I recently read a study in the British Medical Journal on the barriers to accessing mental health services in the BAME community and felt compelled to write this.
People from ethnic minorities are less likely to contact their GP about mental health, take antidepressants or receive specialist care than their white British counterparts. And the prevalence of anxiety and depression in south Asian women is higher than white women (63.5 per cent compared with 28.5 per cent). Sadly, the BAME community are more likely to have poorer health outcomes and shorter life expectancy.
It’s unclear whether the disparities in access to mental health services reflect the diverse BAME mental health needs or are the result of institutional, cultural or socioeconomic exclusion factors.
According to this study, there are some key barriers to accessing mental health services. For example, some people feel uncomfortable talking to doctors or healthcare professionals because they do not ‘get’ their cultural needs. There is also an issue where language is concerned as it can be hard to articulate feelings and thoughts when English is not your first language. Equally, it’s harder for doctors to make a diagnosis.
Many people are unaware of the services available or how to access them, so rely on the community and social networks in times of a crisis. But if these social networks don’t exist, say for recent immigrants or those living alone, there is a feeling of sheer isolation.
Sometimes the community acts as an alternative to professional help, which is not always enough for people. Recently, a mother told me that her bereaved son had not cried at all since the passing of his wife and was struggling to process his grief. I asked if they had considered counselling to which she replied, “no, he will be fine, we don’t need that.”
It shows a cultural stigma towards mental health is still a problem within Asian communities where the expectation is to be strong and deal with what life throws at you.
And some fear a mental health diagnosis could stigmatise the entire family or see it as a failure, thus affecting their respect in the community. But the problem with stigma towards mental health and ‘culturally unacceptable’ behaviours associated with common problems like anxiety, depression and addictions mean people are reluctant to openly address their symptoms and get the help they truly need.
So what can we do about it? First, the importance of tackling these barriers is paramount. And the good news is The National Service Framework for Mental Health has plans for healthcare providers to deliver culturally sensitive care. But as a community, we need to accelerate shifting attitudes towards mental health and take it more seriously. Opening up is a start, but we also need to be informed of the conditions, symptoms, personal wellbeing and services that can help.
There is no shame in seeking professional help if you are struggling with your emotions and thoughts. Mental health issues do not make you weak; they mean you are human. Nobody should be made to feel alone or suffer in silence and every single person deserves to heal.
Jay's grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere.
Ditched the influencer route and began posting hilarious videos online.
Available in Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free
Jayspent 18 months on a list. Thousands of names. Influencers with follower counts that looked like phone numbers. He was going to launch his grandmother's popcorn the right way: send free bags, wait for posts, pray for traction. That's the playbook, right? That's what you do when you're a nobody selling something nobody asked for.
Then one interaction made him snap. The entitlement. The self-importance. The way some food blogger treated his family's recipe like a favour they were doing him. He looked at his spreadsheet. Closed it. Picked up his phone and decided to burn it all down.
Now he makes videos mocking the same people he was going to beg for help. Influencers weeping over the wrong luxury car. Creators demanding payment for chewing food on camera. Someone having a breakdown about ice cubes. And guess what? The internet ate it up. His popcorn keeps selling out. And from Gujarat, his grandmother's 60-year-old recipe is now moving units because her grandson got mad enough to be funny about it.
Jay’s grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere Instagram/daadisnacks
The kitchen story
Daadi means grandmother in Hindi. Jay's daadi came to America from Gujarat decades ago. Every weekend, she made popcorn with the spices she grew up with, including cardamom, cinnamon, and chilli mixes. It was her way of keeping home close while living somewhere that didn't taste like it.
Jay wanted that in stores. Wanted brown faces in the snack aisle. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a couple of years to get from a family recipe to something they could actually sell. Everyone pitched in, including his grandmom, uncle, mum. The spices come from small local farmers. There are just two flavours for now, Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala. It’s all vegan and gluten-free, packed in bright bags that instantly feel South Asian.
