Whisky or 'uisge beatha' (pronounced 'oosge bah') in Gaelic, literally translates into 'water of life'. I couldn't agree more.
Growing up in a place like Guwahati, it was inevitable that I would have my first taste of this glorious, amber liquid before I turned sixteen (people from Guwhahti can relate to this- a juvenile form of peer pressure). I come from a family of heavy but responsible drinkers. Everytime there was an occasion worth celebrating in the family, my dad, his brothers, brothers-in-law, their brothers-in-law, along with various other uncles and grand uncles, would gather in our cosy living room and help themselves to generous amounts of this ambrosial liquid. Blended Scotch was always the top draw, and if that was not available, ersatz in the form of 'Peter Scot' would be drowned by the bottles.
As a kid, I couldn't fathom for the life of me, what was it that made whisky such a cherished, sought after drink. Whenever I used to dip my finger in my father's dram and lick it, I would recoil in repulsion at the bitterness of the drink. To me then, chilled beer always seemed a much better option. It was only in my formative, high school years, in the company of my friends and cousin, that I decided to take up whisky swigging seriously. Initial reactions were those of disappointment as I realised that all I was doing was falling prey to peer pressure. Swigging third rate whiskies like Gilbey's and Officer's Choice, that too neat, straight from the bottle, just to prove my machismo, was the worst possible initiation to whisky drinking at that time. Sensibly, I switched to rum and coke in my initial college years. It was sweeter, went down easier, and also lighter on the pocket (long live those Army bootleggers of Khadki).
However, in my first semester of post graduation, something happened that altered my take on whisky forever. Seagrams introduced the smooth, student-friendly (read economical) Imperial Blue Whisky, which soon became a raging success with us. For the first time, whisky was not bitter, my tongue wouldn't swell up after the first couple of drinks and I wouldn't have to go through the morning after ordeal affectionately known as a 'hangover'. Rum was dropped forever, and whisky started ruling our senses. From then on, I've become a hard core whisky aficionado, or at least I'd like to think so.
When I shifted to Delhi, I received a pleasant surprise in the form of initiation into the world of single malts by my extremely generous maternal uncle. I have not looked back since, and have endeavoured to attain every single bit of information about this magical invention of the Scots with a vigour I never knew I possessed. The entire world of whisky fascinates me, right from the type of barley used, to the type of water, the kind of peat and the whole distillation process. Elements like the quality of air- whether it is mountain air or sea air, the porousness of the oak casks, bog peat, etc, all leave an indelible mark on the finished product. However, my efforts at knowing everything there is to know about whisky have led to an undesirable situation wherein people's perception of me has degenerated to that of a 'bewda'- a good-for-nothing whose existence revolves around the world of alcohol. My fiancee, thankfully, has got one smart head on her shoulders, and is not affected at all by this needless brouhaha. I wonder if I should bother trying to do something about it, or simply let the dogs bark. Your call.
(For those of you who don't know the difference between a blended Scotch and a single malt, and would like to know, kindly wait for my next post which will be a detailed treatise on my favourite subject.)
Growing up in a place like Guwahati, it was inevitable that I would have my first taste of this glorious, amber liquid before I turned sixteen (people from Guwhahti can relate to this- a juvenile form of peer pressure). I come from a family of heavy but responsible drinkers. Everytime there was an occasion worth celebrating in the family, my dad, his brothers, brothers-in-law, their brothers-in-law, along with various other uncles and grand uncles, would gather in our cosy living room and help themselves to generous amounts of this ambrosial liquid. Blended Scotch was always the top draw, and if that was not available, ersatz in the form of 'Peter Scot' would be drowned by the bottles.
As a kid, I couldn't fathom for the life of me, what was it that made whisky such a cherished, sought after drink. Whenever I used to dip my finger in my father's dram and lick it, I would recoil in repulsion at the bitterness of the drink. To me then, chilled beer always seemed a much better option. It was only in my formative, high school years, in the company of my friends and cousin, that I decided to take up whisky swigging seriously. Initial reactions were those of disappointment as I realised that all I was doing was falling prey to peer pressure. Swigging third rate whiskies like Gilbey's and Officer's Choice, that too neat, straight from the bottle, just to prove my machismo, was the worst possible initiation to whisky drinking at that time. Sensibly, I switched to rum and coke in my initial college years. It was sweeter, went down easier, and also lighter on the pocket (long live those Army bootleggers of Khadki).
However, in my first semester of post graduation, something happened that altered my take on whisky forever. Seagrams introduced the smooth, student-friendly (read economical) Imperial Blue Whisky, which soon became a raging success with us. For the first time, whisky was not bitter, my tongue wouldn't swell up after the first couple of drinks and I wouldn't have to go through the morning after ordeal affectionately known as a 'hangover'. Rum was dropped forever, and whisky started ruling our senses. From then on, I've become a hard core whisky aficionado, or at least I'd like to think so.
When I shifted to Delhi, I received a pleasant surprise in the form of initiation into the world of single malts by my extremely generous maternal uncle. I have not looked back since, and have endeavoured to attain every single bit of information about this magical invention of the Scots with a vigour I never knew I possessed. The entire world of whisky fascinates me, right from the type of barley used, to the type of water, the kind of peat and the whole distillation process. Elements like the quality of air- whether it is mountain air or sea air, the porousness of the oak casks, bog peat, etc, all leave an indelible mark on the finished product. However, my efforts at knowing everything there is to know about whisky have led to an undesirable situation wherein people's perception of me has degenerated to that of a 'bewda'- a good-for-nothing whose existence revolves around the world of alcohol. My fiancee, thankfully, has got one smart head on her shoulders, and is not affected at all by this needless brouhaha. I wonder if I should bother trying to do something about it, or simply let the dogs bark. Your call.
(For those of you who don't know the difference between a blended Scotch and a single malt, and would like to know, kindly wait for my next post which will be a detailed treatise on my favourite subject.)
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