What People Drink in Pakistan: 6 Traditional Alcoholic Beverages

Alcohol in Pakistan survives in parallel worlds: restricted by law for most citizens yet present through minority traditions, licensed outlets, and rural craft. Geography dictates what people make and drink, from coastal palms to Himalayan orchards.

Date palms in Sindh yield toddy and arrack; the Indus plains feed sugarcane spirits; and high valleys in Chitral and Gilgit–Baltistan produce fruit wines and brandies tied to seasonal festivals. A colonial-era brewery still supplies beer to hotels and permit holders.

Taari (also called tari) is the naturally fermented sap of the date palm, a tree that thrives in Sindh’s heat and saline soils near the Indus delta. Tappers climb before dawn, nick the inflorescence, and collect overnight sap in clay or plastic pots. Fresh taari is milky, lightly sweet, and only faintly alcoholic (often under 2% ABV). Within hours in the Sindhi sun it turns spritzy and sour, commonly reaching 3–6% ABV as wild yeasts work. The flavor shifts from coconut water sweetness to lactic tang, with a faint palm aroma. Toddy houses around Thatta and Badin serve it at first light; regulars favor the “morning draw” before heat accelerates fermentation. Communities that traditionally tap palms—particularly non-Muslim Sindhis—drink it seasonally when sap runs strongest. Beyond quenching thirst, taari is a base for vinegar and, when distillers get involved, feedstock for stronger spirits. Because it ferments quickly and spoils by midday, taari remains a hyper-local, dawn-to-noon beverage connected to the coastal climate and palm ecology.

Arrack in Pakistan—especially in Sindh—refers to a clear distilled spirit traditionally made by boiling fermented date-palm toddy, though modern producers often use molasses wash from sugar mills. Copper or stainless pot stills condense a spirit typically around 30–40% ABV. The profile ranges from slightly estery and nutty (when palm-derived) to more neutral, cane-like notes when made from molasses; careful cuts keep harsher fusel oils in check. Historically, legal arrack was sold through licensed shops in cities like Karachi and Hyderabad, catering to non-Muslim permit holders and travelers staying in hotels with bar permissions. Drinkers mix it with soda, citrus, or spiced tonics; in rural settings, it may be sipped neat in small glasses alongside fried snacks. Arrack reflects Sindh’s agricultural mix—date groves near the coast and sugarcane inland—and a regulatory environment that oscillates between prohibition and control. While artisanal batches still come from palm regions, much of today’s Sindhi arrack owes its consistency to standardized molasses fermentation, a by-product of the province’s sugar economy.

Tharra—also called cholai in parts of Pakistan—is a catch-all for illicit, quickly distilled spirits made from jaggery (gur) or straight molasses diluted with water and pitched with baker’s yeast. Fermented in plastic drums and run through improvised pot stills, it can reach 30–50% ABV, though quality varies wildly. At its best, tharra smells of caramel and overripe fruit; at its worst, it carries solventy heat, metal taints from makeshift condensers, and dangerous levels of methanol from poor cuts. The drink survives in the sugarcane belts of interior Sindh and rural Punjab, where raw materials are cheap and enforcement uneven. It shows up at village celebrations, roadside truck stops, and harvest gatherings, typically consumed neat from steel cups. For all its notoriety, tharra is an agricultural expression: seasonal cane crush yields surplus molasses and jaggery, encouraging home distilling. Safer versions mimic light rum when diluted and rested; many drinkers temper the burn with salt, lemon, or spiced chickpeas. Travelers should approach with caution and prioritize licensed venues, as quality control is the difference between a rustic spirit and a health hazard.

In the remote Kalash valleys near Chitral, winemaking persists as part of an animist-tinged tradition distinct from mainstream Pakistan. Families cultivate hardy grape varieties at elevations around 1,500–2,000 meters, where dry, sunny summers encourage ripening. Grapes may be sun-wilted to concentrate sugar, then crushed and fermented in earthenware or food-grade plastic, yielding a rustic wine roughly 9–13% ABV. The taste ranges from semi-sweet to dry, often with raisined fruit, mulberry-like tones, and a faint herbal edge from stems and local yeast. Wine accompanies major Kalash festivals—Joshi in spring, Uchal at harvest, and Chaumos at the winter solstice—poured from jugs into shared cups during songs and circle dances. While grapes dominate, households sometimes blend small amounts of other mountain fruit. Availability is highly local: you’re most likely to encounter it around village guesthouses during festivities, where it represents hospitality and cultural continuity. The winemaking cycle follows the highland climate—harvest before early frosts, cellar through cold months—and illustrates how geography and belief sustain a beverage few associate with Pakistan.

Hunza’s orchards produce abundant apricots, and with them a tradition of fermenting and distilling stone fruit into a clear brandy locals colloquially call arak. Ripe apricots are crushed—with or without pits—fermented on natural or baker’s yeast, then double-distilled in copper pot stills. The result, typically 35–45% ABV, captures vivid aromas of dried apricot, almond and marzipan (especially when kernels are included), and a peppery mountain freshness. Families around Karimabad and the wider Hunza–Nagar area may age arak briefly in glass demijohns to soften it; others drink it unaged, chilled by mountain nights. It appears at family gatherings and select community celebrations, especially in winter when a warming sip offsets subzero temperatures. Some households also make a lighter apricot wine for summer meals. Fruit spirits are a practical response to short growing seasons: distilling preserves a perishable crop and concentrates flavor. Visitors with local hosts may be offered a small glass alongside dried fruit and nuts; in town centers like Gilgit, versions occasionally reach private clubs and licensed venues that cater to permit holders.

Pakistan’s best-known legal alcohol is beer from Murree Brewery, founded in 1860 in the Himalayan foothills and now based in Rawalpindi. The flagship is a pale lager in the 4–6% ABV range, brewed with malted barley, adjunct grains, and continental hops for a crisp, lightly bitter profile with notes of grain, cracker, and faint floral spice. Seasonal or stronger variants can reach up to 8% ABV. While not indigenous in the way palm or fruit drinks are, Murree Beer is entrenched in the country’s drinking landscape: it supplies diplomatic clubs, a handful of hotel bars in cities such as Karachi, and licensed shops serving non-Muslim customers with permits. The brewery’s survival reflects both demand and regulation—operating within strict controls while maintaining quality consistent with international lagers. Cold beer suits Pakistan’s hot summers and pairs easily with grilled meats and spicy snacks. For travelers, it is the most accessible taste of Pakistani alcohol, a living relic of the Raj adapted to contemporary legal and cultural realities.