What Would Your Dadi Say About Health Warnings On Your Jalebi And Samosa? How Food Labels May Change The Way India Eats

 

 

You walk into the AIIMS Nagpur canteen after a long morning lecture, dreaming of a crisp samosa and a syrupy jalebi. But right there, above the snack counter, is a big yellow warning board. It has a jalebi on it — coiled, shiny, tempting — but with a red triangle next to it: “High in Sugar. Regular Consumption May Lead to Diabetes and Heart Disease.”

 

 

In a first-of-its-kind move, the Indian Health Ministry has decided to roll out visual health warnings on traditional Indian snacks, beginning with AIIMS Nagpur. Yes, the samosa will now have a health warning label, much like the kind you see on cigarette packs. The same goes for vada pav, chai biscuits, pakoras, and of course, the humble jalebi. This is not a ban. Your favourite snacks aren’t being snatched away. But every time you pick one, the government wants you to think twice. They want you to remember that India’s growing health crisis (the skyrocketing cases of obesity, type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, and cardiovascular disease) is quite literally, on your plate.

 

Samosas By 2050, India could have 440 million people who are overweight or obese, according to latest projections in The Lancet. That’s more than the entire population of the United States. So, naturally, the government has decided it’s time to act. The campaign will soon expand to other cities and campuses, making cafeterias and food courts across India battlegrounds for the war on lifestyle diseases.

 

Now imagine breaking the news to your dadi. “Dadi, did you know they’re putting warning labels on jalebis?” She stops stirring the ghee in the pan, looks at you like you’ve just insulted the entire family tree. “Jalebi? Dangerous? Since when?” she asks. “We’ve been eating sweets for generations. Did I ever have diabetes? Your nana lived till 84!” This, right here, is where the real battle begins — the battle between modern public health and cultural nostalgia. For decades, traditional Indian food has been a source of pride, comfort, and celebration. Every major life event (a wedding, a baby’s first steps, a festival, or even a job promotion) has been marked with sweets. Ghee, sugar, oil were signs of prosperity. If someone made “thin” kheer, we called it gareebon wali kheer. So now, when the government decides to tag a jalebi as hazardous, it isn’t just about public health; it's poking at an entire generation’s identity. The generation that saw food as medicine (garam doodh for colds), joy (gajar ka halwa on New Year’s), and even status (mithai boxes in gold foil). For them, a warning sign next to their favourite snack feels like a slap on their sanskar.

 

 

But here’s the thing Dadi may not understand: our generation lives differently. We sit in front of laptops for 9 to 12 hours a day. We Uber instead of walking. Our average steps per day barely cross 3,000 (ask your fitness app). We sleep less, stress more, and binge-watch with chips and chai at midnight. And while Dadi burned off her halwa calories by sweeping courtyards and grinding masalas by hand, we don't burn ours.

 

 

So yes, even though Dadi’s ladoos came from love, not a factory, and her jalebis were homemade and seasonal, our lifestyles no longer support daily indulgences. That’s where the warning comes in. It’s not saying “don’t eat” — it’s saying “don’t forget the consequences.” It’s also a nudge toward accountability. You are what you eat. If you eat like you did in 1990, but move like it’s 2025, you’ll end up in a hospital by 2030.

 

 

Will people stop eating samosas because of a poster? Probably not immediately. But that’s not the point. Just like cigarette warnings didn’t make every smoker quit overnight, food warnings aren’t about instant results. They’re about awareness. A trigger for a conversation. A child asking, “Mummy, why does this biscuit have a red sticker?” In countries like Chile and Mexico, similar “black box” labels led to significant declines in the consumption of sugary drinks and junk food within just a few years. Chile even saw a drop in childhood obesity. Imagine what could happen if every school canteen, railway station, and office pantry in India began showing these labels. Imagine if it nudged one teenager to skip the fizzy drink, or one family to eat pakoras just on weekends instead of every day. The key isn’t to villainize samosas or jalebis — the key is moderation. Enjoy them as a treat, not a staple. Make them at home, not every day. Let sweets remain a celebration, not a habit. We also need to rethink how we love someone. Do we show affection with food that slowly damages health, or with food that sustains it? Maybe “Eat this, beta, I made it with love” can become “Eat this, beta, I made it with millets and jaggery!” The next time you reach for that vada pav and see a red label, don’t panic. Just pause. Ask yourself: Is this a once-in-a-while thing, or a daily diet? Call your granny and tell her, “Dadi, your mithai is still the best, but today I’ll have just one piece instead of five.”