The formula may be unorthodox, but it works. Sula produces a bright, fruity Chenin blanc with a touch of residual sugar, a natural match for the spice and heat of Indian cooking. The Sauvignon blanc is impressive, with zippy acidity and unabashed jalapeno and citrus flavors—a cool-climate palate. Working with a consultant from Chateau St. Jean, Sula developed a Brut sparkler, mostly built around native grape varieties. Rounding out the lineup of cuisine-friendly wines, Sula is releasing a blush Zinfandel, which should reach the United States by year-end.

Emphasizing whites initially also saved the time and cost of extended barrel aging, getting

product to market quickly. Several big reds are now in the pipeline; Samant and Damskey are optimistic ahout the Cabernet Sauvignon, Shiraz (the vines came from Australia) and Zinfandel. The Zinfandel cuttings trace back to an old-vine block in Napa, and Sula is now propagating vines for sale to other Indian wineries. Pinot noir and Chardonnay plantings haven't worked out as well; Damskey thinks that the Chardonnay in particular may have trouble handling monsoon season.

Figuring out how to grow grapes in the tropics was probably easier than navigating Indian wine law. "The laws in Tndia were stacked against putting up any kind of winery, brewery, distillery," Samant says. "It was all classed the same, and it was almost impossible to get a new license. It took me almost two years."

The widespread anti-alcohol sentiment—India has several dry states—stems not from Hinduism, he says, which has nothing much to say on the subject, but from the Gandhian philosophy of simplicity

Samant eventually found a cohort of younger state bureaucrats, some of them with a taste for wine, who decided that something interesting was going on in their backyard. He sat down with senior officials from the agriculture, industry and tourism ministries and formulated a new wine policy for the state—friendly to wineries and wine bars, and including a drop in excise taxes from about $2 a bottle to fifty cents. "It made a night-and-day difference," Samant says. Two years later, with wine sales soaring, the cash-strapped state was gaining just as much revenue.

After the legalities, there was still a market to create. Samant notes there is no indigenous, grassroots wine culture in India. Wine consumption "is definitely the domain of affluent, sophisticated, Western-oriented people who travel, have been to Europe or the UK or the States, and picked it up there. Right now it's a minuscule market, less than 1% of the population." But in a country with a billion people, that tiny segment still means a target market of 10 million. And here's where globalization kicks in: "We're adding a million of those people every year," he notes cheerily, "so there's not a problem as far as market growth is concerned.''

Sula's focus is the development of that exploding domestic market. Export is a sideline, mostly useful for gaining a stamp of approval: if they drink this in California, it must be the real deal. Domestic sales also bring a better return to the winery. Samant has run splashy promotions in a number of cities in India, tied in with fashion shows, movies and high-tech sponsors, making himself into something of a celebrity.

Back in Nashik, new wineries are springing up, though not all with the quality focus Sula has. "Some of the smaller guys," Samant says, "are just putting up a tank in their barn, crushing what they're growing already, and calling it a winery." He predicts that when India's stiff duties on foreign wine are reduced—not far off—these producers could get "wiped out."

Sula is up to 40,000 cases a year, with construction underway to expand capacity. Samant says they're selling wine as fast as they can make it. `'We're looking at a magic market. We don't know what India's going to do, but it's going to be big."