Pak Off! How a Glorious Dessert Got Caught in a Half-Baked Nationalist Meltdown

Peerzada Masarat Shah

In today’s India, nothing is too sacred for a name change—not even a 100-year-old dessert. We’ve renamed streets, railway stations, textbooks, and now, apparently, we’re down to renaming sweets. Because obviously, that’s how we win geopolitical battles: one dessert at a time.
Enter the innocent, golden cube of joy known as Mysore Pak—a sweet so soft, it practically dissolves on your tongue. But recently, it has been melting for all the wrong reasons. Its crime? Bearing the syllable “Pak,” which, in this hyper-paranoid climate, is now apparently shorthand for “Pakistan.”
Yes, some sweet shops in Jaipur have taken it upon themselves to launch their own version of cross-border retaliation—by renaming Mysore Pak to Mysore Shree. You read that right. Because when dealing with the aftermath of a terror attack like the one in Pahalgam on April 22, the logical next step is to… bully desserts?
This sugary nationalism didn’t come from the Ministry of External Affairs or even a fringe outfit shouting slogans at a rally. No, this genius rebranding came from confectioners who suddenly woke up with a burning desire to defend national honor from a sweet that predates Partition.
To be fair, the word Pak does sound suspiciously like, well, Pak. But here’s a little spoiler for the overzealous patriots: in Kannada, the language of Mysore, Paaka refers to a sugary syrup—something that’s boiled and reduced to its delicious essence. Unlike current political discourse, which mostly just boils.
But don’t take our word for it. Ask S Nataraj, the great-grandson of Kakasura Madappa, the legendary royal chef who invented Mysore Paky during the reign of King Krishnaraja Wadiyar IV. “It’s called Mysore Pak and it will remain Mysore Pak,” Nataraj said, visibly baffled that he even had to defend a sweet from geopolitical misinterpretation.
The backstory is as royal as it is relatable. Madappa, while cooking in the palace sometime in the early 20th century, reportedly forgot to make dessert for the king (we’ve all had workdays like that). In a last-minute panic, he mixed gram flour, ghee, and sugar, cooked it down into a rich syrupy mix, and presented it with zero branding strategy. When asked for the name, he simply said, “Mysore Pak.”
And that was that—until someone in 2025 decided “Pak” equals “Pakistan,” and voila! A new front opened in the dessert wars.
But the Madappa family isn’t giving up that easily. Their famous Guru Sweets shop in Mysuru still churns out Mysore Pak the way it was meant to be—rich, traditional, and gloriously apolitical. Located on the route of the grand Dasara procession, the shop has been a spiritual spot for sugar lovers across generations. Renaming it, they argue, is nothing short of historical erasure.
And let’s not forget, this isn’t Mysore Pak’s first identity crisis. A few years ago, a false rumor spread on social media claiming Tamil Nadu was filing for a GI (Geographical Indication) tag for it. The Madappa family went into emergency mode and filed for the GI tag themselves. Because if politics is going to mess with sweets, the least one can do is get legal.
Sumegh S, another descendant, summed it up nicely: “Mysore Pak is not just a dessert. It’s a heritage, a symbol of Mysore’s cultural richness and Karnataka’s warmth. The name isn’t negotiable.” Especially not in exchange for misplaced chest-thumping.
But here we are in 2025, where an innocent dessert has become a proxy in the never-ending war of symbolism over substance. A time when attention is deflected from real problems—rising unemployment, extreme weather, failing infrastructure—toward the spelling of snacks.
The irony? While the world increasingly celebrates India’s culinary heritage—from masala dosas to butter chicken—some people here are busy sanitizing menus to align with ideological correctness. We’re essentially telling the world: “Come taste our centuries-old recipes—just don’t ask what they’re called.”
Look, no one is asking people to like Pakistan. But when we start equating a Kannada word for syrup with an enemy nation, maybe it’s time for a reality check. If your patriotism can be triggered by a sweetmeat, you might need to focus less on desserts and more on digestion—of facts.
Let’s be honest: Mysore Pak is not a secret agent from across the border. It is not plotting against the nation. It doesn’t hold dual citizenship. It was born in a royal Mysore kitchen, not a Rawalpindi lab. It has done nothing wrong except be delicious.
As for Shakespeare, he once asked, “What’s in a name?” Well, in today’s India, the answer is: potential controversy, Twitter wars, and maybe a boycott.
In conclusion, let’s keep our sweets sweet and our politics serious. Let Mysore Pak stay Mysore Pak. Because if we can’t tell the difference between a terrorist state and a block of ghee-soaked goodness, the problem isn’t in our recipes—it’s in our reasoning.
And if renaming Mysore Pak makes you feel safer, may we suggest you also stop drinking filter coffee—because “filter” sounds suspiciously like infiltration.

(The views are of the author and not that of the Straight Talk Communications.)