By Satish Aparajit
For over three decades, I have remained steadfastly loyal to single malt whisky, preferably one that has matured for 18 years or more. Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Glenmorangie. The “Glen” fraternity has rarely let me down. They sit comfortably on my stomach, cause neither acidity nor heartburn, and are as smooth as a well-rehearsed diplomat. Roll a sip around the tongue, savour the layers of flavour, and life seems perfectly balanced.
Then came 1995.
Seagram launched Blenders Pride in India, and before long it had conquered the premium Indian whisky market. Everyone I met spoke about it with evangelical zeal. One evening, while visiting a friend’s home, I was treated to an elaborate sermon on its virtues. Not wishing to offend my gracious host, I accepted a generous peg.
Within a few cautious sips, however, the acid pumps in my digestive system sprang into action as if they had received emergency mobilisation orders. Nevertheless, I persevered. Hospitality demanded it. I finished my drink, though, in all honesty, I consumed Blenders without much Pride. The whisky and my stomach simply refused to blend.
That episode came back to me as I am in the UK, the undisputed homeland of single malts, enjoying one of its finest offerings. Somewhere between the second and third sip, my thoughts wandered, not to whisky, but to ethanol.
Few people realise that the great blending experiment did not begin in India. As far back as 1931, Brazil, the world’s largest producer of sugarcane, mandated that imported petrol contain 5% ethanol. The idea was simple enough: absorb excess sugar production while reducing dependence on imported fuel. A neat solution, at least on paper.
India, another sugarcane giant, decided to follow suit. Ethanol Blended Petrol (EBP) was introduced as a pilot project in Maharashtra and Uttar Pradesh in 2001. By 2003, 5% ethanol-blended petrol was rolled out across the country. The programme moved at a leisurely Indian pace before suddenly finding top gear. By 2026, the government proudly announced that the nation had achieved its ambitious target of 20% ethanol blending E20 becoming the default fuel at petrol pumps.
Enter the ever-energetic Union Minister, affectionately nicknamed “Roadkari”.
An able administrator, an engaging speaker, and a politician blessed with a delightful sense of humour, he rarely fails to entertain audiences with anecdotes and earthy wisdom. Inevitably, controversy arrived when members of his family entered the ethanol business. In any healthy economy, private enterprise should be welcomed. Success deserves applause, not suspicion.
But this is Mera Desh Mahan.
Here, every successful venture comes complete with an army of experts, economists, television panellists and WhatsApp professors, all eager to explain how somebody, somewhere, must be benefitting unfairly. Perhaps they are right; perhaps they are wrong. Either way, if producing ethanol were so easy, many more of us would have rushed into the business ourselves. Entrepreneurship, even with favourable winds, is seldom a Sunday afternoon picnic.
Meanwhile, the ethanol percentage quietly climbed from 5% to 20%, and most motorists barely noticed. Or perhaps they did, only after their older cars began coughing, spluttering and protesting. Many engines designed years ago were never particularly enthusiastic about higher ethanol blends. Some adjusted reluctantly; others behaved like elderly uncles forced to dance at a wedding, lots of noise, very little movement.
The grand vision was to reduce carbon emissions. In some cases, the mission succeeded rather spectacularly. A car that refuses to start produces absolutely zero emissions. One cannot argue with such environmental efficiency.
If some ageing vehicles have been prematurely retired in the process – that is merely collateral progress. As for the ethanol surplus, not to worry. Markets invent themselves. If petrol reaches saturation point, another fuel somewhere will happily volunteer for blending. Ethanol, like a determined politician, always seems to find a new constituency.
And who knows? As elections approach in a few states, policies may once again discover fresh flexibility. In India, fuel policies, like political alliances, have an uncanny ability to blend and re-blend depending on the season.
Which brings me back to Blenders Pride.
Perhaps blending is best appreciated in moderation. In petrol, it may divide opinion. In politics, it is inevitable. But in a whisky glass, I shall continue to place my faith in a well-aged single malt.
As for ethanol, let us keep blending it in the right spirit and drink to it… with Pride.
(Satish Aparajit is a retired IAF Wing Commander and Shaurya Chakra awardee.)
