A morning beer in Pakistan
Officially, beer is hard to procure. There are about 66 licensed alcohol outlets across the country, which are unevenly distributed. Punjab province, with 70 million inhabitants, has just eight shops selling alcohol, while the sparsely populated Baluchistan region has 15.
The system is riddled with enterprising abuse. Bootleggers run a thriving black market by snapping up beer quotas from Christians for resale to Muslims. Imported alcohol floods into Pakistan through all its borders.
Chinese vodka is spirited across the northern mountain passes, while ancient dhows carry crates of western beer and scotch from the Gulf states to Pakistan’s west coast. In the capital Islamabad diplomats at some central Asian and African embassies are known to offer a discreet take-away service from their diplomatic compounds, in return for a hefty mark-up.
Government officials turn a blind eye to the abuses, and well they might: even the president, Pervez Musharraf, is known to enjoy a glass of scotch at the end of a hard day. And as far as anyone knows, the official punishment sanctioned by the Qur’an, 80 lashes with an oil-soaked whip, has never been applied.
To some, the nudge-wink attitude is a healthy sign of creeping liberalism in Pakistan, inspired by Gen Musharraf’s pledge to curb Islamic extremism. But for Mr Bhandara, it is simply double standards.
“It’s totally hypocritical,” he said. “No matter what happens, at least 5% of our people will want to drink beer. And they know there’s nothing sinful about it.”
There have always been challenges for the brewery, a relic of the Raj and also Pakistan’s oldest company. Founded in 1861 to slake the thirst of British troops, Murree was named after a hill station above present-day Islamabad.
Although sales peaked during the second world war, business was never Pakistan’s only brewery does surprisingly well in a country that is officially almost dry. It would be unusual anywhere at nine in the morning, but in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan the proposal borders on the illegal. It would be unusual anywhere at nine in the morning, but in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan the proposal borders on the illegal.
“A coffee?” asks chief executive Minoo Bhandara, reaching across his desk. “Or would you prefer a beer?”
Mr Bhandara can afford such audacity because he runs Murree Brewery, Pakistan’s lone beer factory in a country under prohibition.
Twenty-five years ago the military leader Zia ul-Haq imposed an alcohol ban on Muslims, who make up 97% of the population. Since then only minority faiths - such as Christians, Hindus and Mr Bhandara’s Zoroastrian faith - can drink. In theory.
In reality, Murree products are selling curiously well. Sales of the Classic beer, a light, crisp lager, rose 12% last year. Its gin, brandy and whisky products are also doing well.
All this despite a phalanx of official restrictions. The explanation is simple, says Mr Bhandara: “Ninety-nine per cent of our customers are Muslim.”
Although an advertising ban means few Pakistanis are familiar with the company slogan, “eat, drink and be Murree”, millions are following its call.plain sailing. An earthquake consumed Murree’s Quetta brewery in 1935; a Muslim mob torched its original building in 1947.
Today the Murree brewery is beside the army headquarters in Rawalpindi, in an old-fashioned complex a stone’s throw from President Musharraf’s palm-shaded house .
Among the 350 mostly Muslim employees, some hold a possibly unique position. The quality control manager, Fakher-E-Mahmood, for example, supervises standards without a drop of beer passing his lips. “We have another team for that,” he said. “I arrange the tasting, they tell me if anything is wrong.”
Noor Ellahi, an employee for 41 years, supervises 430 casks of maturing whisky. He says he has never been tempted.“No, never. I am totally not inclined,” he said. But even if he was, opportunities are limited. A team of government excise officials and security guards roam the compound, to ensure that no contraband slips out.
Murree retains a distinctly old-world feel. Mr Bhandara, a softly spoken 66-year-old with an often-distracted air, commands operations from behind a Victorian desk.
He hopes to sell Murree in Indian restaurants in the UK under the slogan Have a Murree With Your Curry, and although an earlier drive failed he is now looking for a British brewing partner.
But will prohibition ever be lifted at home?
Mr Bhandara, who is fond of saying, “We have a great future in front of us”, thinks not. “The law will be lax one day, tough the next. But it will still be with us.”
