Building Harmonies

I had the unexpected pleasure today of recording a jingle for an Indian TV advertisement. It is strange to think that those perfectly polished, orchestral swells and haunting ooohs and aahs that add a ridiculous amount of ether to family cars or building societies are produced here, on the outskirts of Delhi, in a little flat covered with trinkets and Buddhas and pictures of various gurus. We have to take our clothes off before coming in the door. “I’m not eating seafood this time of year,” says Indraneel, the producer. “It’s a superstition I know, but I’m trying this new horoscope thing.” He sits madly tapping away at a file on LogicPro, while downstairs kids in ragged t-shirts play underneath washing lines. A girl sits on a mattress in the dark corner, eating daal from a small bowl, her face lit by the LCD of her macbook pro. I later find out that she is the marketing department.

The ad is for an Indian construction company. Small girl sits on her living room floor, has a eureka moment, draws a sketch of a building. Proud mother comes and sees it, gives her a hug, they look out the window and bingo! There is a beautiful highrise, ready to house more upwardly mobile Indian families like themselves. I begin to wonder why, with so many incredible, vibrato-and-pitch-perfect Indian vocalists at their disposal, they want such a flaccid, white, folksy vocal as my own. But the voice of India’s progress is still not Indian: the white face (and voice) is still the yardstick that says you’ve made it to the first world.

Around this area, where the dusty smog begins to welcome you from Rajasthan into the city area of Delhi, huge skyscrapers push up into the air like concrete and glass stalactites. The giant neon Samsung, RBS and Nokia logos sit atop them, rivalling the bright Diwali lights for sky space. A huge billboard advertising Bacardi Apple is framed in front. On it, five white twenty-somethings are holding hands and running through the lush green grass, laughing. The woollens they wear are completely inappropriate for the Delhi heat. A mile or so from the cluster of highrises is a shopping mall with a Marks and Spencer and a Debenhams. After shopping for underwear and twin-sets, you can pop to Pizza Express for a well-deserved Neopolitana and a glass of Chardonnay.

Of course, it’s not just Western companies that dominate middle class life here. Some Indian companies are marching at the front line too. Tata, India’s second largest company, makes everything from cars (it owns Daewoo, Jaguar and Landrover) to steel, to tea (Tetley’s), to telecommunications. Tata also owns some of the most ridiculously sumptuous hotels in India, and across the United States. Once manufacturing starts on it’s “people’s car”, set to retail at just over £1,000, the company is set to make the automobile affordable for millions. And to add millions to it’s own company value. But even Tata has an Indian twist: it’s owner, Ratan Tata, reportedly lives a modest life and gives almost all his money away. The Tata group has opened schools of science, social work and performing arts, as well as hospitals and research institutes.

But the gap between rich and poor, despite the example of groups like Tata, is still enormous. And while India’s businessmen follow the white ideal, those mired in Indian housing estates cater to their whim. As I stare out of the makeshift recording studio, beyond the screen that shows mother and daughter in their shiny marble kitchen, I can make out the silhouettes of the kids and the washing lines. And then I turn to the microphone and start singing.