sapna sisodia, co-founder & CEO - Yoshi studio
sapna sisodia, co-founder & CEO - Yoshi studio
sapna sisodia, co-founder & CEO - Yoshi studio
Back and forth from Britain to India.
The story of reverse migration and sentimental exile of a girl aged 8.
Back and forth from Britain to India.
The story of reverse migration and sentimental exile of a girl aged 8.
Back and forth from Britain to India.
The story of reverse migration and sentimental exile of a girl aged 8.
Back and forth from Britain to India.
The story of reverse migration and sentimental exile of a girl aged 8.
Back and forth from Britain to India.
The story of reverse migration and sentimental exile of a girl aged 8.
In 1989 I moved to India forever. At least, this is what my 7-year-old brain said back then.
We were packed up and ready to fly from London to Mumbai. I was with my mum, who was
28 at the time, and my elder brother, Jayraj, who was 11. We were inverse migrants, ready
to live with my grandparents and reunite with my dad in Porbandar (Gujarat), the birthplace
of Mahatma Gandhi and a town known for its peace and its mob.
Many reasons explained our moving, the main one being to save my parents´ marriage. My
mum had cried out many times that it was not working. The plea was handled by the Elders,
the real Supreme court for private matters in our community. The last word was with a
powerful lady named Jethi (pronounced "JT"). I remember her fierce look and her body
covered with tribal tattoos. She inspired both fear and respect. JT and her peers pronounced
their verdict. We were to "go back" to India, although my brother and I were born in Britain,
and had never been to India before.
My dad was a free soul, an attractive man and an ill-mannered one. That alone could have
been a valid reason for a divorce. Truth is that my parents were not compatible. They were
as stubborn and free-minded. My mum acknowledged this reality, and she was lucid about
it. Albeit her youth, she was empowered, full of dreams and stamina, a hard worker who
would never fit back into the traditional family scheme.
In the morning, a few minutes before heading to Heathrow airport, I wasn’t quite sure how
long I would be going but it felt like forever. No one ever had a chat with me about this big
move. At that time, nobody cared about a kid's feelings. However, even as a child, the gut-
feeling I had was that the decision was big and erroneous. On our way to the airport, I felt
my stomach uneasy with anxiety. I threw looks at Jayraj to try to find out, intuitively, what
were his feelings. He didn't look happy either.
I remember what I was wearing that day. My “Airport look” was a high-waisted light blue
denim jeans, with a simple t-shirt tucked in and Birkenstock-style sandals. I wore a short bob
and fringe. I looked like a tomboy who had had an electric shock, since my hair always grew
sideways and not down. My mum was in salwar kameez (Indian suit) light grey in colour
with white flower patches. Bottoms were loose in fusion pink and she had a chiffon baby
pink dupatta over her shoulders. Her jet-black straight hair was up in a ponytail. She had no
make-up on her flawless skin. Someone took a picture of us. My brother and I looked
miserable, and my mother tucked her thick lips in for the photography, because at that time
she found them lascivious. They are sexy and beautiful, and people pay money to get them
done that way nowadays.
I held my teddy bear called "Rainbow" in my hand throughout the whole trip to the airport.
I had him facing the window, taking in the scenes of what would be a very long time until he
saw the UK again. I don’t remember much about the flight and journey. I probably went into a long inhibitory
sleep. But I do remember landing in Mumbai 10 hours later. I have a recollection of interminable
corridors covered in a brownish carpet and a smell of scents, which were not totally
unfamiliar. I remember my mum being interrogated at Customs, as she was carrying
jewellery, a VCR player, gadgets etc. The customs official started to unpack everything and
asking questions. This took a long time.
My mother was growing desperate. Suddenly a knight in a shining armour came along. He
was a policeman, asking the searchers what the fuss was about. The grace of God wanted
that his surname was Sisodia, just like ours. Familiarity in India, no matter the degree, makes
a difference, sometimes to the point of changing your destiny. He asked my mum where
was she headed. She gave him the address on a piece of paper. We were staying at my
grandfather’s family friends' house in Colaba, Mumbai. He owned 3-star hotels. We would
stay there until we could get our flight to Gujarat, as there were not that many flights back
then.
The policeman read the piece of paper and his face dropped. He said to my mum in Hindi: “
I will not let you go alone as I am your brother. The area you are going to is full of dancers
(prostitutes). It isn’t safe.” Once we got out of the airport into a taxi the policeman escorted
the car all the way to the apartment in Colaba. Today a chic quarter, at the time it wasn’t
that way. Fate wanted that Colaba is where I live now.
The next few days we went on a tour of Mumbai. I don’t recall enjoying it. Everything felt
alien to me. The Mumbai hustle & bustle noise, the shouting of the street vendors, beggars
trying to grab us for money... We did the Gateway of India and The Taj Mahal hotel.
