New Delhi, a city where the sacred cows outnumber the potholes and the traffic is a form of meditation, has unleashed a new industry. Not content with merely outsourcing our call centres and simultaneously soothing our existential dread with affordable antidepressants, India has now turned to what locals are calling 'blue gold.' I shudder to say it, but it appears that the country has discovered a plant that grows in the most arid of deserts and, when distilled, produces a liquid that tastes like the tears of a slightly disappointed barman.
The UK Trade Delegation, a collection of men in ill-fitting suits who look as though they have been carved from slightly used office furniture, has descended upon the subcontinent like a swarm of particularly bureaucratic locusts. They are eyeing opportunities. They always are. I suspect if they were to fall into a vat of this blue gold, they would bob to the surface with a business plan already formulated and a demand for a tax break.
This new drink, this nectar of the gods that only grows in the Thar Desert, is being hailed as the next big thing. Apparently it is rich in antioxidants and has the distinct advantage of making you forget that you are an overworked, underpaid drone in a world that is hurtling towards a climate apocalypse. The UK trade delegation, sensing a gap in the market for overpriced beverages that masquerade as health products, have offered their expertise. Expertise, I note, that comes at a price higher than a bottle of their finest gin.
The Indian entrepreneurs, who are sweating in the tropical heat while wearing synthetic suits, have agreed to a meeting. I imagine the scene: a boardroom with a broken air conditioner, a bowl of stale samosas, and a PowerPoint presentation that uses Clip Art from 1995. The UK delegation will nod sagely, scribble incomprehensible notes on a legal pad, and then propose a joint venture that involves outsourcing the bottling to a factory in Birmingham.
This is the dawn of a new era. The blue gold rush. The West is desperate for anything that can be marketed as 'exotic' and 'health-giving' while actually being a tax write-off for wealthy oligarchs. The Indians, for their part, have realised that the world will pay a fortune for anything that tastes vaguely of disappointment and comes from a place they have never visited. It is a beautiful symbiosis of cynical capitalism and mythological desire.
I have never tried this blue gold. I suspect it is the colour of Windex and tastes like a poorly made mojito. But that does not matter. What matters is that a new industry is born, a trade delegation has found a reason to exist, and somewhere in the City of London, a hedge fund manager is already dreaming of yachts built from the profits.
To the UK trade delegation, I say: may your suits be eternally wrinkle-free, and may your blue gold never run out. And to the rest of us, I say: pour a stiff one, and hope that the hangover is not as painful as the reality.
