By Antara Dev Sen

Last week, the Delhi High Court ruled that Indian whiskey manufacturers can't pass off their desi products as 'Scotch' or 'Scot'. Pretty basic, you would think, like you wouldn't really tout an HMT watch as Swiss, or a Modi mirror as Belgian glass, would you? But strangely enough, when it comes to food and drinks, such continental drifts are pretty commonplace.

Years ago, I remember my husband's amusement when the chairman of the Scotch brand J&B told him that more Scotch was drunk in India than was produced in Scotland. In such innocent times, we drank locally produced Scotch and Champagne in India, and locally produced Darjeeling tea and Colombian coffee in Europe and the US.

But the age of simplicity is over. In a politically correct post-WTO world, we need to be GI sensitive. The GI or Geographical Indication appears to indicate the geographical origin of the product -- pretty much like a 'made in…' label. And under the WTO-TRIPS agreement, India needs to protect these GIs.

So when the Scotch Whiskey Association of the UK filed a case against the makers of an Indian whiskey curiously named 'Red Scot', the Delhi High Court came down squarely on the Indian whiskey makers. Not Red or any other Scot, it said. And slapped them with a hefty fine for such spirited impersonation.

Earlier, a similar ruling had come from Madras High Court, when the same Scotch Whiskey Association had complained against the old faithful Indian whiskey Peter Scot. The offending word, again, was 'Scot', implying that it was a product of Scotland, which was clearly not the case.

Our whiskeys seem to be in a deep identity crisis. At home they are trying to masquerade as Scotch, whereas overseas most of these are not accepted even as whiskey. These are just 'Indian spirits' abroad, since these are made from the lowly molasses, not the traditional malt or other cereal that whiskey is supposed to be made from. In spite of this blunder at birth, our 'whiskeys' still reach for the formidable Scotch label, offering the world a taste of the indomitable Indian spirit.

But since when have we been worried about names and labels? Every crying child in north India can be silenced by a quick offer of Cadbury – which could be a chocolate of any brand or may be just a toffee – or a Pepsi which may or may not be a cola and if it is, may not be made by Pepsico. We go for the easiest names, the identifiable labels.

And sometimes we play on this confusion on purpose. A bit like the Peter Scot and Red Scot guys. Little kids in Delhi go from Harvard to Cambridge to Oxford (all schools in various Delhi neighbourhoods) to finally pass their Class X exams from Lovely Public School. If we like a name, we take it. GIs have never stood in the way of our own labelling process.

Especially in food and drink. In a Punjabi dhaba, you could order Afghani Chicken and Pindi Chana, and be quite upset if you are told to wait as the chicken arrives from Afghanistan and the chana from Rawalpindi.

In a Kerala restaurant in any part of the world you could ask for Chicken Chettinad, and expect a local bird freshly made right there. In most restaurants around the world that serve Chinese cuisine, you could order a Mandarin Duck or a Singapore fish, and be perfectly happy with the local produce, locally made. In a Bengali restaurant you could ask for a Prawn Malay Curry or a Dhakai Parota and not for a moment expect a Malayasian or Bangladeshi presence in your food.

Place names linger on in food and drink like memories passed down through generations – somewhere down the line the stories and smells and feel and colours once so vivid in the minds of a parent or grandparent or great grandparent fade away, just the skeletal labels remain. In a confused world, we sit up and take notice only when the names clash with international rules and trade laws. When the GI factor kicks in.

Because half the fun of food and drink comes from the familiarity offered by its name. It’s dampening to have a ‘sparkling wine’ to celebrate instead of ‘Champagne’. Or a cheese of an unknown province that tastes exactly like Roquefort but can't be called that. Or to make your pizza with a cheese which, though very close, cannot be Mozzarella since it is a local make. The list is long and depressing.

But then, trust us Indians to confuse matters with culinary gems like Bombay Duck. Available in various places outside of Bombay, it is as you know, not a duck at all, but a fish.

And you could always wrap up this imaginary meal with a Delhi Ka Laddu, a favourite especially with Bengalis and quite unknown in Delhi, a name that signifies nothing at all. Let's see the WTO try the GI index with these geographical indications.

Or come to terms with the fact that one of the most widely marketed flavours of ice cream in India is butterscotch, known in the ghee-makkhan-whiskey loving North India as Butter Scotch.

Antara Dev Sen is Editor, The Little Magazine.