Rakesh Goyal, a businessman in East Delhi, can’t bear to look at chhole-bhature any longer. It was his favourite food, the Sunday lunch he looked forward to, but one day his taste changed. “I don’t want to glance at chhole-bhature now,” says Goyal, 67. “Nor poori-bhaji nor dal baati.” What happened? He was two months into Mounjaro and his dosage was increased from 2.5 mg to 5 mg when his taste buds took an about-turn. (All the patients’ names in this story have been changed, on request.) There is a reason Goyal felt that way. Mounjaro is part of the new diabetes and obesity drugs that belong broadly to a class called GLP-1 agonists. They mimic the hormone GLP-1 aka glucagon-like peptide 1. It may be a mouthful but the brands are part of everyday lingo—Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro, Rybelsus. They are multitaskers—they release insulin, and inhibit glucagon that can increase blood sugar. They delay the digestion process, slowing the movement of food in the digestive tract, but increase satiety levels in the brain. So you feel full with a few mouthfuls of rice, a small slice of pizza, one roti.
In some people on these drugs, there is an unprecedented change in taste, like in the case of Goyal.
What happens when food, a basic necessity of life, becomes insignificant? What happens when hunger, a primal feeling, disappears? What happens when enjoying food, one of life’s greatest pleasures, vanishes?
FUNCTIONAL FOOD
The Ozempic tribe shows that when it comes to diabetes and obesity, food is not a fun companion. For them, the new class of drugs can be a life-saver, although they scramble the taste buds of some. Food has become functional, not fun.
The number of people taking these drugs are growing by the day. Eli Lilly’s Mounjaro, which launched in India in late March, racked up ₹100 crore in sales by July, according to PharmaTrac. In June, Novo Nordisk launched Wegovy in the country. As the patent of semaglutide, the active ingredient in Wegovy and Ozempic, expires in many countries in 2026, Indian pharma companies like Dr Reddy’s, Sun Pharma and Cipla are gearing up with generics. Then prices will slump, consumption will swell, hunger will fall further and tastes will transform like never before.
It is an unusual moment in history for food. Civilisations rose around the production of food. Wars were fought over it, colonies were conquered for it. The world revolves around it. From being the centrepiece of life, food is being pushed to the side. At least for some people. The trend is still confined to cities and in classes that can afford the medicine. The starting dose of Mounjaro 2.5 mg, to be taken weekly, costs around ₹3,500.
While Goyal misses his bhatura, he doesn’t regret it. “One needs to choose between health and taste. I choose health.” His breakfast is boiled sprouts and a chapati, his lunch is one and a half chapati with sabzi. His muscle has weakened and he, a vegetarian, is struggling to increase his protein intake. But he is thankful for the upside: after two decades, his diabetes is under control. His weight has come down from 83 kg to 68 kg.
TASTE OF CHANGE
Amit Khanna, a writer in Delhi, remembers the day he first took Rybelsus. “I didn’t feel hungry till 4 pm. Then I started feeling weak and I forced myself to have a sandwich,” he recalls. “It felt good. I was eating carbs without feeling guilty. I had broken the cycle of craving and guilt.”
The 41-year-old has the same meal every day. “I have anda burji with toast for lunch and sauteed vegetables followed by chicken breast for dinner.” The sameness doesn’t bother him. “For obese people, it takes a lot of effort and self-control to diet. Now, there is a medicine that makes you not desire food nor in large quantities.”
He recalls the drastic change. “Initially you are in shock, you go to a restaurant and you can’t eat. I have a few spoonsful of rice and I feel full. Earlier I had to finish all the carbs on the table. My insatiable appetite has been addressed.”
The one big change he noticed in his taste happened when he walked into the Paragon restaurant in Bengaluru and ordered the biryani. “I used to love that biryani so much that I had it thrice at its Kochi outlet, but this time I found it unappetising. Now I don’t feel like having biryani.”
Dr Ambrish Mithal, chairman and head of endocrinology and diabetes at Max Healthcare, Delhi, says, “People who were sort of addicted to sweets or deep-fried food find their taste has changed. It doesn’t happen with everybody. Some cannot tolerate the food they were having earlier and go into other kinds of food. In some others, it takes a negative turn, they feel the joy of life has gone away.” The latter are a minority, adds Mithal, who has written a book called The Weight Loss Revolution.
