Peerzada Masarat Shah
India’s blistering summers call for one thing: a chilled glass of sharbat. But trust Baba Ramdev, the self-proclaimed “swadeshi” businessman, to turn a refreshing drink into a national controversy. This time, it’s not about yoga or questionable herbal remedies—it’s about rose syrup. With one phrase—“sharbat jihad”—Ramdev has transformed a summer staple into a supposed ideological weapon.
Let’s break it down. In a country grappling with inflation, unemployment, and climate crises, Ramdev decided to target… Rooh Afza. Because nothing screams “national threat” like a century-old syrup cherished by millions across communities.
The Controversy: “Sharbat Jihad” Takes Center Stage
While promoting his Patanjali Gulab Sharbat, Ramdev took aim at rival brands, insinuating that certain sharbats fund “mosques and madrasas.” Without directly naming Rooh Afza, he dropped the term “sharbat jihad,” a loaded phrase that sparked immediate backlash. The implication was clear: buying Rooh Afza, produced by the Muslim-founded Hamdard company, could somehow support religious extremism.
Peerzada Masarat Shah
When the outrage erupted, Ramdev played innocent. “I didn’t name anyone,” he said in a video statement. “If Rooh Afza feels targeted, maybe they’re admitting to something.” It’s vintage Ramdev: make a vague accusation, then blame the offended for overreacting. The strategy is as old as it is divisive.
FIR Filed: Congress Strikes Back
Congress leader Digvijaya Singh didn’t stay silent. On April 14, 2025, he filed a complaint in Bhopal, demanding an FIR against Ramdev under the Bharatiya Nyay Sanhita and IT Act for inciting communal tensions. Singh accused Ramdev of targeting Rooh Afza to boost Patanjali sales by portraying a Muslim-owned brand as unpatriotic. “Everyone knows he meant Hamdard,” Singh told reporters. “This isn’t business—it’s bigotry.”
Ramdev’s Track Record: From Coronil to Sharbat
This isn’t Ramdev’s first brush with controversy. Often mistaken for a Hindu ideologue, he’s a businessman who thrives on spectacle. During the COVID-19 crisis, he falsely marketed Patanjali’s Coronil as a cure, misleading desperate Indians. The Indian Medical Association condemned him, and the government issued warnings, but Ramdev doubled down. His credibility took a hit, and many Indians now view him as a profiteer, not a patriot.
Today, Ramdev’s accusations against Rooh Afza are met with skepticism. The public’s patience is wearing thin for a man who seems to turn every product launch into a polarizing stunt.
Rooh Afza: The Unwilling Target
Rooh Afza, a beloved brand since 1907, didn’t sign up for this. It’s a fixture at iftar tables, summer gatherings, and kitchen shelves, enjoyed by Hindus, Muslims, and everyone in between. Yet Ramdev’s campaign has cast it as a symbol of division. Hamdard, which supports charitable hospitals and schools, has stayed quiet, but the public hasn’t. Many Indians are rallying behind Rooh Afza, refusing to let a drink be politicized.
The Bigger Issue: Consumer Choices as Battlegrounds
Ramdev’s antics underscore a troubling trend: everyday products are becoming political lightning rods. If a sharbat can be labeled a “jihad,” what’s next? Lassi liberalism? Biryani betrayal? The logic is absurd—if a company’s profits fund charity, does that make customers complicit in its causes? By this reasoning, buying Patanjali could be seen as endorsing Ramdev’s controversial empire. The absurdity cuts both ways.
India has entered an era where consumer choices are no longer just personal—they’re political statements. Your sharbat now carries more baggage than your voter ID.
Conclusion: Sip Without the Hate
Baba Ramdev wanted attention, and he got it. But he’s also reminded India why he’s increasingly dismissed. From peddling fake COVID cures to turning sharbat into a communal issue, he’s a businessman who thrives on controversy, not a champion of any ideology. Indians just want a cold drink without a side of division.
So, pour your Rooh Afza, try Ramdev’s syrup if you’re curious, or stick to nimbu pani. Just don’t let a glass of sharbat define your patriotism. In the end, the real casualty here is common sense. Let’s drink to that—and leave the drama behind.