Mumbai is probable the only city in the world in which the main landmark happens to be a
hotel. I now walk past it almost every day, never forgetting how I have posed here in very
different circumstances. My mother got us some sweets to make the moment more joyful.
It didn't work out. It was monsoon season, and every picture came out miserable as we
were. Everything was grey and wet. We felt like those children in a Dickens tale.
After a few days we arrived in Porbandar, and we settled at my grandfather's house. He was
my father's dad, a man who had many friends from all walks of life, a socialite on his own
turf. He knew Mumbai inside out and he was there often rubbing shoulders with the who’s
who of the bay city. He threw out favours when asked, without expecting anything in return
or mentioning the favours he had carried out. That I've heard from various people over the
years. Unfortunately, my grandfather's belle vie in Mumbai was cut short, as he was
summoned to head back to Porbandar to take care of his ill mother.
At that time, Grandpa tried to audition for Bollywood films but wasn't lucky. Had he made
it, I would have chosen to become a Bollywood actress myself. However, I was extremely
shy as a kid. My nickname back then was “Mungi”, which means mute in English. I once
visited a specialist in the UK as my parents were concerned about me being in Vipassana
mode. Doctors thought I could be deaf as I never used to speak but this was then ruled out.
Porbandar, a historical port city on the western coast of India, is famed as the birthplace of
Mahatma Gandhi. However, it also carries a colourful past with tales of local dons. The city's
heartbeat can be felt through the unending flow of people, creating a dynamic yet intimate
atmosphere that I vividly remember.
The house in Porbandar was a hive of activity, with the door perpetually ajar except at night.
Each entry was marked by a distinctive cluck sound, signalling the arrival of another visitor.
It was a home where boundaries to private space were blurred and everyone was welcome.
A massive bed dominated the social space, serving as a communal lounging spot.
Afternoons were particularly special, as I would nap alongside my grandmother, enveloped
by the comforting aroma of homemade food. This bed was not just for resting but a
landmark for bonding, sharing stories, and creating lasting memories.
Weekends would be spent at our relatives' farmhouse, where the women dressed in a
backless blouse, red skirt, and a head cover, most of the body covered in tribal tattoos and
most men would sport a cool white outfit with a white turban and a moustache. sitting
outside while taking in the breeze.
Schooling in India was a stark contrast to my experiences in the UK. The educational
discipline was strict, with children often facing physical punishments for misbehavior or
incomplete homework. Miscreants were made to bend with a ruler on their backs or
perform squats while holding their ears, all very humiliating. Fortunately, I escaped such
indignities, possibly due to my good behaviour or perhaps my grandfather's influence.
Porbandar's afternoons were serene, unlike its lively mornings and evenings. The blistering
sun froze any kind of life or activity, rocking the city into its own siesta-time. Despite the
tranquility, resisting a nap was often futile. The city reawakened around 5 PM, bursting with
energy. My cousins and I would venture out to street vendors, eager for an evening snack,
savoring the local flavours that have since become nostalgic treats.
It was a deeply immersive experience. The city's rhythm, its people, and the warmth of
family life left an indelible mark on my heart, weaving a rich tapestry of memories that I
cherish to this day
I felt free there, and my mood started to change. Having my father around felt nice, as I was
spoiled by him. I received treats from him every day and an immense love & affection.
Destiny can be very stubborn. No matter how hard we try, its strong winds end up flying us
to its designated landing strip. All we need to do about it is surrender to its force and enjoy
the trip. I am persuaded that that's the secret of life, of happiness. Live not only the
moment, but, more importantly, the circumstance which encompasses a series of moments.
Moments are the threads of life, and circumstance the fabric of our vital patchwork.
That journey as a child to –and in- India made it clear to me that I couldn't escape India, as
India would always chase me back. Places choose us, and not otherwise.
27 years later, in 2016, I was back in Mumbai to head an international studio. After seven
years of hard and enriching work, I felt the winds were changing again for me. I needed to
find purpose by founding my own company in the creative sector: Yoshi.
Yoshi was born with a vision:
being an India-based and manned studio
of the new age which brings in a
network of virtue to our community.
For us, it is about building strong relationships, creating a network and partnerships, both
locally and internationally. As a founder, I want to bring energy into the agency with the
right attitude and nurture those bonds. It’s about going beyond in focus, thinking and
ambition. Although it is the start, I have learnt that the journey is more important than the
destination. Hardships shall be faced bravely and success will come in waves, big or small.
In 1989 I moved to India forever. At least, this is what my 7-year-old brain said back then.
