It began, as so many online firestorms do, with a short video clip and a plate of food. The clip showed a long buffet table at Bharat Mandapam in New Delhi, neatly arranged with what looked like a simple, wholesome vegetarian breakfast: bowls of poha, some breads, chutneys, and a few modest preparations. It was the kind of spread you might see at a government office event or a family function—nothing extravagant, nothing fussy. But because the 18th BRICS Summit was underway, and because world leaders were gathered in the Indian capital, the video quickly took on a life of its own. Social media users began to share it with dramatic captions, claiming that India had served its distinguished guests from Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa, and other nations a basic plate of poha for breakfast. The implication, depending on who was posting, was either a proud assertion of Indian simplicity or a dismissive jab at the country’s hospitality. Within hours, the video had been viewed thousands of times, embedded in heated debates about Indian cuisine, diplomatic protocol, and national pride. Yet, as with many viral moments, the truth was far less sensational—and far more interesting—than the initial reaction suggested.
The confusion did not last long. India’s Ministry of External Affairs, through its official fact-checking handle, stepped in with a crisp and unambiguous clarification. No breakfast, the ministry said, had been served to world leaders at the summit venue. The visual in question was not from a leaders’ dining hall but from the International Media Centre at Bharat Mandapam, the sprawling facility set up to accommodate the hundreds of national and international journalists covering the summit. In other words, the poha spread was not meant for presidents and prime ministers; it was meant for the men and women armed with cameras, notebooks, and microphones who were there to document every handshake and communiqué. The MEA’s fact-check was accompanied by a now-familiar social media warning: “Fake News!” The clarification also noted that similar arrangements had been made for the media during the G20 Summit in 2023, suggesting that this was not an unusual or ad hoc decision, but part of a consistent approach to feeding the press corps at major international events. The tone was polite but firm, the kind of correction that seeks to stop misinformation in its tracks before it can spiral further. And yet, as is often the case, the clarification did not fully extinguish the chatter. The controversy had already taken root, and for every person willing to accept the correction, there was another who preferred the more dramatic version of events.
So what exactly was on that media buffet? According to reports, the spread was curated by ITC Hotels, a name synonymous with upscale Indian hospitality, and it was deliberately designed with a strong vegetarian and millet-focused emphasis. This was no careless assortment of leftovers. The menu included assorted Indian breads and subz motia pulao, a fragrant rice dish studded with vegetables and floral notes. There was penne al pomodoro e panna for those craving Italian comfort, and vegetable hakka noodles for a touch of Indo-Chinese flair. The global influences continued with Kung Pao vegetables and baked vegetable au gratin, while the millet theme was reflected in a salad of pearl millet, haricot beans, and charred pepper tossed in a citrus-parsley dressing. Hearty Indian classics like makai lehsuni palak, rajma rasela, dal panchmel, and paneer lababdar rounded out the selection, ensuring that no one—whether from Delhi, Beijing, or Brasília—would leave the media centre hungry. The dishes were vegetarian, but they were far from plain. They showcased the remarkable diversity of Indian food: the comforting familiarity of dal, the earthy richness of millet, the tang of citrus, the warmth of spices, and the subtle sweetness of caramelized vegetables. A later video by The Hindu confirmed what the MEA had already stated: this spread was intended for the press, not for the dignitaries. Still, the visual power of a simple breakfast dish like poha proved hard to shake. Poha, after all, is beloved across India—light, easy to digest, and steeped in nostalgia for many. But it was never the meal served to the BRICS leaders.
