It became an embarrassing obsession during my growing years. I would spend my leisure hours closely scrutinising the most uninteresting household object to gauge where it came from. At parties, I would stealthily flip a CD player over to examine its underside for those tell-tale ‘Made in...’ words stamped shyly in the finest print.

My grandfather’s iron chest used to be creaked open for promising relics from a different era. Most items in them predated the Second World War; strangely enough, the world seems to have been a close-knit community even in those days. Unbeknownst to him, there were pens made in England and paintbrushes made in Germany. ‘Made in Hong Kong’ or ‘Made in Japan’ usually meant something exotic — inevitably some Oriental nesting tables or porcelain dolls.

These days, department stores revel in products from countries exotic. Look at those curly labels and you see that your shirts and trousers are made in Pakistan, Sri Lanka or the Dominican Republic. ‘Assembled in Canada’ with ‘Parts made in Mexico’ — the latter statement in finer print is intended as a devious distraction. ‘Fabrique au Mexique’ sounds chic. Taiwan or Malaysia seems to be the source of anything electronic, with an often ‘Serviced in USA’ stamped on more as an apology. I am given a feeling that Turkey seems to be the only country that knows how to design a bedsheet. Recalled toys aside, goods made in China still rule the proverbial roost. Unlike countries that excel at blankets or iPods, the soul of China thrives in almost everything from toothbrushes to Swiss army knives.

... contd.