As political unease brews between India and Pakistan, a different kind of dispute is stirring online—one centered not around borders, but buffet tables. Social media platforms have become battlegrounds for a new identity debate: how many restaurants claiming to be “Indian” abroad are actually owned and operated by Pakistanis representing themselves under an Indian label?
The controversy gained momentum after demonstrations erupted in Hyderabad against the iconic Karachi Bakery. Despite bearing the name of Pakistan’s bustling port city, the bakery is rooted firmly in Indian soil. Its owner, Rajesh Ramnani, issued a clarification through a PTI report, explaining that the bakery was established in 1953 by his grandfather, Khanchand Ramnani—a Sindhi Hindu who migrated from Karachi during the traumatic Partition of 1947.
This episode reignited a broader digital conversation. One particularly viral post raised a pointed question: “How many restaurants in the UK branding themselves as Indian are actually run by Pakistanis pretending to be Indian? And why does this happen?” This sentiment touched a nerve, prompting thousands to weigh in on the authenticity—or lack thereof—of diaspora dining.
Some netizens expressed frustration about the murky ownership of these eateries. “Hold on...that actually adds up,” commented one user. “But how do we verify which restaurants are truly Indian?” Another suggested a radical idea: “All Indian restaurants abroad should be mandated to showcase an NRI or OCI certificate from the Indian embassy as proof of identity.”
A clip circulating from a popular podcast added fuel to the fire. A speaker claimed that many Pakistanis in cities like London misrepresent themselves as Indian to avoid stigma. Another contributor in the same podcast alleged that nearly every Pakistani restaurant outside South Asia presents itself as Indian to attract a wider customer base. This claim sparked waves of agreement from members of the Indian diaspora and international travelers, who began recounting their own observations.
One Indian user in the U.S. remarked, “We discovered a few restaurants here posing as Indian but run by Pakistanis.” Another user recounted visiting a restaurant in Tokyo: “The place had an Indian map—but it left out PoK. That’s when I realized it was Pakistani-run. I left without eating—not out of hatred, but because I don’t support deception.”
Currently, there’s no global database that tracks the nationality or ethnic ownership of restaurants overseas.
In a reflective essay for Bittman, writer Maryam Jillani noted that Pakistani-owned restaurants abroad frequently adopt “Indian” branding to appeal to broader audiences. As a result, menus are often packed with Indian classics like butter chicken and chana masala, while distinctly Pakistani flavors—such as haleem, kabuli pulao, or Lahori fish—remain noticeably absent.
The controversy gained momentum after demonstrations erupted in Hyderabad against the iconic Karachi Bakery. Despite bearing the name of Pakistan’s bustling port city, the bakery is rooted firmly in Indian soil. Its owner, Rajesh Ramnani, issued a clarification through a PTI report, explaining that the bakery was established in 1953 by his grandfather, Khanchand Ramnani—a Sindhi Hindu who migrated from Karachi during the traumatic Partition of 1947.
This episode reignited a broader digital conversation. One particularly viral post raised a pointed question: “How many restaurants in the UK branding themselves as Indian are actually run by Pakistanis pretending to be Indian? And why does this happen?” This sentiment touched a nerve, prompting thousands to weigh in on the authenticity—or lack thereof—of diaspora dining.
Some netizens expressed frustration about the murky ownership of these eateries. “Hold on...that actually adds up,” commented one user. “But how do we verify which restaurants are truly Indian?” Another suggested a radical idea: “All Indian restaurants abroad should be mandated to showcase an NRI or OCI certificate from the Indian embassy as proof of identity.”
A clip circulating from a popular podcast added fuel to the fire. A speaker claimed that many Pakistanis in cities like London misrepresent themselves as Indian to avoid stigma. Another contributor in the same podcast alleged that nearly every Pakistani restaurant outside South Asia presents itself as Indian to attract a wider customer base. This claim sparked waves of agreement from members of the Indian diaspora and international travelers, who began recounting their own observations.
One Indian user in the U.S. remarked, “We discovered a few restaurants here posing as Indian but run by Pakistanis.” Another user recounted visiting a restaurant in Tokyo: “The place had an Indian map—but it left out PoK. That’s when I realized it was Pakistani-run. I left without eating—not out of hatred, but because I don’t support deception.”
Currently, there’s no global database that tracks the nationality or ethnic ownership of restaurants overseas.
In a reflective essay for Bittman, writer Maryam Jillani noted that Pakistani-owned restaurants abroad frequently adopt “Indian” branding to appeal to broader audiences. As a result, menus are often packed with Indian classics like butter chicken and chana masala, while distinctly Pakistani flavors—such as haleem, kabuli pulao, or Lahori fish—remain noticeably absent.
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