation, as one of the world’s leading billboard placement centres, can not be leveraged to its advantage and harnessed for some serious socioeconomic currency. As mentioned earlier, for some these billboards are an evil and for others a necessity. I like to think of it as a necessary evil and take it for what it is, not a speck more or shred less. So let’s live with it and enjoy what we can and reject what we must. Yes people, billboards are here to say. Welcome to Karachi.