Eating with Honour

HERE’S A SARDARJI from West Delhi who doesn’t just live—he lives full throttle.

He eats with joy, speaks with heart, laughs with his eyes, and reels like it’s a religion. Gurpreet Singh Tikku, aka @MisterTikku, is a man of presence. Big in frame, sure. But even bigger in imagination. Big in appetite—for food, for stories, for life. Big in generosity, grace, empathy. This is a man who doesn’t just step into a place—he brings his own weather. He doesn’t create content, he creates connection.

Tikkuji is not your average influencer. He’s not selling aesthetics. He’s serving truth— spiced, sweetened, salted, and always heartfelt.

Yes, he does collabs. Brands ring his phone. He’s shot for McDonald’s, Barbeque Nation, Pizza Express, KFC—you name it. But here’s the twist: he only does it when it fits. If it doesn’t sit right in his gut, it doesn’t show up in his grid. Conviction is his seasoning, and that’s why when he speaks, people don’t scroll—they stay.

What makes Mister Tikku special isn’t the flair. It’s the feeling. He brings a rare and raw humanity to the screen. Whether he’s sitting cross-legged at a South Indian joint sipping rasam or standing at a Jain thali counter in Old Delhi, you feel like you’re there with him. He’s curious, not performative. Warm, not filtered. He’s not acting—he’s being.

This is a man who can move from a Michelin event to a mom-and-pop kitchen in 30 minutes flat and look equally at home. One day, he’s front row at Godrej’s Trend Awards in Vikhroli, Mumbai.

The next, he’s back in the gullies of Delhi, slurping chaat. He does it all with glee and aplomb, his turban high, his heart wide open.

Watch him with Rashmi Uday Singh—the legendary food critic of the Times of India and founder of the Hospitality Hope Awards—and you’ll see why he belongs there. These awards don’t go to fancy chefs with TV shows. They go to the ones behind the curtain: the aunties and uncles running local dhabas, roadside legends serving `40 meals packed with spice, nutrition, and soul. Rashmi may have started the awards, but Tikkuji’s reels have turned them into a movement. He shines a spotlight on these heroes like he was born to do it. And maybe he was.

In India food is not just sustenance but language, and Tikkuji is one of the most fluent speakers. He speaks of butter chicken and bhaav, of ghee and grace, of masala and meaning. His Instagram isn’t a portfolio—it’s a palate journal, a tribute to India’s foodscape in 15-second bursts. And through it all, the vibe stays honest. Whether it’s dal-chawal at home or a seven-course tasting in South Bombay, Tikkuji shows up with the same respect. Because he knows food is memory. Food is love. Food is India.

He’s not chasing likes. He’s chasing legacy.

The reels might be fast, but Tikkuji’s impact is slow-cooked. It simmers. It sticks. Because when he smiles, you believe it. When he praises, it’s real. There’s no script behind his joy. No filter behind his “wah jee wah.”

From him, I’ve learned this: Whether you’re eating tinda or tandoori, sushi or samosa, do it with honour. Live like every bite matters. Show up with your full self. Keep it simple. Keep it sacred. Keep it smiling.

In an Insta-age of overproduced perfection, Tikkuji offers something rare—realness. The reels are sharp, the edits are crisp, but the soul? It’s untouched. It’s him. Present. Proud. Punjabi. Unapologetically joyful.

So here’s my salute—not just to Mister Tikku, but to every street vendor he honours, every small eatery he amplifies, every unsung hero of our vast foodverse that he gives screen time to.

Because Mister Tikku is not making content. He’s building bridges. He’s repping the real, one reel at a time.

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