As the ecstatic rhythms of cultural performances bounce off the corporate-capped hills of Kisama, something curious—no, magical—begins to happen. Nagaland, for the uninitiated, is a dry state. Officially. Spiritually. Sermonically. The Nagaland Liquor Total Prohibition Act of 1989 stands tall, noble and unshaken—at least in government files and Sunday homilies. Theoretically, the strongest drink a law-abiding citizen should encounter is a bold, darker-than-dark cup of Konyak tea that can jolt the dead awake.
And yet, in Kisama, amid the exuberant swirl of traditional dances, western music, and aromatic food stalls, there lingers a very palpable liquid cheer that defies all official decrees.
Step into any of the magnificent tribal morungs – those beautifully crafted huts representing
Nagaland’s diverse communities – and you’ll find not just cultural showcases, but a spirited buzzed ambience. Here, in an almost mystical atmosphere, bamboo cups of a white, frothy liquid are openly served. This, we are assured, is fully acceptable despite the Prohibition Act, for it is “traditional rice beer”—a quintessential part of Naga heritage that the Hornbill Festival proudly seeks to showcase. And the only thing busier than tourists chasing photographs of gorgeously attired Naga men and women is the queue for a sip of this heritage, served in bamboo, or, when demand soars, disposable cups.
Download Nagaland Tribune app on Google Play
Wander a little further, past the main arena, and you’ll find the buzz evolving from “cultural” to “commercial.” This zone – Kisama’s unofficial Las Vegas – sees the laws of supply, demand, and state prohibition negotiate a complicated ménage-à-trois. Enterprising Nagas, powered by that legendary entrepreneurial instinct, run a sophisticated operation of what can only be described as “cultural exchange facilitation.” The beverages on offer? No doubt “traditional Nagaland artisanal spirits” and definitely not Indian-Made Foreign Liquor smuggled in from across the border. The transformation is remarkable: illegal liquor reborn as ethnographic experience – with a price tag that could make an alcoholic weep. The sheer ingenuity! To transform the illegal into the touristy with a elevated price tag.
Perhaps the NLTP Act has a hitherto unrevealed sub-clause: “Alcoholic beverages are strictly forbidden in Nagaland, unless accompanied by a vibrant folk dance”.
Official government statements often highlight the importance of the Hornbill festival for boosting tourism. And what do tourists, especially those from wet states and countries, occasionally enjoy? A little tipple. So, for their benefit, and solely in the spirit of international and national cultural understanding, Kisama turns into a sort of temporary, geographical sobriety-suspension zone, a Bermuda Triangle for the NLTP Act, where prohibition vanishes only to reappear with full force once you step outside Kisama’s festive perimeter. Or so tourists are expected to believe.
Meanwhile, the Nagaland Baptist Church Council—guardians, defenders, and moral watchtowers of the NLTP Act—surely observe these alcohol-infused festivities with holy exasperation. One can almost hear their collective sigh rising from Kohima. Unfortunately, the mountainous terrain ensures this righteous breeze runs out of breath before reaching Kisama.
Long after the last log-drum-beat fades and well beyond official festival hours, Kisama’s lanes come alive and stay rocking with revellers—tipsy, and in many cases, well past tipsy—immersed in a lively whirl of cultural exchange. Domestic and foreign visitors mingle freely with locals, though it’s the locals who make up the lion’s share of those enthusiastically sampling “traditional drinks” now conveniently measured in pegs and discreetly delivered in branded aluminium cans. The cheer is hardly dampened by the extravagant price tags.
A can of Kingfisher Strong Beer (an unquestionable traditional drink) retailed for Rs.100 in neighbouring Assam – from where the Dry State sources its wet cheer – sells for Rs.250-Rs.300 in Kisama. Of course that would hardly deter people from most districts and villages of Dry Nagaland where the same can would be sold for Rs.350-400.
Of course, fancy non-alcoholic pubs – yes, Dry Pubs – dozens in Dimapur and a few in Kohima can compete with the Kisama rates on a daily basis.
For context, Assam’s excise revenue from alcohol stands at a cheerful Rs.4,798.73 crore—half of it generated from areas hugging the Nagaland border. Geography has never been more profitable.
The true economic genius of the NLTP Act, as subtly demonstrated by the festival, lies in its ability to generate zero tax revenue from this massive, thriving consumption. By keeping sales officially illegal, Nagaland manages to forgo huge revenue that could be spent on, say, better roads leading to Kisama, or perhaps even dedicated addiction treatment centers—facilities that, ironically, have a steady clientele thanks to the unregulated nature of the black market. It’s a brilliant, self-sustaining loop of fiscal self-sabotage, applauded silently by every liquor mafia member – including a few well respected citizens of Nagaland.
A Sincere Plea for Continued ‘Dryness’
So, as the last tourist bus pulls away from Kisama, leaving behind the faint, sweet scent of fermented rice, we must earnestly petition the authorities: Please, do not repeal the NLTP Act. It serves as a vital, annual source of cultural irony. It guarantees that the Hornbill Festival remains not just a celebration of Naga heritage, but a spectacular, ten-day masterclass in the human capacity for cognitive dissonance. We urge all citizens to uphold the spirit of the law by continuing to enjoy their ‘traditional, artisanal, non-alcoholic cultural fluids’ in private, while simultaneously paying triple the price to shadowy figures. And Cheers to the Bermuda Triangle of the NLTP Act, that is Kisama.
– This is a work of satire. The writer, Kallol Dey is a senior journalist based in Dimapur. With over two-decades into journalism, he has written for national, regional and local publications. He has widely reported on the Hornbill Festival since its initial years.
