DOMESTIC PRODUCT

If the home, as Tagore once suggested, is a microcosm of the world, then the Bengali home, in particular, is a shrine to a simpler yesterday. Here you’ll find Boroline, a cream that possibly cures everything but cancer; Aqua Ptychotis, a syrup that is for bowel movements what morphine is to pain, and Jabakusum, an oil that gives your hair the hibiscus it never knew it needed. All strangely well-meaning, these brands have survived the influx of multinationals (and in some cases, the advance of scientific reason), because they offered remedies to problems that niggled Bengalis every day. On the national level, swadeshi products like Amrutanjan and Mysore Sandal Soap are ‘Make in India’ pioneers whose relevance doesn’t hinge on reinvention. Even if some of these household products might have been swallowed whole by time, our nostalgia, thankfully, still saves them from obscurity.

Boroline

Used by Bengalis the world over, Boroline has always been multifunctional. You can use the ‘antiseptic perfumed cream’ to heal a bruise or to guard your skin against winter. Launched in 1929, Boroline, a staunch ‘Make in India’ brand, had distributed 100,000 of its tubes free on August 15, 1947.

Keo Karpin

If it weren’t for ‘light’ and ‘non-sticky’ Keo Karpin, hair oils might never have been considered beauty products in India. Handed from mothers to daughters, Keo Karpin has been ‘styling’ hair since 1956.

Amrutanjan

Long Music recitals can leave you sore. Kasinathuni Nageswara Rao knew this, and so, after having come up with his balm in 1893, he first distributed it in concert halls. The balm’s most popular campaign asked a still pertinent question— ’What! No Amrutanjan at home?’

Mysore Sandal Soap

It’s oval in shape, its packaging would make you think you’re opening a jewellery box, and today, it even has a GI tag. Launched in 1918, the Mysore Sandal Soap has used its trademark warm sandalwood scent to survive multinationals and local copycats.

Liril

First thought of in 1974, the idea of the Liril Girl—someone prancing under a waterfall with a bar of soap—had legs. From Karen Lunel to Deepika Padukone, several models helped sell a soap that already boasted of virtues such as a ‘zing of lime’ and ‘tingling freshness’.

Iodex

Having turned 100, Iodex has now become somewhat hard to recognise. GlaxoSmithKline has now given the balm a sporty, zany avatar, but back when the Smith Kline & French Company would manufacture it in 1919, it was more widely accessible—“Iodex maliye, kaam par chaliye”.

Monkey Brand

It’s going to get a lot blacker before it gets white— this Monkey Brand prescription was somewhat hard to stomach. But if loyal customers across generations are to be believed, the black tooth powder—a mix of ayurvedic oils and wood charcoal— really does remove those difficult stains.

Afghan Snow

India’s obsession with fairness is in no way recent. Erstwhile queens and princesses were enchanted enough by British memsahibs to want to whiten their skin with pearl extracts. In 1919, E.S. Patanwala, a Rajasthani entrepreneur, realised this desire was significantly more common. He launched Afghan Snow, India’s first ‘beauty’ cream, which promised a ‘flawless, snowlike complexion’. Not until Lakme’s inception in 1952 did Patanwala have any real, indigenous competition.