Dr Jothydev Kesavadev, a diabetologist in Thiruvananthapuram, who has about 100 patients across the country and abroad on the new weight-loss and diabetes drugs, says, “Patients require some counselling on how these drugs will impact them, including their intake of food and even taste. The treating team has to prime them that they will not be able to eat like before.”
Should the packaged food industry and restaurants take note of this change? Should there be a Mounjaro menu of mini portions at restaurants? Priyank Sukhija, chief executive of First Fiddle Restaurants that operates Lord of the Drinks, Tamasha and Diablo, says: “As and when we see demand picking up for weight-loss drugs, we will factor it in our menus with options like smaller portion sizes. Now, it’s too early to predict demandtrends, but it is bound to pick up.”
Not everyone is convinced. Zorawar Kalra, MD of Massive Restaurants, which operates Farzi Cafe, Mamma Killa and Pa Pa Ya, says: “The world over, these drugs have existed for quite some time, and restaurants and bars, the last bastion of hope for human offline social engagement, haven’t felt any pressure. So, we are not shrinking portions or compromising on flavour.”
Executives at packaged foods companies, too, don’t expect an impact in the mass market. “Consumption of such drugs is limited to select urban cohorts now. Even though prices could fall significantly, it could take some time to impact demand. Now, we are not considering reducing portion sizes or using alternative ingredients,” says a senior executive at a global snacking company.
Some people on GLP-1 drugs have discovered that along with an aversion to certain foods, they are also turned off by alcohol. Says Kesavadev: “Many develop an aversion to alcohol or consume less alcohol.” Khanna nods: “Ozempic has killed my desire for alcohol. At parties, I now have nimbu pani.”
OTHER JOYS
The Ozempers, however, are discovering joys other than food. Priyanka Jhakhar, a 26-year-old dancer in Ghaziabad, was saddled with the weight she gained when she was bedridden for a few months after a knee injury a decade ago. “ I went on diet. I exercised. But I could not lose a kilo because of polycystic ovarian disease ( PCOD).” Now, having lost weight on Mounjaro, “I feel lighter on my toes. I dance much better.”
Kesavadev says one way to ensure that people don’t feel deprived from not eating is to make them take up aerobic exercises. “Also, once they lose weight they discover other joys--mobility, sex. Obesity can be associated with low libido, PCOD, infertility. These will go away.”
Says Khanna: “The good effects of weight loss are huge—more mobility, less fatigue, less knee pain. My inflammation has reduced, so have dry eyes.” Has food become less enjoyable? “Maybe but I feel empowered. I have conquered food.”
One of the new pleasures is shedding the obsession about food. Poornima Tamble, 36, can divide her life into before and after Rybelsus. The IT consultant in Navi Mumbai weighed 125 kg and PCOD made it hard for her to lose the kilos. Today, she’s 10 kg lighter, but for her this is also about feeling in control of food. “My relationship with food has changed. I can now say no to food.”
Pre-Rybelsus, she woke up thinking of breakfast. In the evenings, she would order a couple of vada pavs or patties. Now her breakfast is two boiled eggs. The evening snacks are just a memory. “The fixation on food is no longer there. I don’t think it would have happened without the medicine.”
Rashmi Singh, a schoolteacher in Delhi, too, couldn’t get rid of food noise. “I was obsessing over what to eat next,” says the 51-year-old, a diabetic, who was prescribed Mounjaro soon after its launch. “My cravings have stopped. I feel full all the time.”
Aruna Narasimhan, a 69-year-old from Chennai, started on Mounjaro when she went to London last November. Her weight has dropped from 89 to 62. It is easier to walk; the pain in her legs has vanished. Since her blood glucose is normal, Narasimhan has stopped the medicine. She is relieved.
FEAR OF GAINING WEIGHT
SS, a 41-year-old artist in Delhi, does not know what relief means. The problem began when he stopped taking the medicine. He lives in fear of gaining the weight he has lost. “I starve myself. I eat one meal a day.” He feels weak.
He was 120 kg and pre-diabetic when the doctor put him on Ozempic in London. “When I touched 75, the doctor asked me to stop taking it but I continued with it. Now I have stopped the medication yet I can’t bring myself to eat.”
Losing weight has become an addiction, he says. “I weigh two-four times a day. I have water and I weigh myself. I go to the loo and I weigh myself. You get fearful of food. You lose perception of what is healthy and what is not.”
