Whisky Meets Monsoon - Indri’s Dram That Dances Off the Beaten Path.

Forget your trust-fund single malts and tartan-draped drams. India’s Indri Distillery isn’t here to play ancestral dress-up - it’s rewriting the whisky script with brains, bravado, and barley grown right in the heartbeat of Haryana. Nestled in the unassuming village of Indri, just a cheeky stone’s throw from the garrulous Yamuna River and under the distant, watchful hush of the Himalayas, Piccadily’s crown jewel distillery channels terroir, tenacity, and just the right splash of swagger into every drop.

This isn’t the kind of place where a grey-bearded master distiller coos poetic sonnets to sherry casks while stroking his chin. No, Indri is a six-pot-still powerhouse - three commanding 25,000 L wash stills and three 15,000 L spirit stills - all proudly Scottish in silhouette but unapologetically subcontinental in spirit. These stills aren’t just showpieces; their tall-necked, bulbous “lamp and onion” shapes coax out a spirit that’s surprisingly light and floral, with jasmine whispers and orchard fruit melodies before it even dreams of wood maturation.

Indri’s strength isn’t just in its staggering output - though 12,000 litres of malt spirit a day does raise an eyebrow - it’s in its unapologetic sense of place. This isn’t whisky in cosplay; it’s whisky grown from the dirt up. It begins in the sunburnt fields of Rajasthan, where six-row barley thrives under monsoon skies. Leaner than its European cousins but brimming with character, this grain is no stranger to hardship - or to flavour. Families like Goda Ram’s have worked this land for generations, their hands shaping a crop that’s as gritty as it is soulful.

The barley is floor-malted the old-school way - no shortcuts, just slow, deliberate care to preserve every bit of enzymatic brilliance. The result? A malt with backbone: spiced, structured, and gloriously untamed. And when it’s time to temper the fire, they don’t reach for just any water - they draw from deep aquifers fed by the Himalayan range, mineral-rich and echoing with geological memory. It’s water that tastes like time.

Together, grain and water craft something singular - not just Indian whisky, but whisky with a pulse. Alive with terroir, tradition, and a little defiance.

Here, tradition and terroir tango with innovation, crafting a whisky that’s anything but a pale imitation of distant Scotch legends - it’s the subcontinent’s spirited answer, complex, vibrant, and thoroughly unforgettable.

Now let’s talk juice.

Triple the Wood, Twice the Charm.

Trini, Indri’s triple-wood marvel, isn’t just a daily dram - it’s a contemplative companion for the discerning drinker who prefers subtle complexity over showy theatrics. Matured in a triumvirate of casks - ex-bourbon, elegant French wine, and luscious Pedro Ximénez sherry - Trini doesn’t shout oakiness, it whispers sophistication in layered, nuanced tones. Imagine a spiced apricot tart taking an unhurried afternoon stroll through an Earl Grey–scented sunlit courtyard, draped in delicate orange blossom petals - a sensory journey both familiar and refreshingly novel.

The nose is a delightful paradox: a burst of caramelised pineapple that flirts with exotic cardamom, intertwined with zesty candied citrus peel and a subtle, almost conspiratorial hint of worn leather - think of a well-loved armchair in a clandestine gentleman’s club where secrets are swapped over slow pours.

On the palate, Trini slides in like a velvet-gloved diplomat, unveiling layers of honeyed almonds and softly poached pear that coax out the gentle warmth of raisin-studded brioche. It’s a balanced dance - never overwhelming, always inviting - like a raconteur whose tales linger long after the final word.

And the finish? It’s the epitome of refined restraint: polite, persistent, and utterly memorable - much like that dinner guest who arrives with a coveted bottle in hand and knows precisely when to take their leave, leaving behind an afterglow that invites another gathering. Trini is not just whisky; it’s an eloquent ode to patience, patience rewarded in every sip.

Barefoot, Bold & 57.2% Trouble.

Dru is Trini’s untamed sibling - the one who ditched the corporate suit for sun-bleached shorts, learned to surf Goa’s wild waves, and swore off shoes for good. Bottled at a daring 57.2% ABV and unapologetically unfiltered, Dru doesn’t just pour - it explodes. This is a riotous celebration in a glass, the kind of dram that punches you with tropical bravado and then gently cradles you like a humid monsoon breeze.