We were packed up and ready to fly from London to Mumbai. I was with my mum, who was 28 at the time, and my elder brother, Jayraj, who was 11. We were inverse migrants, ready to live with my grandparents and reunite with my dad in Porbandar (Gujarat), the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi and a town known for its peace and its mob.
Many reasons explained our moving, the main one being to save my parents´ marriage. My mum had cried out many times that it was not working. The plea was handled by the Elders, the real Supreme court for private matters in our community. The last word was with a powerful lady named Jethi (pronounced "JT"). I remember her fierce look and her body covered with tribal tattoos. She inspired both fear and respect. JT and her peers pronounced their verdict. We were to "go back" to India, although my brother and I were born in Britain, and had never been to India before.
My dad was a free soul, an attractive man and an ill-mannered one. That alone could have been a valid reason for a divorce. Truth is that my parents were not compatible. They were as stubborn and free-minded. My mum acknowledged this reality, and she was lucid about it. Albeit her youth, she was empowered, full of dreams and stamina, a hard worker who would never fit back into the traditional family scheme.
In the morning, a few minutes before heading to Heathrow airport, I wasn’t quite sure how long I would be going but it felt like forever. No one ever had a chat with me about this big move. At that time, nobody cared about a kid's feelings. However, even as a child, the gut- feeling I had was that the decision was big and erroneous. On our way to the airport, I felt my stomach uneasy with anxiety. I threw looks at Jayraj to try to find out, intuitively, what were his feelings. He didn't look happy either.
I remember what I was wearing that day. My “Airport look” was a high-waisted light blue
denim jeans, with a simple t-shirt tucked in and Birkenstock-style sandals. I wore a short bob and fringe. I looked like a tomboy who had had an electric shock, since my hair always grew sideways and not down. My mum was in salwar kameez (Indian suit) light grey in colour with white flower patches. Bottoms were loose in fusion pink and she had a chiffon baby pink dupatta over her shoulders. Her jet-black straight hair was up in a ponytail. She had no make-up on her flawless skin. Someone took a picture of us. My brother and I looked miserable, and my mother tucked her thick lips in for the photography, because at that time she found them lascivious. They are sexy and beautiful, and people pay money to get them done that way nowadays.
I held my teddy bear called "Rainbow" in my hand throughout the whole trip to the airport. I had him facing the window, taking in the scenes of what would be a very long time until he saw the UK again. I don’t remember much about the flight and journey. I probably went into a long inhibitory sleep. But I do remember landing in Mumbai 10 hours later. I have a recollection of interminable corridors covered in a brownish carpet and a smell of scents, which were not totally unfamiliar. I remember my mum being interrogated at Customs, as she was carrying jewellery, a VCR player, gadgets etc. The customs official started to unpack everything and asking questions. This took a long time.
My mother was growing desperate. Suddenly a knight in a shining armour came along. He was a policeman, asking the searchers what the fuss was about. The grace of God wanted that his surname was Sisodia, just like ours. Familiarity in India, no matter the degree, makes a difference, sometimes to the point of changing your destiny. He asked my mum where was she headed. She gave him the address on a piece of paper. We were staying at my grandfather’s family friends' house in Colaba, Mumbai. He owned 3-star hotels. We would stay there until we could get our flight to Gujarat, as there were not that many flights back then.
The policeman read the piece of paper and his face dropped. He said to my mum in Hindi: “I will not let you go alone as I am your brother. The area you are going to is full of dancers (prostitutes). It isn’t safe.” Once we got out of the airport into a taxi the policeman escorted the car all the way to the apartment in Colaba. Today a chic quarter, at the time it wasn’t that way. Fate wanted that Colaba is where I live now.
The next few days we went on a tour of Mumbai. I don’t recall enjoying it. Everything felt alien to me. The Mumbai hustle & bustle noise, the shouting of the street vendors, beggars trying to grab us for money... We did the Gateway of India and The Taj Mahal hotel. Mumbai is probable the only city in the world in which the main landmark happens to be a hotel. I now walk past it almost every day, never forgetting how I have posed here in very different circumstances. My mother got us some sweets to make the moment more joyful. It didn't work out. It was monsoon season, and every picture came out miserable as we were. Everything was grey and wet. We felt like those children in a Dickens tale.
After a few days we arrived in Porbandar, and we settled at my grandfather's house. He was my father's dad, a man who had many friends from all walks of life, a socialite on his own turf. He knew Mumbai inside out and he was there often rubbing shoulders with the who’s who of the bay city. He threw out favours when asked, without expecting anything in return or mentioning the favours he had carried out. That I've heard from various people over the years. Unfortunately, my grandfather's belle vie in Mumbai was cut short, as he was summoned to head back to Porbandar to take care of his ill mother.