He is 60 kg. He is a 6-footer and his doctor recommends he should be 70-72 kg. “There is no way I will let my body get there. Skinny isn’t enough, you need to be skinnier. It is no longer about health, it is about looks. Before Ozempic, I enjoyed food. I loved desserts. Now I have trained my body to not have cravings. I have ruined my relationship with food. I have an eating disorder and I blame it on Ozempic.”
Once a month, he will visit Haldiram’s, for old food’s sake. “I eat one bhatura and some chana. I make sure it is just one bhatura.”
In some people on these drugs, there is an unprecedented change in taste, like in the case of Goyal.
What happens when food, a basic necessity of life, becomes insignificant? What happens when hunger, a primal feeling, disappears? What happens when enjoying food, one of life’s greatest pleasures, vanishes?
FUNCTIONAL FOOD
The Ozempic tribe shows that when it comes to diabetes and obesity, food is not a fun companion. For them, the new class of drugs can be a life-saver, although they scramble the taste buds of some. Food has become functional, not fun.
The number of people taking these drugs are growing by the day. Eli Lilly’s Mounjaro, which launched in India in late March, racked up ₹100 crore in sales by July, according to PharmaTrac. In June, Novo Nordisk launched Wegovy in the country. As the patent of semaglutide, the active ingredient in Wegovy and Ozempic, expires in many countries in 2026, Indian pharma companies like Dr Reddy’s, Sun Pharma and Cipla are gearing up with generics. Then prices will slump, consumption will swell, hunger will fall further and tastes will transform like never before.
It is an unusual moment in history for food. Civilisations rose around the production of food. Wars were fought over it, colonies were conquered for it. The world revolves around it. From being the centrepiece of life, food is being pushed to the side. At least for some people. The trend is still confined to cities and in classes that can afford the medicine. The starting dose of Mounjaro 2.5 mg, to be taken weekly, costs around ₹3,500.
While Goyal misses his bhatura, he doesn’t regret it. “One needs to choose between health and taste. I choose health.” His breakfast is boiled sprouts and a chapati, his lunch is one and a half chapati with sabzi. His muscle has weakened and he, a vegetarian, is struggling to increase his protein intake. But he is thankful for the upside: after two decades, his diabetes is under control. His weight has come down from 83 kg to 68 kg.
TASTE OF CHANGE
Amit Khanna, a writer in Delhi, remembers the day he first took Rybelsus. “I didn’t feel hungry till 4 pm. Then I started feeling weak and I forced myself to have a sandwich,” he recalls. “It felt good. I was eating carbs without feeling guilty. I had broken the cycle of craving and guilt.”
The 41-year-old has the same meal every day. “I have anda burji with toast for lunch and sauteed vegetables followed by chicken breast for dinner.” The sameness doesn’t bother him. “For obese people, it takes a lot of effort and self-control to diet. Now, there is a medicine that makes you not desire food nor in large quantities.”
He recalls the drastic change. “Initially you are in shock, you go to a restaurant and you can’t eat. I have a few spoonsful of rice and I feel full. Earlier I had to finish all the carbs on the table. My insatiable appetite has been addressed.”
The one big change he noticed in his taste happened when he walked into the Paragon restaurant in Bengaluru and ordered the biryani. “I used to love that biryani so much that I had it thrice at its Kochi outlet, but this time I found it unappetising. Now I don’t feel like having biryani.”
Dr Ambrish Mithal, chairman and head of endocrinology and diabetes at Max Healthcare, Delhi, says, “People who were sort of addicted to sweets or deep-fried food find their taste has changed. It doesn’t happen with everybody. Some cannot tolerate the food they were having earlier and go into other kinds of food. In some others, it takes a negative turn, they feel the joy of life has gone away.” The latter are a minority, adds Mithal, who has written a book called The Weight Loss Revolution.
Dr Jothydev Kesavadev, a diabetologist in Thiruvananthapuram, who has about 100 patients across the country and abroad on the new weight-loss and diabetes drugs, says, “Patients require some counselling on how these drugs will impact them, including their intake of food and even taste. The treating team has to prime them that they will not be able to eat like before.”
Should the packaged food industry and restaurants take note of this change? Should there be a Mounjaro menu of mini portions at restaurants? Priyank Sukhija, chief executive of First Fiddle Restaurants that operates Lord of the Drinks, Tamasha and Diablo, says: “As and when we see demand picking up for weight-loss drugs, we will factor it in our menus with options like smaller portion sizes. Now, it’s too early to predict demandtrends, but it is bound to pick up.”
