Liquor prices more than double in Puducherry
Puducherry will no longer be a tipplers’ paradise serving quality liquor at an affordable price as the special corona fee imposed has hiked the price of all liquor products at par with Tamil Nadu.
– The Times of India, May 26, 2020
RT-PCR test report mandatory for buying liquor from shops in Kerala
The Kerala government made a negative RT-PCR test report mandatory for people queuing up at liquor shops…
– The Hindustan Times, August 10, 2021
Lockdown Booze Blues
I have made a list of rare and hard-to-find things. Here are a few recent additions…
Cassette tapes. Helpful politicians during a pandemic. Civil liberties in an ‘electoral autocracy’. Liquor during a lockdown.
As we know, recent lockdowns were responsible for extreme economic chaos. All commercial activities were, well, locked down, except for shops selling essential commodities. Now this bothered a few of my friends. They were scratching their heads over why alcohol was not listed as an essential item. After all, it is medicinal in nature, it encourages local spending, boosts the economy, provides tax income for the government and helps keep trouble makers at home.
Yet authorities, in their infinitesimal wisdom, decided to lock down all liquor shops. But there is an old saying, where there is a will there is a way to a whiskey still. So the following are reports of liquor lockdown languishings from a few non-teetotaler friends from various cities.
Like my friend Joshi from Bangalore. Joshi is a creative director in an ad agency. Now not all creative directors are creative, but Joshi truly deserves this title. Long ago he had joined an ashram in Goa, but soon realized that he was better at turning out tantalizing text than doing tantric tricks. So he abandoned his yoga mat on a Goan beach, bought a few writing utensils enroute, and became a copywriter. But all is not fun and fame in advertising. Most copywriters tend to suffer from a chronic illness which doctors refer to as Writer’s Block. And Joshi was no exception. When he occasionally suffered from this illness, he would try a simple home remedy – a stiff peg of a potent potion. This was guaranteed to loosen obstructed thought processes and keep creative juices flowing. Please note that writer’s block would be unclogged even faster if this remedy is taken on-the-rocks.
But during lockdowns, all potent potion shops were shut and shuttered. So where does one find inspiration? Luckily Joshi knew a ‘procurer’. This guy was like a superhero, a mild office assistant by day and a go-getter by night. Let’s say it’s midnight, counting sheep did not work, and you feel a sudden urge to eat dahi kachori and chocolate paan (with a little kick to it). Just ring up your friendly procurer, and your kachori-paan wish will be fulfilled sooner than later. But dealing with the procurer usually left you feeling both happy and sad. Joshi was happy he got the brand he had asked for, but felt sad about the heavy price tag. The procurer’s pricing process probably included a fat profit for himself. And that’s how Joshi found out that the price of inspiration, which was normally about Rs. 1000 a bottle, now cost Rs. 15,000, thanks to lockdown variables.
But it’s not just the metros. Pandemic pricing has affected little cities too. A few months ago, I spoke to my friend Lalith, a football coach in Pondicherry (aka Puducherry). Though football was his favourite, Lalith was an equal opportunity ball basher. If a defenseless ball was bouncing around nearby, he would probably be hitting it with a bat of some sort. Indulging in such aggressive athletic activities explained why he was usually so cheerful and happy. But when he rang up a while ago, he sounded really down. And he was calling from the beach, a sure sign that he was upset. You see, most residents of Pondicherry go to the local beach when they are feeling depressed. They find the city’s quaint little beach quite therapeutic. For instance, you start thinking about exotic lands and exciting adventures beyond the ocean, and this makes your problems appear trivial. And wading into shallow water gives you an illusion of control over life – that you know your limits, have the ability to avoid drowning depths (of debt or sorrow), and you could stay away from turbulent emotional currents. Or a better therapy would be to just sit and admire the cheerful, colourful young girls jogging on the beach.
But Lalith was in no mood to get his feet wet or notice colourful girls. He was angry and upset about the government’s new fiscal policy. The price of Kingfisher Lager, his favourite brew, had gone up from Rs. 95 to Rs. 220, thanks to the newly imposed corona fee. He was so angry and upset that he was calling up friends to complain about unfair liquor prices. I am sure cussing out the government is an effective therapy too. As a union territory, Pondicherry enjoyed a low-to-no-tax privilege. Essential commodities like liquor were so cheap here that they lured drinkers from surrounding states. Visitors were welcome to indulge in weekend binges and purchase take home supplies. But without warning, the government had introduced the corona fee, and the price of liquor had shot up like a champagne cork. Sadly, this new pricing policy reversed long established traditions. Now liquor was being smuggled from Tamil Nadu to Pondicherry, instead of the other way around. But recently I spoke to Lalith and he sounded quite happy again. He was coaching a group of young girls who wanted to become national football stars (probably the joggers from the beach). And more importantly, the corona fee had been slashed and beer prices were back to affordable levels. Balance had been restored in the universe.
