<p>Heavy discounts on crackers (80-83 per cent on MRP for 'Standard' Fireworks; 90 per cent off on other brands), 'fancy' (read cheap) fireworks from China with names like 'Jum Jum Flower Pots', 'Digital Bombs' and 'Dolly Sky Angels' and an irresistible offer for the city slicker - 'all credit and debit cards accepted here' - have affluent Bangaloreans parking their Skodas and Swifts helter-skelter to mill about the crowded shops just across the border.<br /><br />Compounding the chaos outside the makeshift, asbestos-roofed shops are dozens of beggars brandishing wailing babies, children dressed up like Hanuman, the Monkey God with faces painted a vivid green, and scores of teenage boys with awesome lung power, who function as publicity machines for the fireworks traders dotting the highway. When they think the coast is clear, these daredevils run across the highway and set off a string of crackers to attract potential customers, unmindful of the cars veering away from them in sheer fright!<br /><br />Clearly, the mood in this dusty town is recklessly festive with almost every other shop toting up sales of a few lakh rupees every day in the run up to the festival of lights. Recession and cutbacks are distant memories. Business is so brisk that shops which open at 5.30 am stay open well past midnight. The friendly neighbourhood cops look on indulgently as buyers from Bangalore - businessmen and techies - stuff their booty into gunny sacks and cardboard boxes with the glee of a child let loose in a candy store.<br />Billing seldom stops at a few hundred rupees. They didn't drive all the way from Koramangala, Indiranagar or JP Nagar in Bangalore, to scrimp. <br /><br />“Prices may have gone up, but so has purchasing power,” observes G U Shankar, who has been in the fireworks business for over 10 years now. The spiralling demand from buyers from Bangalore has seen a spurt in the number of shops selling fireworks in Hosur from around 300 last year to over 350 this year. <br /><br />“Competition is intense and undercutting your neighbour is a given. This year, many of us are accepting credit and debit cards as buyers seldom stick to their budget and end up asking where the nearest ATM is. Once they step out of your shop, there is no guarantee that they will return as they will be lured away by a competitor," confesses a trader, who owns three shops off the highway and boasts a permanent licence to sell fireworks. <br />That's when the smooth-talking, lungi-clad men, wielding bulky Casio calculators, step in. Hired directly from Sivakasi, the manufacturing hub of fireworks in India, these 'experts' know how to keep a customer hooked. <br /><br />The recalcitrant customer is shepherded to a corner of the shop, where fire extinguishers languish absent-mindedly amidst empty cardboard cartons. A cheap plastic stool materialises from somewhere and as the customer sinks down, giving his aching legs a rest, a 'cutting chai' is thrust into his hands. The 'expert' now whispers how he can swing a 'special' discount and throws in a free gift box too. Mesmerised by the 'freebies' and the 'special treatment', the buyer is only too happy to whip out his credit card, settle the bill and drive out happy in the belief that he's bagged a ‘real’ bargain while the trader and his band of experts get ready for yet another busy morning of business. Clearly, it's a win-win situation for all.<br /><br />Like Rajnikanth mouthed in 'Endhiran: The Robot', it is indeed 'Happy Diwali folks'!</p>
<p>Heavy discounts on crackers (80-83 per cent on MRP for 'Standard' Fireworks; 90 per cent off on other brands), 'fancy' (read cheap) fireworks from China with names like 'Jum Jum Flower Pots', 'Digital Bombs' and 'Dolly Sky Angels' and an irresistible offer for the city slicker - 'all credit and debit cards accepted here' - have affluent Bangaloreans parking their Skodas and Swifts helter-skelter to mill about the crowded shops just across the border.<br /><br />Compounding the chaos outside the makeshift, asbestos-roofed shops are dozens of beggars brandishing wailing babies, children dressed up like Hanuman, the Monkey God with faces painted a vivid green, and scores of teenage boys with awesome lung power, who function as publicity machines for the fireworks traders dotting the highway. When they think the coast is clear, these daredevils run across the highway and set off a string of crackers to attract potential customers, unmindful of the cars veering away from them in sheer fright!<br /><br />Clearly, the mood in this dusty town is recklessly festive with almost every other shop toting up sales of a few lakh rupees every day in the run up to the festival of lights. Recession and cutbacks are distant memories. Business is so brisk that shops which open at 5.30 am stay open well past midnight. The friendly neighbourhood cops look on indulgently as buyers from Bangalore - businessmen and techies - stuff their booty into gunny sacks and cardboard boxes with the glee of a child let loose in a candy store.<br />Billing seldom stops at a few hundred rupees. They didn't drive all the way from Koramangala, Indiranagar or JP Nagar in Bangalore, to scrimp. <br /><br />“Prices may have gone up, but so has purchasing power,” observes G U Shankar, who has been in the fireworks business for over 10 years now. The spiralling demand from buyers from Bangalore has seen a spurt in the number of shops selling fireworks in Hosur from around 300 last year to over 350 this year. <br /><br />“Competition is intense and undercutting your neighbour is a given. This year, many of us are accepting credit and debit cards as buyers seldom stick to their budget and end up asking where the nearest ATM is. Once they step out of your shop, there is no guarantee that they will return as they will be lured away by a competitor," confesses a trader, who owns three shops off the highway and boasts a permanent licence to sell fireworks. <br />That's when the smooth-talking, lungi-clad men, wielding bulky Casio calculators, step in. Hired directly from Sivakasi, the manufacturing hub of fireworks in India, these 'experts' know how to keep a customer hooked. <br /><br />The recalcitrant customer is shepherded to a corner of the shop, where fire extinguishers languish absent-mindedly amidst empty cardboard cartons. A cheap plastic stool materialises from somewhere and as the customer sinks down, giving his aching legs a rest, a 'cutting chai' is thrust into his hands. The 'expert' now whispers how he can swing a 'special' discount and throws in a free gift box too. Mesmerised by the 'freebies' and the 'special treatment', the buyer is only too happy to whip out his credit card, settle the bill and drive out happy in the belief that he's bagged a ‘real’ bargain while the trader and his band of experts get ready for yet another busy morning of business. Clearly, it's a win-win situation for all.<br /><br />Like Rajnikanth mouthed in 'Endhiran: The Robot', it is indeed 'Happy Diwali folks'!</p>