At that time, Grandpa tried to audition for Bollywood films but wasn't lucky. Had he made it, I would have chosen to become a Bollywood actress myself. However, I was extremely shy as a kid. My nickname back then was “Mungi”, which means mute in English. I once visited a specialist in the UK as my parents were concerned about me being in Vipassana mode. Doctors thought I could be deaf as I never used to speak but this was then ruled out.
Porbandar, a historical port city on the western coast of India, is famed as the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi. However, it also carries a colourful past with tales of local dons. The city's heartbeat can be felt through the unending flow of people, creating a dynamic yet intimate atmosphere that I vividly remember.
The house in Porbandar was a hive of activity, with the door perpetually ajar except at night. Each entry was marked by a distinctive cluck sound, signalling the arrival of another visitor. It was a home where boundaries to private space were blurred and everyone was welcome.
A massive bed dominated the social space, serving as a communal lounging spot. Afternoons were particularly special, as I would nap alongside my grandmother, enveloped by the comforting aroma of homemade food. This bed was not just for resting but a landmark for bonding, sharing stories, and creating lasting memories.
Weekends would be spent at our relatives' farmhouse, where the women dressed in a backless blouse, red skirt, and a head cover, most of the body covered in tribal tattoos and most men would sport a cool white outfit with a white turban and a moustache. sitting outside while taking in the breeze.
Schooling in India was a stark contrast to my experiences in the UK. The educational discipline was strict, with children often facing physical punishments for misbehavior or incomplete homework. Miscreants were made to bend with a ruler on their backs or perform squats while holding their ears, all very humiliating. Fortunately, I escaped such indignities, possibly due to my good behaviour or perhaps my grandfather's influence.
Porbandar's afternoons were serene, unlike its lively mornings and evenings. The blistering sun froze any kind of life or activity, rocking the city into its own siesta-time. Despite the tranquility, resisting a nap was often futile. The city reawakened around 5 PM, bursting with energy. My cousins and I would venture out to street vendors, eager for an evening snack, savoring the local flavours that have since become nostalgic treats.
It was a deeply immersive experience. The city's rhythm, its people, and the warmth of family life left an indelible mark on my heart, weaving a rich tapestry of memories that I cherish to this day
I felt free there, and my mood started to change. Having my father around felt nice, as I was spoiled by him. I received treats from him every day and an immense love & affection.
Destiny can be very stubborn. No matter how hard we try, its strong winds end up flying us to its designated landing strip. All we need to do about it is surrender to its force and enjoy the trip. I am persuaded that that's the secret of life, of happiness. Live not only the moment, but, more importantly, the circumstance which encompasses a series of moments. Moments are the threads of life, and circumstance the fabric of our vital patchwork.
That journey as a child to –and in- India made it clear to me that I couldn't escape India, as India would always chase me back. Places choose us, and not otherwise.
27 years later, in 2016, I was back in Mumbai to head an international studio. After seven years of hard and enriching work, I felt the winds were changing again for me. I needed to find purpose by founding my own company in the creative sector: Yoshi.
Yoshi was born with a vision:
being an India-based and manned studio
of the new age which brings in a
network of virtue to our community.
For us, it is about building strong relationships, creating a network and partnerships, both locally and internationally. As a founder, I want to bring energy into the agency with the right attitude and nurture those bonds. It’s about going beyond in focus, thinking and ambition. Although it is the start, I have learnt that the journey is more important than the destination. Hardships shall be faced bravely and success will come in waves, big or small.
In 1989 I moved to India forever. At least, this is what my 7-year-old brain said back then.
We were packed up and ready to fly from London to Mumbai. I was with my mum, who was
28 at the time, and my elder brother, Jayraj, who was 11. We were inverse migrants, ready
to live with my grandparents and reunite with my dad in Porbandar (Gujarat), the birthplace
of Mahatma Gandhi and a town known for its peace and its mob.
Many reasons explained our moving, the main one being to save my parents´ marriage. My
mum had cried out many times that it was not working. The plea was handled by the Elders,
the real Supreme court for private matters in our community. The last word was with a
powerful lady named Jethi (pronounced "JT"). I remember her fierce look and her body
covered with tribal tattoos. She inspired both fear and respect. JT and her peers pronounced
their verdict. We were to "go back" to India, although my brother and I were born in Britain,
and had never been to India before.
My dad was a free soul, an attractive man and an ill-mannered one. That alone could have
been a valid reason for a divorce. Truth is that my parents were not compatible. They were
as stubborn and free-minded. My mum acknowledged this reality, and she was lucid about
it. Albeit her youth, she was empowered, full of dreams and stamina, a hard worker who
would never fit back into the traditional family scheme.
