Several years ago, while walking back from Old Trafford in Manchester, I came across an inebriated man lying by the wayside, half asleep. Police rushed to the spot, cordoned off the area, attempting to drive people away, as if it is a national embarrassment. Quickly came an NHS ambulance, and after completing a preliminary health check, he was taken on a stretcher.
In his semiconscious state, he generously spat out ‘pleasantries’. For someone who lived in Mumbai for three decades, it seemed like making a mountain out of a molehill. I have seen scores of people routinely fall asleep outside local watering holes, fondly called addas. Some others who manage to board suburban trains end up in car sheds. Nobody disrupts their hard-earned sleep.
It is no different in other Indian states too. Tamil Nadu, where prohibition was in force until 1971, now ranks high with per capita liquor consumption. Prohibition has been an established Dravidian tenet, but successive governments embraced political pragmatism every time hooch wrought havoc on the state.
Established in 1983 by the MGR government to carry out wholesale trade of arrack and IMFL, Tasmac (an acronym for the state-run liquor retailer, Tamil Nadu State Marketing Corporation) was subsequently transformed into a retail monopoly by taking over all private outlets in 2004 during Jayalalithaa’s time, effectively bringing all devotees of Bacchus at the state’s mercy.
Tasmac is a celebrated paradox. Hung between the horrors of hooch tragedies and the hollowness of an alcohol ban, it claims to shoulder an unenviable job of keeping the illegal brew at bay and tipplers in high spirits. A concept that was born out of the suspended chaos, now a knight in shining armour in the post-GST era. It fetches nearly Rs 50,000 crore to the government kitty!
Despite being a Dravidian brainchild, Tasmac does not hide its class divide. In the outlets that cater to the bottom of the pyramid, customers queue up in the hot sun well before the designated opening time of 12 noon, on a ‘wing’ and a prayer as the aroma of freshly whipped omelettes and half-burnt (read barbecued) chicken from street vendors fills the air.
The delayed start of Tasmac outlets is blamed on the noble thought — to see labourers reporting to work on time without getting sloshed in the morning. In the ‘elite’ outlets, consumers are kings; the options are limited in their kingdom, though. A few expensive foreign brands, French wines, and Mexican tequilas are on display, besides an array of ‘cheap’ brands, produced and bottled within the state. For most known brands, the government-fixed cover price is among the highest in the country.
There is no mandatory system of billing at the outlet. In case you make the payment using your credit card, the payment slip from the POS machine is the only proof of purchase. If you are not alert, you may end up paying extra too. Illegal, but with ‘valid’ excuses – such as the poor salary of contract employees and the lack of an insurance policy for bottles, etc. Of course, there is something wrong with Tasmac, as the Madurai Bench of the Madras High Court remarked recently.
The ED allegedly called Tasmac a Rs 1,000-crore scam. Amit Shah called it a much bigger Rs 39,000-crore scam. The ED and the state government have been locked in a fierce legal battle for over a year. The government meanwhile concedes a massive tax evasion as liquor is also sold outside the tax net illegally.
Yet nothing has changed the way Tasmac operates. Its profit is still shrouded in mystery. A year ago, TNIE ran a story about Kagithapattarai in Vellore, which housed six liquor outlets within a radius of one km and made life miserable for the people in a ward. Responsible drinking died an untimely death long ago.
Meanwhile, Kallakurichis and Marakkanams continue to haunt the state’s conscience. More reason for Tasmac to proliferate!