The videos don't look like marketing. They look like someone venting at 11 PM after scrolling too long. He nails the nasal influencer voice. The fake sympathy. “I can’t believe this,” he says in that exaggerated influencer tone, “they gave me the cheaper car, only eighty grand instead of one-twenty.” That clip alone blew up, pulling in close to nine million views.
Most people don't know they're watching a snack brand. They think it's social commentary. Jay never calls himself an influencer. He says he’s a creator, period. There’s a difference, and he makes sure people know it. His TikTok has around three hundred thousand followers, Instagram about half that. The comments read like a sigh of relief, people fed up with fake polish, finally hearing someone say what everyone else was thinking.
This fits into something called deinfluencing; people pushing back against the buy-everything-trust-nobody cycle. But Jay's version has teeth. He's naming names, calling out the economics. Big venture money flows to chains with good lighting. Family businesses with actual stories get ignored because their content isn't slick enough.
Jay watched his New York neighbourhood change. Chains moved in. Influencers posted about places that had funding and were aesthetic. The old spots, the family ones, got left behind. His videos are about that gap. The erosion of local culture by money and aesthetics.
"Big chains and VC-funded businesses are promoted at the expense of local ones," he said. His content doesn't just roast influencers. It promotes other small food makers who can't afford to play the game. He positions Daadi as a defender of something real against something plastic.
And it's working. Not just philosophically. Financially. The videos drive traffic. People click through, try the popcorn, come back. The company can't keep stock. That's the proof.
Daadi popcorn features authentic Gujarat flavours like Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free Daadi Snacks
The blowback
People unfollow because they think he's too harsh. Jay's take: "I would argue I need to be meaner."
In May, he posted that he's not chasing content creation money like most people at his follower count. "I post to speak my mind and help my family's snack biz." That's a different model. Most brands pay influencers to make everything look perfect. They chase viral polish, and Jay does the opposite. In fact, he weaponises rawness and treats criticism like a product feature.
The internet mostly backs him. Reddit threads light up with support. One commenter was "toxic influencers choking on their matcha lattes searching their Balenciaga bags." Another: "Influencers are boring and unoriginal and can get bent." The anger is shared. Jay simply gave it a microphone and a snack to buy.
Jay's success says something about where things are going. People are done with curated perfection. They can smell the artificiality now. They respond to brands that feel like humans rather than committees. Daadi doesn't sell aspiration. Doesn't sell a lifestyle. Sells popcorn and a point of view.
The quality matters, including the spices, the sourcing, and the family behind it. But the edge matters too. He’s not afraid to say what most brands tiptoe around. “We just show who we are,” Jay says. “No pretending, no gloss. People can feel that and that’s when they reach for the popcorn.”
Most small businesses can't afford to play the traditional game. Can't pay influencers. Can't hire agencies. Can't fake their way into feeds. Maybe they don't need to. Maybe honesty and humour can cut through if they're sharp enough. If the product backs it up. If the story is real and the person telling it isn't trying to sound like a PR script.
This started with a list Jay didn't use. The business took off the moment he stopped trying to play by the usual rules and started speaking his mind. Turns out, honesty sells. And yes, the popcorn really does taste good.
Daadi Snacks merch dropInstagram/daadisnacks
The question is whether this scales. Whether other small businesses watch this and realise they don't need to beg for attention from people who don't care. Right now, Daadi keeps selling out. People keep watching. The grandmother's recipe that was supposed to need influencer approval is doing fine without it. Better than fine. Turns out the most effective marketing strategy might just be giving a damn and not being afraid to show it.
By clicking the 'Subscribe’, you agree to receive our newsletter, marketing communications and industry
partners/sponsors sharing promotional product information via email and print communication from Garavi Gujarat
Publications Ltd and subsidiaries. You have the right to withdraw your consent at any time by clicking the
unsubscribe link in our emails. We will use your email address to personalize our communications and send you
relevant offers. Your data will be stored up to 30 days after unsubscribing.
Contact us at data@amg.biz to see how we manage and store your data.