In the morning, a few minutes before heading to Heathrow airport, I wasn’t quite sure how
long I would be going but it felt like forever. No one ever had a chat with me about this big
move. At that time, nobody cared about a kid's feelings. However, even as a child, the gut-
feeling I had was that the decision was big and erroneous. On our way to the airport, I felt
my stomach uneasy with anxiety. I threw looks at Jayraj to try to find out, intuitively, what
were his feelings. He didn't look happy either.
I remember what I was wearing that day. My “Airport look” was a high-waisted light blue
denim jeans, with a simple t-shirt tucked in and Birkenstock-style sandals. I wore a short bob
and fringe. I looked like a tomboy who had had an electric shock, since my hair always grew
sideways and not down. My mum was in salwar kameez (Indian suit) light grey in colour
with white flower patches. Bottoms were loose in fusion pink and she had a chiffon baby
pink dupatta over her shoulders. Her jet-black straight hair was up in a ponytail. She had no
make-up on her flawless skin. Someone took a picture of us. My brother and I looked
miserable, and my mother tucked her thick lips in for the photography, because at that time
she found them lascivious. They are sexy and beautiful, and people pay money to get them
done that way nowadays.
I held my teddy bear called "Rainbow" in my hand throughout the whole trip to the airport.
I had him facing the window, taking in the scenes of what would be a very long time until he
saw the UK again. I don’t remember much about the flight and journey. I probably went into a long inhibitory
sleep. But I do remember landing in Mumbai 10 hours later. I have a recollection of interminable
corridors covered in a brownish carpet and a smell of scents, which were not totally
unfamiliar. I remember my mum being interrogated at Customs, as she was carrying
jewellery, a VCR player, gadgets etc. The customs official started to unpack everything and
asking questions. This took a long time.
My mother was growing desperate. Suddenly a knight in a shining armour came along. He
was a policeman, asking the searchers what the fuss was about. The grace of God wanted
that his surname was Sisodia, just like ours. Familiarity in India, no matter the degree, makes
a difference, sometimes to the point of changing your destiny. He asked my mum where
was she headed. She gave him the address on a piece of paper. We were staying at my
grandfather’s family friends' house in Colaba, Mumbai. He owned 3-star hotels. We would
stay there until we could get our flight to Gujarat, as there were not that many flights back
then.
The policeman read the piece of paper and his face dropped. He said to my mum in Hindi: “
I will not let you go alone as I am your brother. The area you are going to is full of dancers
(prostitutes). It isn’t safe.” Once we got out of the airport into a taxi the policeman escorted
the car all the way to the apartment in Colaba. Today a chic quarter, at the time it wasn’t
that way. Fate wanted that Colaba is where I live now.
The next few days we went on a tour of Mumbai. I don’t recall enjoying it. Everything felt
alien to me. The Mumbai hustle & bustle noise, the shouting of the street vendors, beggars
trying to grab us for money... We did the Gateway of India and The Taj Mahal hotel.
Mumbai is probable the only city in the world in which the main landmark happens to be a
hotel. I now walk past it almost every day, never forgetting how I have posed here in very
different circumstances. My mother got us some sweets to make the moment more joyful.
It didn't work out. It was monsoon season, and every picture came out miserable as we
were. Everything was grey and wet. We felt like those children in a Dickens tale.
After a few days we arrived in Porbandar, and we settled at my grandfather's house. He was
my father's dad, a man who had many friends from all walks of life, a socialite on his own
turf. He knew Mumbai inside out and he was there often rubbing shoulders with the who’s
who of the bay city. He threw out favours when asked, without expecting anything in return
or mentioning the favours he had carried out. That I've heard from various people over the
years. Unfortunately, my grandfather's belle vie in Mumbai was cut short, as he was
summoned to head back to Porbandar to take care of his ill mother.
At that time, Grandpa tried to audition for Bollywood films but wasn't lucky. Had he made
it, I would have chosen to become a Bollywood actress myself. However, I was extremely
shy as a kid. My nickname back then was “Mungi”, which means mute in English. I once
visited a specialist in the UK as my parents were concerned about me being in Vipassana
mode. Doctors thought I could be deaf as I never used to speak but this was then ruled out.
Porbandar, a historical port city on the western coast of India, is famed as the birthplace of
Mahatma Gandhi. However, it also carries a colourful past with tales of local dons. The city's
heartbeat can be felt through the unending flow of people, creating a dynamic yet intimate
atmosphere that I vividly remember.
The house in Porbandar was a hive of activity, with the door perpetually ajar except at night.
Each entry was marked by a distinctive cluck sound, signalling the arrival of another visitor.
It was a home where boundaries to private space were blurred and everyone was welcome.
A massive bed dominated the social space, serving as a communal lounging spot.
Afternoons were particularly special, as I would nap alongside my grandmother, enveloped
by the comforting aroma of homemade food. This bed was not just for resting but a
landmark for bonding, sharing stories, and creating lasting memories.