Not everyone is convinced. Zorawar Kalra, MD of Massive Restaurants, which operates Farzi Cafe, Mamma Killa and Pa Pa Ya, says: “The world over, these drugs have existed for quite some time, and restaurants and bars, the last bastion of hope for human offline social engagement, haven’t felt any pressure. So, we are not shrinking portions or compromising on flavour.”
Executives at packaged foods companies, too, don’t expect an impact in the mass market. “Consumption of such drugs is limited to select urban cohorts now. Even though prices could fall significantly, it could take some time to impact demand. Now, we are not considering reducing portion sizes or using alternative ingredients,” says a senior executive at a global snacking company.
Some people on GLP-1 drugs have discovered that along with an aversion to certain foods, they are also turned off by alcohol. Says Kesavadev: “Many develop an aversion to alcohol or consume less alcohol.” Khanna nods: “Ozempic has killed my desire for alcohol. At parties, I now have nimbu pani.”
OTHER JOYS
The Ozempers, however, are discovering joys other than food. Priyanka Jhakhar, a 26-year-old dancer in Ghaziabad, was saddled with the weight she gained when she was bedridden for a few months after a knee injury a decade ago. “ I went on diet. I exercised. But I could not lose a kilo because of polycystic ovarian disease ( PCOD).” Now, having lost weight on Mounjaro, “I feel lighter on my toes. I dance much better.”
Kesavadev says one way to ensure that people don’t feel deprived from not eating is to make them take up aerobic exercises. “Also, once they lose weight they discover other joys--mobility, sex. Obesity can be associated with low libido, PCOD, infertility. These will go away.”
Says Khanna: “The good effects of weight loss are huge—more mobility, less fatigue, less knee pain. My inflammation has reduced, so have dry eyes.” Has food become less enjoyable? “Maybe but I feel empowered. I have conquered food.”
One of the new pleasures is shedding the obsession about food. Poornima Tamble, 36, can divide her life into before and after Rybelsus. The IT consultant in Navi Mumbai weighed 125 kg and PCOD made it hard for her to lose the kilos. Today, she’s 10 kg lighter, but for her this is also about feeling in control of food. “My relationship with food has changed. I can now say no to food.”
Pre-Rybelsus, she woke up thinking of breakfast. In the evenings, she would order a couple of vada pavs or patties. Now her breakfast is two boiled eggs. The evening snacks are just a memory. “The fixation on food is no longer there. I don’t think it would have happened without the medicine.”
Rashmi Singh, a schoolteacher in Delhi, too, couldn’t get rid of food noise. “I was obsessing over what to eat next,” says the 51-year-old, a diabetic, who was prescribed Mounjaro soon after its launch. “My cravings have stopped. I feel full all the time.”
Aruna Narasimhan, a 69-year-old from Chennai, started on Mounjaro when she went to London last November. Her weight has dropped from 89 to 62. It is easier to walk; the pain in her legs has vanished. Since her blood glucose is normal, Narasimhan has stopped the medicine. She is relieved.
FEAR OF GAINING WEIGHT
SS, a 41-year-old artist in Delhi, does not know what relief means. The problem began when he stopped taking the medicine. He lives in fear of gaining the weight he has lost. “I starve myself. I eat one meal a day.” He feels weak.
He was 120 kg and pre-diabetic when the doctor put him on Ozempic in London. “When I touched 75, the doctor asked me to stop taking it but I continued with it. Now I have stopped the medication yet I can’t bring myself to eat.”
Losing weight has become an addiction, he says. “I weigh two-four times a day. I have water and I weigh myself. I go to the loo and I weigh myself. You get fearful of food. You lose perception of what is healthy and what is not.”
He is 60 kg. He is a 6-footer and his doctor recommends he should be 70-72 kg. “There is no way I will let my body get there. Skinny isn’t enough, you need to be skinnier. It is no longer about health, it is about looks. Before Ozempic, I enjoyed food. I loved desserts. Now I have trained my body to not have cravings. I have ruined my relationship with food. I have an eating disorder and I blame it on Ozempic.”
Once a month, he will visit Haldiram’s, for old food’s sake. “I eat one bhatura and some chana. I make sure it is just one bhatura.”
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