The bizarre demand for a Banarasi paan GI

Geographical Indication tag continues to be handed out without examining the scientific basis or the integrity of such claims

OLD TIMERS may recall a popular 1970s film song that a rambunctious Amitabh Bachchan belts out in praise of the Banarasi paan. His mouth oozing with the bright red juice of the chewed paan (betel quid), the hero praises its brain-stimulating qualities as he jives before an admiring audience. The Banarasi paan that the song extols is one of the more popular varieties that paan vendors dispense at most street corners across the country.

For those unfamiliar with the custom of chewing betel leaf, paan means both the betel leaf which is used as the base and the finished product (betel quid) which usually comes rolled with different fillings depending on local preferences. Almost every region has its own speciality, but what basically go into the making of the paan are slaked lime, areca nut and the paste of the catechu bark along with different aromatic condiments and spices—a concoction that is chewed upon by millions of Indians as a mouth freshener, a postprandial digestive or a stimulant, when tobacco is added. It’s as ubiquitous as anything you can think of on Indian streets, from roasted peanuts to cut fruits.

But with the rampant zeal for securing the Geographical Indication (GI) tag on just about any product, it was not entirely unexpected that someone should think of securing this form of intellectual property (IP) protection for the paan leaf. If an offering such as the laddoo made by the Tirupati temple can be awarded a GI (see 'God’s Invincible Laddoo', Down To Earth 16-31 August, 2012)—the temple is estimated to make over ₹7,00,000 daily from commercial sales of the sweet—why shouldn't indigent farmers seek some protection on agricultural products, however humble? So far, two varieties of betel leaf have got the tag from the GI Registry (GIR) in Chennai, which is part of the Patent Office.