Viticulture in India | Fine wines, harsh reality

The heat shimmers over the vineyards of Nashik. The thermometer reads 34 degrees Celsius on this Saturday afternoon as Varad walks through the rows of vines. Sweat beads on his forehead as he checks the vines for pests, removes withered leaves, and gathers fallen grapes from the parched ground. The physical exertion is evident, but he appears composed: "I'm hot too, and it's exhausting working here. But we're used to the extreme heat." In midsummer, it becomes even more unbearable. Then the workers shift their shifts to the early morning and late evening hours—an adjustment that is by no means a given. "That was a concession from my boss back then," Varad recalls. "He actually wanted us to work through the night."

Varad stands out. His fluent English is surprising—unusual for a farmworker in India's wine region. The nearly 30-year-old works for Rajeev Samant, the pioneer of Indian viticulture, at his legendary "Sula Wineyard." This condenses what defines modern India: a society of contrasts, in which an aspiring middle class and high society enjoy wine, while workers like Varad create the foundation for this enjoyment under precarious conditions.

The winery is located a quarter of an hour's drive from the metropolis of Nashik in western India and stretches across more than 700 hectares of rolling countryside. The ochre-colored, multi-story main building blends harmoniously into the surroundings, surrounded by other stylish wineries. Anyone who has ever been to Tuscany will be reminded of it. Only English or Maharashtra is spoken instead of Italian. And here, mango trees and coconut palms sway in the breeze, not lemon trees.

Social architecture of enjoyment

The very layout of the winery speaks of social selection. A spacious parking lot welcomes visitors from all over the country, shady benches invite you to linger, gravel paths lead to the rows of vines, and information panels explain viticulture. And, as is customary in India, entrance controls ensure a subtle but effective selection process. Wine remains reserved for the aspiring middle class and the economic elite.

Varad can sometimes observe this other world from afar. Wealthy couples and families stroll through the spacious interior of the main building, and newly rich women and men gather in groups. They relax on the impressive, light-filled terrace, enjoying wine, music, and panoramic views of the vineyards. In the basement, they sample Riesling or Merlot, take selfies, and post them on their social media channels. Drinking wine is considered a statement of elegance and sophistication in India.

This wine culture is growing rapidly. Wine bars are opening, and fine wines are available in specialty stores. Yet the subcontinent cannot look back on a centuries-old winemaking tradition. Alcohol is still prohibited by law in several states. Before the coronavirus pandemic, each Indian consumed an average of just 20 milliliters of wine per year – Germans consume over 20 liters.

Boom without tradition

But the wine from Nashik has now made a name for itself. It's even available in European specialty stores. Sula, Varad's employer, is considered a symbol of this boom. In addition, numerous smaller estates are entering the market and have created a diverse range with more than a dozen different grape varieties.

Varad came to Sula quite by chance. He was looking for a permanent, better-paying position, he explains. Of course, he knows his employer's story. Rajeev Samant studied at Stanford University in California and discovered his passion for wine there. In 1996, the home-loving young man returned to India, determined to make a difference. His family owned land and was not without means—good starting points for an experiment.

It took a year for Samant to plant the first vines. But then things moved quickly. He founded the company Sula and delivered the first bottles to the Indian trade at the turn of the millennium. Varad explains the region's geographical advantages: "Samant realized that Nashik, with its unique location in India, could be an ideal place for viticulture." The hot, almost tropical climate during the day, the relatively cool nights, and the annual monsoon create optimal conditions.

"During the dry season, we water daily," explains Varad. His boss isn't aware that he's speaking to the press. He hasn't responded to written inquiries. So Varad has to be careful what he says; he doesn't want to risk causing trouble.

Working conditions in India's nearly 90 wineries are anything but glamorous. Varad works ten, "sometimes twelve hours a day," he reports. Checks for working time violations remain the exception. His monthly income fluctuates between the equivalent of 160 and 250 euros—not a pittance, but not a generous one either.

"I'm a worker, not a wine drinker."

Varad

Manne Pentil, who runs a metalworking company on the outskirts of Nashik, knows the reality of farmworkers: "The winegrowers often work in poor hygienic conditions or without adequate protection, which can affect their health." Winegrowers, like many other workers in India, are hardly organized, says Pentil. Around 90 percent of employees in India work in sectors without significant union representation. Varad also says that he is not organized at the winery. "What good would that do?" he asks, waving his hand. He doesn't believe in the benefits of having a union representing him in labor law matters.

Varad has never set foot on the terrace with its wealthy wine guests. "I'm a worker, not a wine drinker," he states matter-of-factly. He could certainly afford wine with his salary, but he prefers to invest the money in the education of his two children. In a country of 1.4 billion people and brutal competition, education determines one's life path more than anywhere else. Degrees pay off – and Varad takes on the hard daily work in the vineyards. Even if this has one serious disadvantage: the long working hours put a strain on family life, as Varad reflects thoughtfully over a drink of water: "I only see my family in the mornings and evenings, and whenever I have time off. But that's rare." A work-life balance is almost unthinkable for him.

Ordinary employees and workers only have one day off per week, and in India, vacation entitlements are rarely more than 15 to 21 days per year. Minimum paid vacation is only granted after at least a year of service. Varad would love to travel to France one day to explore the wine-growing regions there. His eyes light up at the thought: "France and wine," he laughs, hoping to experience a wine culture there that is less exclusive than that in his homeland.