Kishore Singh: Of holi and unholy spirits

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The first time I made punch, I was in college, and I had my father's permission to serve alcohol at a party so long as it wasn't straight. The recipe was the classic one that mixed two parts of rum with one part of gin (or perhaps the other way round) and, in the absence of orange juice (yes, such things as we take for granted weren't available then), a couple of bottles of Kissan orange squash and jugfuls of water. To this, some fruit (chunks of apple as I remember it) had been added. A friend who claimed to know these things insisted on adding a teaspoon of tea liquor and then, perhaps that's the way he liked his tea, a teaspoon of milk to go with it.

Whether because of the tea, or because there was so little of it, or because it was well-made, sometime into the evening we ran out of the punch, so some more had to be hastily made, and the cocktail was declared a success. For a few more years after, as a young journalist in Delhi with access only to spurious spirits, it remained the mainstay of my parties before friends graduated to straight drinks, or became posh and started insisting on scotch whiskies and single malts.

But it did not altogether go out of my life. A wife and kids later, it became the staple of our Holi parties "" but, of course, its recipe changed considerably, especially since it was contributed by several members of the housing society where we stayed.

Soon after the colours and water and sometimes wet mud had been dispensed with, the main action "" the making and then the imbibing of punch "" would begin. To this end, contributions were invited, and a friend who is also a neighbour was put in charge for his effectiveness in mobilising resources.

In the early years, when contributions tended to be niggardly, the rum and gin and sometimes whisky came from the homes of a tightly-knit group of friends. But when Sarla began to complain that if everyone joined in the drinking (and singing, and dancing), it was only fair that they joined in the contributing too "" and so the punch became bastardised to a version that may have had no parallel in any cocktail recipe book, and tasted something godawful, nevertheless retaining its popularity.

At the last Holi bash up, here's what we put into [three, hopefully clean, buckets] of punch: two full and two half bottles of rum; one bottle of vodka; one bottle of gin; one bottle of Grappa; one bottlegged bottle of Johnny Walker Red; two bottles of white wine-turned-vinegar; a half plastic pouch of Goan port; two cartons of mixed fruit juice; one bottle of Roohafza; a half-jug of thandai; a fistful of either ganja or cowdung (depending on whose version you hear); a can of tomato juice (I kid you not); one large bottle of Limca; half a large bottle of flat Coca-Cola; two small bottles of Fanta; sliced kiwis; a bowl of soggy grapes; sliced carrots; chopped up mint; pickled onions (I know!); a few gallons of water; lots of ice; and because we still believed in the classic recipe for whatever it was worth, a cup of tea liquor and (for good measure, or good luck) a cup of milk.

I have never in my life tasted anything more foul, and I would have thought everyone would have been as picky, but it seems that on Holi people who seem perfectly normal otherwise take leave of their senses, so an hour "" or maybe it was two "" later, only the dregs remained in the third bucket. And I fear we're going to repeat the horrible experiment all over again today.