Except in Utter Pradesh. UP’s conservative government frowned on citizens having too much fun. For instance, you required a permit to keep alcohol at home. And the permit only allowed you to store 1.5 litres each of ‘country-made and Indian Made Foreign Liquor (IMFL)’, and four bottles of beer. The vigilant police of Lucknow were probably busy monitoring where, when and how many bottles of booze you had bought recently. And if you had bought more than what the government prescribed, you would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of local liquor laws. But such righteous rules did not bother my friend Shyam in Lucknow. As marketing manager for a company that manufactured radiators for cars and trucks, Shyam had satisfied customers all over the world. And when these clients visited Lucknow, goodwill gestures would be exchanged, and an exotic bottle or two would be added to his bar. Arranged in geographic order, ranging from baijiu from China, sake from Japan, umqombothi from South Africa to Ouzo from Greece and wine from France… these bottles offered a touch of non-Buddhist nirvana on a hard day’s night. And though frugal Scottish clients did not usually bring bottles of scotch, Shyam’s single malt shelf overflowed with Laphroaigs, Glenfiddiches and other expensive unpronounceables, thanks to grateful representatives of the British auto industry. Take that, you rightwing regulators.
Kerala is probably the opposite of Utter Pradesh. No politician in his right mind would dare limit the purchase of liquor. Trying to keep Malayalees from their liquor therapy would be political suicide. Though my friend Paul in Cochin does not drink, all his friends do. So I get alcohol related news from Kerala one way or another. During the pandemic, the Kerala government had found a clever way to link their vaccination drive to liquor purchase. As one of Paul’s friends told me in his strong Malayalee accent, ‘You haav to be foally vaccinated to buy a foall bottle.’ One has to appreciate the irrepressible Mallu sense of humour, shining bright even during frightening pandemics. Now I don’t know if you could get a half bottle if you are half vaccinated with one dose, but I realized this was a unique ploy by the Kerala government to vaccinate needle-shy locals. But apparently liquor and vaccines don’t mix. Recent reports found that Kerala was contributing more than 50 percent of India’s covid caseload. And so the Kerala government came up with a new policy. You will be permitted to stand in line at liquor shops only if you have a negative RT-PCR (covid test) report. Now there are long queues in front of covid testing centers.
Gujarat is the only state which was not affected by the nationwide liquor lockdown. That’s because there are no liquor shops in Gujarat! Apparently Gujarat has strict laws against people indulging in vices. But recently I heard that that they found 3,000 kilos of heroin, worth Rs. 21,000 crores, in the port of Mundra. So it looks like at least a few people in Gujarat are having fun. But the heroin of Gujarat is a tale for another day.
Long ago, when I was still in my comic reading age, I would overhear adult relatives talking in hushed tones about a utopian Shangrila. Only later did I realize that their utopia was Pondicherry.
lockdowns are great opportunities to improve yourself, push your limits. For instance, one could really increase one’s drinking capacity. Instead of a nester two or three pegs, one could go beyond such levels. Creative people like musicians are good at this. Like Mr Beethoven. Think he usually drank 5 large pegs. That’s why people still talk about Beethoven’s Fifth.
These are reports of lockdown liquor languishings from friends in various cities.
All you need are a makeshift still, assorted fermentables and a white lab coat (in case authorities barge in as they tend to do in almost authoritarian regimes. And you could claim you are working on a coronavirus cure).
Like being one with nature, and trying to learn all about the birds and the bees. Or encouraging troubled colleagues to enjoy water sports by requesting them to go jump in the lake. But if all these did not work,
Bangalore is known for various kinds of breweries. Microbreweries, macro breweries and Mallaya breweries. The competition was so harsh that Mr Mallaya gave up brewing and flew away to England, where he could enjoy a pint peacefully in a peaceful
All you need are a makeshift still, assorted fermentables and a white lab coat (in case authorities barge in as they tend to do in almost authoritarian regimes. And you could claim you are working on a coronavirus cure).
Long story short, Joshi did not want to spend Rs. 15,000 for further inspiration. And decided to brew his own liquor at home. Did I not mention that Joshi was creative? So off he went to buy pots and pipes required for a makeshift still, along with a ton of fermentables, And of course, he also bought a white lab coat to look the part of a mad scientist.
Potatoes, wheat and other stuff which involved a little light cooking and fermenting. And he had a home made brew. But of course the quality would not be the great. Unless you happened to have a Scotsman as a neighbor.
Did I mention that Joshi was creative? So long story short, he decided to brew his own booze. He went out, bought a white lab coat to look the part of a mad scientist,, and a ton of fermentables. Pondy has a tiny beach. So when a pandemic comes along and liquor prices shoot up, the beach overflows with depressed with people who are . But then the pandemic came. And the central government was merciless with its liquor taxing. All bottles, labels so the prices went higher than other states. So now Lalith was calling his friends from the beach, complaining about the price of beer.
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