Weekends would be spent at our relatives' farmhouse, where the women dressed in a
backless blouse, red skirt, and a head cover, most of the body covered in tribal tattoos and
most men would sport a cool white outfit with a white turban and a moustache. sitting
outside while taking in the breeze.
Schooling in India was a stark contrast to my experiences in the UK. The educational
discipline was strict, with children often facing physical punishments for misbehavior or
incomplete homework. Miscreants were made to bend with a ruler on their backs or
perform squats while holding their ears, all very humiliating. Fortunately, I escaped such
indignities, possibly due to my good behaviour or perhaps my grandfather's influence.
Porbandar's afternoons were serene, unlike its lively mornings and evenings. The blistering
sun froze any kind of life or activity, rocking the city into its own siesta-time. Despite the
tranquility, resisting a nap was often futile. The city reawakened around 5 PM, bursting with
energy. My cousins and I would venture out to street vendors, eager for an evening snack,
savoring the local flavours that have since become nostalgic treats.
It was a deeply immersive experience. The city's rhythm, its people, and the warmth of
family life left an indelible mark on my heart, weaving a rich tapestry of memories that I
cherish to this day
I felt free there, and my mood started to change. Having my father around felt nice, as I was
spoiled by him. I received treats from him every day and an immense love & affection.
Destiny can be very stubborn. No matter how hard we try, its strong winds end up flying us
to its designated landing strip. All we need to do about it is surrender to its force and enjoy
the trip. I am persuaded that that's the secret of life, of happiness. Live not only the
moment, but, more importantly, the circumstance which encompasses a series of moments.
Moments are the threads of life, and circumstance the fabric of our vital patchwork.
That journey as a child to –and in- India made it clear to me that I couldn't escape India, as
India would always chase me back. Places choose us, and not otherwise.
27 years later, in 2016, I was back in Mumbai to head an international studio. After seven
years of hard and enriching work, I felt the winds were changing again for me. I needed to
find purpose by founding my own company in the creative sector: Yoshi.
Yoshi was born with a vision:
being an India-based and manned studio
of the new age which brings in a
network of virtue to our community.
For us, it is about building strong relationships, creating a network and partnerships, both
locally and internationally. As a founder, I want to bring energy into the agency with the
right attitude and nurture those bonds. It’s about going beyond in focus, thinking and
ambition. Although it is the start, I have learnt that the journey is more important than the
destination. Hardships shall be faced bravely and success will come in waves, big or small.
In 1989 I moved to India forever. At least, this is what my 7-year-old brain said back then.
We were packed up and ready to fly from London to Mumbai. I was with my mum, who was
28 at the time, and my elder brother, Jayraj, who was 11. We were inverse migrants, ready
to live with my grandparents and reunite with my dad in Porbandar (Gujarat), the birthplace
of Mahatma Gandhi and a town known for its peace and its mob.
Many reasons explained our moving, the main one being to save my parents´ marriage. My
mum had cried out many times that it was not working. The plea was handled by the Elders,
the real Supreme court for private matters in our community. The last word was with a
powerful lady named Jethi (pronounced "JT"). I remember her fierce look and her body
covered with tribal tattoos. She inspired both fear and respect. JT and her peers pronounced
their verdict. We were to "go back" to India, although my brother and I were born in Britain,
and had never been to India before.
My dad was a free soul, an attractive man and an ill-mannered one. That alone could have
been a valid reason for a divorce. Truth is that my parents were not compatible. They were
as stubborn and free-minded. My mum acknowledged this reality, and she was lucid about
it. Albeit her youth, she was empowered, full of dreams and stamina, a hard worker who
would never fit back into the traditional family scheme.
In the morning, a few minutes before heading to Heathrow airport, I wasn’t quite sure how
long I would be going but it felt like forever. No one ever had a chat with me about this big
move. At that time, nobody cared about a kid's feelings. However, even as a child, the gut-
feeling I had was that the decision was big and erroneous. On our way to the airport, I felt
my stomach uneasy with anxiety. I threw looks at Jayraj to try to find out, intuitively, what
were his feelings. He didn't look happy either.
I remember what I was wearing that day. My “Airport look” was a high-waisted light blue
denim jeans, with a simple t-shirt tucked in and Birkenstock-style sandals. I wore a short bob
and fringe. I looked like a tomboy who had had an electric shock, since my hair always grew
sideways and not down. My mum was in salwar kameez (Indian suit) light grey in colour
with white flower patches. Bottoms were loose in fusion pink and she had a chiffon baby
pink dupatta over her shoulders. Her jet-black straight hair was up in a ponytail. She had no
make-up on her flawless skin. Someone took a picture of us. My brother and I looked
miserable, and my mother tucked her thick lips in for the photography, because at that time
she found them lascivious. They are sexy and beautiful, and people pay money to get them
done that way nowadays.
