Sharma also drew on his experience as regional manager of retail performance for Southeast Asia at Tiffany & Co, where he’d developed a deeper appreciation for craftsmanship and cultural storytelling.
Each shirt begins with the sari itself. Its pallu – the decorative end and often its most intricate panel – becomes a focal point, while borders are turned into cuffs, plackets or back yokes. No two shirts are quite alike, and each requires its own discussion around the fabric and embroidery.
“It becomes a slow and laborious task of love,” Sharma said.
A single sari typically yields just one or two shirts.
The team had assumed the subtler, safer designs would be easiest to sell. They were wrong. The loudest, most heavily patterned pieces went first.
One shirt featured elaborate kantha embroidery from West Bengal depicting scenes of village life. It sold within half an hour, with customers asking for more.
For Kulkarni, who works full-time in tech consulting, the brand has become a “creative outlet” – and a crash course in running a clothing business.
“Since we started, it’s been a lot of learning for us – how to actually run a clothing brand, how to communicate with stakeholders in India, and navigate the different working styles,” he said.
A SINGAPORE, INDIA STORY
As second-generation Singaporeans with strong ties to India, the trio see themselves occupying what Sharma calls a “very unique third-culture-kid space”.
“We see this as a huge blessing, twice the cultural roots to tap into and build something out of.”
That dual identity runs through the clothes. Even the tags play with it: “India” is written in English, while “Singapore” appears in Hindi.
Some pieces borrow their names from familiar Singapore icons.
There’s the Kaya Toast shirt, named for its colour palette; Majulah, whose geometric patterns reminded the team of the Singapore flag; and Bandung Rose, with rose-and-milk hues in Tussar silk and a hand-embroidered kantha border.