The actual menus prepared for the delegates were a different story altogether, one filled with culinary extravagance and deeply personal touches. At The LaLiT New Delhi, which hosted delegations from South Africa, Burundi, and the United Arab Emirates, the hotel’s culinary team crafted a menu that married Indian regional flavours with international sophistication. There were galouti kebabs—those impossibly tender, melt-in-the-mouth patties that are a hallmark of Awadhi cuisine—served alongside tandoor breads. There were millet dishes, a nod to India’s push to promote ancient grains, but also braised eggplant with miso paste and kidney beans in a Japanese-style amber sauce, a quiet acknowledgment of the global palate. At the Taj Mahal Hotel, the approach was even more evocative. The hotel presented a menu called “Tradition to Table,” with recipes said to be inspired by the chefs’ own mothers. This was not merely a meal; it was a personal story told through food. The menu featured nalli nihari, a slow-cooked mutton stew that is a beloved breakfast in Old Delhi, served with khamiri roti, a soft, leavened bread. There was gucchi pulao, fragrant with morel mushrooms, and Delhi-6 chicken korma, a rich and aromatic curry named after the historic heart of the capital. For those seeking something from the sea, there was steamed Chilean sea bass in banana leaf, a dish that balanced delicate fish with the earthy aroma of grilled leaves. Lamb chops with black pepper and chilli added a final, robust note. These were not the dishes of a rushed buffet but the creations of chefs who had clearly been given the time, resources, and encouragement to impress. The contrast between the media’s vegetarian spread and the delegates’ elaborate meals was stark, but it was also entirely logical. World leaders and their entourages were staying at luxury hotels, where they could enjoy private, carefully curated dining experiences. The journalists, working long hours in a press centre, were given wholesome, efficient, and culturally resonant food that could be served quickly and enjoyed standing up. Neither was a slight; they were simply different contexts.
Social media, of course, did not wait for nuance. Reactions to the viral video ranged from genuine appreciation to sharp criticism, and everything in between. Some users praised the vegetarian spread, arguing that it showcased the versatility of Indian vegetarian food, which is so often reduced in global discourse to “raw veggies and fruits.” They pointed out that a meal of poha, millet salads, paneer, and dal was hardly a poor offering, and that India’s culinary traditions deserve respect rather than ridicule. Others, however, were less impressed. They called the media menu carb-heavy, noting that a buffet full of breads, rice, noodles, and potatoes might leave journalists feeling sluggish rather than energized. Some suggested that local caterers could have prepared something far better, with more regional specialties and fewer attempts at generic international dishes. A separate thread of commentary focused on the non-vegetarian dishes that had reportedly been served to the delegates. Users who had initially been angered by the idea of leaders being served poha were now pointing to nalli nihari and galouti kebabs as evidence that India could, indeed, host its guests with opulence—so why, they asked, was the media given a simpler fare? The answer, as the MEA had already explained, was simply that the viral video did not show the delegates’ meal at all. In the midst of all this, one user attempted to use the controversy as a springboard for a broader political argument, raising questions about India’s child malnutrition figures and citing statistics about stunting, wasting, and anaemia. Those numbers were not independently verified within the discussion and appeared to be drawn from social media rather than official sources. They were, in effect, another layer of unconfirmed claims wrapped around an already confused story.
When the dust settled, the facts were clear: the claim that BRICS world leaders were served poha at the summit venue was false. The food in the viral video was meant for the media, while the delegates were hosted at luxury hotels with menus that were elaborate, personal, and reflective of India’s rich culinary heritage. But the episode was about more than just a misunderstanding. It was a reminder of how quickly a single image can shape a narrative, especially in the age of social media, where context is often stripped away and emotion fills the gaps. For a few hours, a humble plate of poha became a symbol—of hospitality, of frugality, of pride, or of inadequacy, depending on who was looking at it. The reality, as always, was more mundane and more interesting. The media were fed well, the leaders were fed even better, and the only true casualty was the truth, which had to be rescued by a fact-check post. Perhaps the greatest takeaway is not about food at all, but about the importance of pausing before sharing a viral claim. The next time a video appears to show something extraordinary, it is worth asking: Who is in the frame? Who is not? And what story might be missing from the picture? In this case, the missing story was a rich one—of millet salads and galouti kebabs, of chefs drawing on their mothers’ recipes, of journalists and diplomats eating in separate spaces, and of an Indian kitchen capable of feeding the world in countless ways, from the simplest poha to the most elaborate nihari. Both have their place. Neither deserves to be turned into a lie.