I held my teddy bear called "Rainbow" in my hand throughout the whole trip to the airport.
I had him facing the window, taking in the scenes of what would be a very long time until he
saw the UK again. I don’t remember much about the flight and journey. I probably went into a long inhibitory
sleep. But I do remember landing in Mumbai 10 hours later. I have a recollection of interminable
corridors covered in a brownish carpet and a smell of scents, which were not totally
unfamiliar. I remember my mum being interrogated at Customs, as she was carrying
jewellery, a VCR player, gadgets etc. The customs official started to unpack everything and
asking questions. This took a long time.
My mother was growing desperate. Suddenly a knight in a shining armour came along. He
was a policeman, asking the searchers what the fuss was about. The grace of God wanted
that his surname was Sisodia, just like ours. Familiarity in India, no matter the degree, makes
a difference, sometimes to the point of changing your destiny. He asked my mum where
was she headed. She gave him the address on a piece of paper. We were staying at my
grandfather’s family friends' house in Colaba, Mumbai. He owned 3-star hotels. We would
stay there until we could get our flight to Gujarat, as there were not that many flights back
then.
The policeman read the piece of paper and his face dropped. He said to my mum in Hindi: “
I will not let you go alone as I am your brother. The area you are going to is full of dancers
(prostitutes). It isn’t safe.” Once we got out of the airport into a taxi the policeman escorted
the car all the way to the apartment in Colaba. Today a chic quarter, at the time it wasn’t
that way. Fate wanted that Colaba is where I live now.
The next few days we went on a tour of Mumbai. I don’t recall enjoying it. Everything felt
alien to me. The Mumbai hustle & bustle noise, the shouting of the street vendors, beggars
trying to grab us for money... We did the Gateway of India and The Taj Mahal hotel.
Mumbai is probable the only city in the world in which the main landmark happens to be a
hotel. I now walk past it almost every day, never forgetting how I have posed here in very
different circumstances. My mother got us some sweets to make the moment more joyful.
It didn't work out. It was monsoon season, and every picture came out miserable as we
were. Everything was grey and wet. We felt like those children in a Dickens tale.
After a few days we arrived in Porbandar, and we settled at my grandfather's house. He was
my father's dad, a man who had many friends from all walks of life, a socialite on his own
turf. He knew Mumbai inside out and he was there often rubbing shoulders with the who’s
who of the bay city. He threw out favours when asked, without expecting anything in return
or mentioning the favours he had carried out. That I've heard from various people over the
years. Unfortunately, my grandfather's belle vie in Mumbai was cut short, as he was
summoned to head back to Porbandar to take care of his ill mother.
At that time, Grandpa tried to audition for Bollywood films but wasn't lucky. Had he made
it, I would have chosen to become a Bollywood actress myself. However, I was extremely
shy as a kid. My nickname back then was “Mungi”, which means mute in English. I once
visited a specialist in the UK as my parents were concerned about me being in Vipassana
mode. Doctors thought I could be deaf as I never used to speak but this was then ruled out.
Porbandar, a historical port city on the western coast of India, is famed as the birthplace of
Mahatma Gandhi. However, it also carries a colourful past with tales of local dons. The city's
heartbeat can be felt through the unending flow of people, creating a dynamic yet intimate
atmosphere that I vividly remember.
The house in Porbandar was a hive of activity, with the door perpetually ajar except at night.
Each entry was marked by a distinctive cluck sound, signalling the arrival of another visitor.
It was a home where boundaries to private space were blurred and everyone was welcome.
A massive bed dominated the social space, serving as a communal lounging spot.
Afternoons were particularly special, as I would nap alongside my grandmother, enveloped
by the comforting aroma of homemade food. This bed was not just for resting but a
landmark for bonding, sharing stories, and creating lasting memories.
Weekends would be spent at our relatives' farmhouse, where the women dressed in a
backless blouse, red skirt, and a head cover, most of the body covered in tribal tattoos and
most men would sport a cool white outfit with a white turban and a moustache. sitting
outside while taking in the breeze.
Schooling in India was a stark contrast to my experiences in the UK. The educational
discipline was strict, with children often facing physical punishments for misbehavior or
incomplete homework. Miscreants were made to bend with a ruler on their backs or
perform squats while holding their ears, all very humiliating. Fortunately, I escaped such
indignities, possibly due to my good behaviour or perhaps my grandfather's influence.
Porbandar's afternoons were serene, unlike its lively mornings and evenings. The blistering
sun froze any kind of life or activity, rocking the city into its own siesta-time. Despite the
tranquility, resisting a nap was often futile. The city reawakened around 5 PM, bursting with
energy. My cousins and I would venture out to street vendors, eager for an evening snack,
savoring the local flavours that have since become nostalgic treats.
