It would appear that whenever a country
attempts to impose laws prohibiting the manufacturing, importation, or sale of
alcohol there will always be citizens who will try and circumvent the law. They tried it in America and this created an
underground economy with the production of “moonshine” which was sometimes
manufactured under the most primitive and unhygienic conditions. It was also quite often dangerously high in
alcohol levels putting the health of people who imbibed in a serious and life
threatening jeopardy. In fact, its sale
was often controlled by the underworld and crime was on the increase, often
glamorized in some American movies. It
was not long before this unpopular law was revoked, and people could buy their
alcohol from manufacturers who produced their liquor under more stringent rules
set by the government, right up to the present day.
One would have thought that India would
have learnt from the problems that prohibition spawned in the United States but
it obviously did not. While I was a student at university in the early 60’s
prohibition was in full swing. Of
course, those who wanted to imbibe either produced their own alcohol in their
homes or relied on the supply of alcohol that was generally brewed in the
outlying areas and transported to the cities sometimes by lepers who the police
refused to touch. Parents warned their children that the alcohol was toxic
since various acids (particularly battery acid) were added to the brew to
hasten the formation of alcohol. There were private bars all around the city of
Bombay. Their owners ran their
establishments as though the law of the land was a simple interruption in their
lives. This was primarily because the
police on the beat were generally paid off well enough to look the other way.
As foreign students with foreign passports,
we were entitled to “five Units” of alcohol per month from a Government
controlled liquor store. But the cost of
alcohol, whether it was rum or whiskey was so prohibitively high, that very few
students could afford it. Consequently,
on special occasions, we knew that we could buy a bottle of “moonshine” which
the students appropriately called “snake juice” for tenth of the cost in a
liquor store. There were inherent risks
of course, but then when one is young it seemed as though we were
invincible.
Most foreign students had come from culture
worlds where the sale and consumption of alcohol was part of the social scene
provided you were eighteen and over. In
some countries even age did not matter. One
Christmas Eve a group of resident students decided to visit a known bar in
Colaba, Bombay so that we could have a good time. We naturally chose a bar that was “fully
protected”. As the evening wore on, the
boys were getting really happy. While we
were singing all the most popular songs of the day, I noticed a middle-aged
gentleman sitting all alone at one end of the bar watching us with a great big
smile on his face. I waved my hand to
him and beckoned him to join the group, after all we were celebrating the happy
feast of Christmas. He immediately
approached us and we pulled up a chair for him.
I ordered him a double and he appeared to be very pleased and happy with
my generosity. We continued drinking for
some time while our newly made friend sat quietly sipping at his drink. After a little while, he tugged at my arm and
asked:
“Do you know who I am?”
I was so hoping that he wasn’t going to
tell me that he was from the secret police.
That would really have ruined our Christmas. Can you imagine five college students
looking through bars (and not the one we were in) on Christmas Day?
“Don’t be frightened,” he patted me on the
arm in a fatherly way.
He leaned back and pulled out his card from
his back pocket and handed it to me. On
looking at it closer, all that it had was a telephone number in bold letters.
“Now”, he continued edging close to me, “I
want you to know that I am the leader of the largest gang in Byculla. Because you have been such a nice and
friendly man to me, you are now my brother.”
“Thank you,” I blurted out between a half
smile and a burp.
“Keep this card with you and don’t lose
it. If
you want me to kill anybody, I will do it for you free”, he said seriously
in my ears, so that the other guys, who were too busy telling each other jokes could
not hear.
At this stage with three doubles down my
gullet, and my head slightly fuzzy, (it must have been the battery acid at
work) I was not sure whether I should smile or cry.
“Thank you Sir,” I stammered. “I will keep this card in a very special
place”.
“Barman, get my frrriend here a dddoubble,
pleeeasse!
My friends and I managed to get home that
night trying very consciously to walk in a straight line and I could not help
thinking that this old man perhaps gave me the best life insurance that I ever
had.......and it was free too.
Unfortunately, it had no surrender value!!!
But then you cannot get everything!!!
Shortly after this incident, the four of us
decided that it would be worth our while taking the train to Daman. At the time Daman (a former Portuguese Colony
within India but now very much a part of it) was exempted from the laws of
prohibition. Liquor, both foreign and
local, could be bought freely from the stores that were at every corner or turn
in the street. We were assured that it
felt very much like home away from home.
We arrived there by train, and headed
straight for a liquor store where we bought some of the choicest Scotch which
“might” have been made in Scotland. It certainly had all the trimmings. We spent the entire weekend drinking ourselves
crazy. But then all good things come to
an end. Just before leaving for Bombay,
we decided that the party had to continue so it was suggested that each of us
take at least one bottle with us. We were, however, conscious of the fact that
once we left Daman, we would be under the watchful eye of the Bombay
police. After putting our heads together
for a few minutes, one of the students took an empty bottle and shoved it down
his pants. He stood up, and bingo, the
bottle was not at all visible. Those were the days when the fashion was to wear
loose pants, so shoving a bottle of liquor one on each side and have them secured
well around the stomach would camouflage the bottles very well. After each of us had these bottles tied and
secured, we left for the station. The
only problem was that our gait had to change so that the shape of the bottles
would not show. It meant that while we
walked we could not bend our knees. We
must have been a sorry sight as we walked into the station upright like a group
of Frankensteins drawing more attention to ourselves than if we walked
normally. However, we soon discovered
that we were getting very sympathetic looks from the crowd who thought that we
might have been a group of disabled veterans going home. When the train finally arrived at the station,
we got on and were able to secure seats together. Each of us placed our bags on our laps to
help hide the bulges on our thighs that became very obvious when we were
seated.
The three hours that it took to arrive at
the Marine Lines which was the station closest to our college was full of
tension. We were hoping that a private
eye did not suspect that we were carrying contraband stuff and anyone who went
past us was eyed with suspicion and racing hearts.
We finally got to the college hostel where
we invited all our friends to a party that they will not forget.
A few years after we left India,
Prohibition was scrapped by the Indian Government and it is to be hoped that it
will never be reinstated again.
It
is amazing how many lives might have been saved as a result of one stroke of
the pen.
