The chicken tikka wrap solves the tikka sandwich by changing the bread from a pair of flat faces into a single wall wrapped right around the filling. A naan, a flatbread, or a soft tortilla is folded so the spiced meat is enclosed on every side rather than stacked between two slices, and that total containment is the defining engineering. Tikka is dry, charred, and inclined to spill out of an open sandwich; once it is rolled, the bread holds it as a sealed cylinder, every loose cube trapped against the wall, and the build can be eaten one-handed and on the move without shedding its centre down a sleeve.
The craft is the roll, the heat of the bread, and the moisture budget. The bread is warmed first so it folds and tucks rather than cracking along the seam, because a split wrap fails the moment it is picked up. The tikka is laid in a line, not a heap, with a bound dressing or a tight yoghurt sauce, mango chutney, or salad doing the cooling and lubricating work, and the wet elements are kept measured because a rolled cylinder that goes soggy in the middle splits along its length rather than at the end. The filling is arranged so each bite down the tube carries meat, sauce, and a fresh element together rather than one stripe of each. The ends are folded in so nothing escapes the bottom, and a wrap that is grilled or pressed afterwards crisps the outer skin and welds the seam shut, turning a fold into a seal.
The variations are the rest of the curry-house roll family and the layered relatives that gave up containment for a flat stack. Chicken tikka and mango chutney leads on the sweet counter; chicken tikka and raita on the cooling one; the chicken tikka sandwich keeps it between rigid bread and fights the spill; the seekh kebab and tandoori wraps swap the spiced filling inside the same fold. Each deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here.