A strange headline popped up recently: A Bihari bank manager in Kerala bans beef in the canteen. On the surface, it may look like a mere administrative decision. But scratch a little deeper, and it becomes a commentary on how cultural imposition works in India.
In Kerala, beef curry is not some rare delicacy—it is a staple on the dining table, as natural as sambar or appam. To ban it in a staff canteen is to tell an entire community that their way of life is somehow lesser, impure, or unacceptable. It’s not about food alone, it’s about identity and belonging.
Now, let’s flip the situation for a moment. Imagine a Keralite bank manager posted in Bihar who introduces beef curry in the bank’s canteen. What happens then?
• Immediate outrage from employees.
• Religious and political groups staging protests.
• Media debates about “hurting sentiments.”
• Pressure on the bank to act, most likely leading to the manager’s transfer.
So here’s the paradox: when a North Indian bans beef in Kerala, it is brushed off as “discipline” or “sensitivity.” But if a South Indian introduces beef in Bihar, it would be seen as “provocation” and “insult.” The same act, different geography—different consequences.
This tells us something uncomfortable: food in India is not just about taste or nutrition. It is about power. Whoever controls the menu often controls the narrative. What you eat becomes a marker of whether you belong or don’t belong.
In truth, India’s strength lies in its diversity. But when we start weaponizing food—when dal becomes “pure” and beef becomes “sinful”—we are no longer talking about food. We are talking about domination.
Perhaps the real question we should ask is not “Can beef be banned or introduced?” but “Why is our tolerance so selective?”
Until then, whether in Kerala or Bihar, the politics of the plate will continue to reveal who is really in charge.