On the nose, Dru is a lush, chaotic carnival of the tropics gone delightfully rogue: imagine sun-drenched mangoes basking in golden light, coconut meat freshly roasted over an open flame, and decadent hot fudge brownies warming up on an old teakwood table. Beneath this decadent fruitcake lies a subtle whisper of burnt sugar - the kind that hints at mischief - before a full-throated shout of spiced jaggery sweeps in, evoking street markets and spice bazaars in full swing.

Take a sip, and Dru pirouettes across your palate like a seasoned dancer. Grilled pineapple sparks a fiery tango with clove, while cheeky waves of ginger marmalade roll in, adding a zingy spice that wakes your senses. Dark chocolate truffle ambles in next, sultry and smooth, before a sly back-palate flick of menthol cools the heat with a refreshing kiss. This isn’t merely a dram - it’s a monsoon storm in silk pajamas, wild yet impeccably dressed, a tempest that demands your full attention and leaves you craving the next downpour.

The Linen-Suited Renegade of the Rum World.

And then there’s Camikara - the quiet revolution in a bottle, charging in like a dark horse with a silk saddle and a mischievous glint. This 8-year-old rum doesn’t play by the molasses rulebook. It’s forged from pure sugarcane juice, distilled from the lifeblood of the cane itself - fresh, vivid, and unapologetically alive. While others chase sweetness and nostalgia, Camikara leans into clarity and character, delivering a rum that speaks in crisp, articulate tones rather than sugary cliché.

Aged with the poise of a Bordeaux and the swagger of a jazz solo, Camikara doesn’t shout for attention - it earns it. It’s the kind of spirit that could walk into a whisky tasting wearing a linen suit and leave with everyone’s respect. Elegance? Check. Depth? Absolutely. But what really sets it apart is the confidence to be different - a golden renegade rewriting what Indian rum can be.

On the nose, it unfolds like a late-night jazz set in an old Havana club: flamed banana peel flickers with smoky intrigue, while tobacco leaf smokes its contemplative cigar in the corner. A teasing lick of molasses sneaks in like a mischievous encore, hinting at deeper, darker pleasures yet to come.

The palate? Oh, it’s a decadent affair. Imagine a silky crème brûlée, glazed to perfection and gently cracked open to reveal luscious custard beneath, followed by an evocative spice-box bouquet - cinnamon, clove, cardamom - each note like a whispered secret from a spice merchant’s caravan. The finish is a slow burn, fading into charred oak and philosophical sighs that invite you to linger, muse, and pour another measure.

Camikara is rum for the rum skeptics, the ones who claim they’re “not really into rum” until this liquid persuasion has them reconsidering everything they thought they knew - before boldly demanding a second pour. It’s the smooth operator in a world of sugar-coated show-offs, proof that sometimes, the quietest dram leaves the loudest impression.

What truly sets Indri apart isn’t just their gleaming trophy cabinet - though they’ve got medals piling up from Tokyo to San Francisco like souvenirs from a world tour. It’s not just their production prowess, which easily rivals any global distillery, nor their near-religious devotion to renewable energy as if powered by some eco-friendly deity. No, Indri’s real magic lies in how they’ve managed to capture the soul of India itself - a liquid portrait of vibrant chaos, layered textures, and that wild, unpredictable spirit that keeps you coming back for more.

This isn’t whisky for the faint-hearted or the tradition-bound. It’s a dram that embraces complexity without apology - a beautifully unruly symphony of sun-soaked mango groves, monsoon-soaked earth, and the rich, spicy tapestry of centuries-old craft. Each sip tells a story of place and people, rebellion and reverence, sweat and sunshine.

So, next time someone launches into a poetic ode about Islay’s peaty whispers or the Highland’s heathered hills, slide a glass of Indri across the table, give them a knowing smirk, and say:

“Oh, I’m very much into terroir too.”

Then lean in and add with a cheeky glint:

“Mine just happens to come with mango trees, monsoons, and a dash of delicious mischief.”

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Words by AW.

Photos courtesy of Picadilly Distilleries.