The naan wrap is named for its bread, and the naan is the decision the whole sandwich turns on. A curry-house filling, spiced meat, a fried fritter, a fish pakora, a paneer, is laid down the centre of a warm naan and folded around into a soft parcel, and the bread is not a neutral carrier but the defining choice. A naan is enriched, slightly chewy, blistered and pillowy from a hot oven, and it brings its own taste and a structural softness that a flatbread or a tortilla does not. Wrap the same filling in a thin wheat tortilla and it is a different sandwich; the naan is what makes this one itself, which is why it leads the name.
The craft is the fold and the moisture against a soft bread. A naan is thicker and less elastic than a tortilla, so it does not roll into a tight sealed cylinder; it folds, and the filling has to be arranged in a line and not overloaded so the parcel closes rather than splits at the bend. The filling is calibrated to that bread: a dry, hot, spiced protein that does not flood, with a cooling element, raita or a yoghurt sauce or a chutney, adding moisture back under control and cutting the spice. The naan is warmed so it stays pliable and folds without cracking along the seam, and because it is soft it absorbs some of the sauce as part of the design rather than failing under it. The bread is doing flavour and structure at once, which is exactly why it is the lead and not the lining.
The variations track the takeaway menu wearing the naan as the constant. A chicken tikka naan wrap, a seekh kebab fold, an onion bhaji or pakora parcel, a paneer or chana version for the meat-free order: each swaps the filling while the bread stays fixed as the thing being named. Each of those deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here, because the interest there is the filling, while here the interest is the naan.