It was a deeply immersive experience. The city's rhythm, its people, and the warmth of
family life left an indelible mark on my heart, weaving a rich tapestry of memories that I
cherish to this day
I felt free there, and my mood started to change. Having my father around felt nice, as I was
spoiled by him. I received treats from him every day and an immense love & affection.
Destiny can be very stubborn. No matter how hard we try, its strong winds end up flying us
to its designated landing strip. All we need to do about it is surrender to its force and enjoy
the trip. I am persuaded that that's the secret of life, of happiness. Live not only the
moment, but, more importantly, the circumstance which encompasses a series of moments.
Moments are the threads of life, and circumstance the fabric of our vital patchwork.
That journey as a child to –and in- India made it clear to me that I couldn't escape India, as
India would always chase me back. Places choose us, and not otherwise.
27 years later, in 2016, I was back in Mumbai to head an international studio. After seven
years of hard and enriching work, I felt the winds were changing again for me. I needed to
find purpose by founding my own company in the creative sector: Yoshi.
Yoshi was born with a vision:
being an India-based and manned studio
of the new age which brings in a
network of virtue to our community.
For us, it is about building strong relationships, creating a network and partnerships, both
locally and internationally. As a founder, I want to bring energy into the agency with the
right attitude and nurture those bonds. It’s about going beyond in focus, thinking and
ambition. Although it is the start, I have learnt that the journey is more important than the
destination. Hardships shall be faced bravely and success will come in waves, big or small.
In 1989 I moved to India forever. At least, this is what my 7-year-old brain said back then.
We were packed up and ready to fly from London to Mumbai. I was with my mum, who was 28 at the time, and my elder brother, Jayraj, who was 11. We were inverse migrants, ready to live with my grandparents and reunite with my dad in Porbandar (Gujarat), the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi and a town known for its peace and its mob.
Many reasons explained our moving, the main one being to save my parents´ marriage. My mum had cried out many times that it was not working. The plea was handled by the Elders, the real Supreme court for private matters in our community. The last word was with a powerful lady named Jethi (pronounced "JT"). I remember her fierce look and her body covered with tribal tattoos. She inspired both fear and respect. JT and her peers pronounced their verdict. We were to "go back" to India, although my brother and I were born in Britain, and had never been to India before.
My dad was a free soul, an attractive man and an ill-mannered one. That alone could have been a valid reason for a divorce. Truth is that my parents were not compatible. They were as stubborn and free-minded. My mum acknowledged this reality, and she was lucid about
it. Albeit her youth, she was empowered, full of dreams and stamina, a hard worker who would never fit back into the traditional family scheme.
In the morning, a few minutes before heading to Heathrow airport, I wasn’t quite sure how long I would be going but it felt like forever. No one ever had a chat with me about this big
move. At that time, nobody cared about a kid's feelings. However, even as a child, the gut- feeling I had was that the decision was big and erroneous. On our way to the airport, I felt my stomach uneasy with anxiety. I threw looks at Jayraj to try to find out, intuitively, what were his feelings. He didn't look happy either.
I remember what I was wearing that day. My “Airport look” was a high-waisted light blue denim jeans, with a simple t-shirt tucked in and Birkenstock-style sandals. I wore a short bob and fringe. I looked like a tomboy who had had an electric shock, since my hair always grew sideways and not down. My mum was in salwar kameez (Indian suit) light grey in colour with white flower patches. Bottoms were loose in fusion pink and she had a chiffon baby pink dupatta over her shoulders. Her jet-black straight hair was up in a ponytail. She had no make-up on her flawless skin. Someone took a picture of us. My brother and I looked miserable, and my mother tucked her thick lips in for the photography, because at that time she found them lascivious. They are sexy and beautiful, and people pay money to get them done that way nowadays.
I held my teddy bear called "Rainbow" in my hand throughout the whole trip to the airport. I had him facing the window, taking in the scenes of what would be a very long time until he saw the UK again. I don’t remember much about the flight and journey. I probably went into a long inhibitory
sleep. But I do remember landing in Mumbai 10 hours later. I have a recollection of interminable corridors covered in a brownish carpet and a smell of scents, which were not totally
unfamiliar. I remember my mum being interrogated at Customs, as she was carrying jewellery, a VCR player, gadgets etc. The customs official started to unpack everything and asking questions. This took a long time.
My mother was growing desperate. Suddenly a knight in a shining armour came along. He was a policeman, asking the searchers what the fuss was about. The grace of God wanted that his surname was Sisodia, just like ours. Familiarity in India, no matter the degree, makes a difference, sometimes to the point of changing your destiny. He asked my mum where was she headed. She gave him the address on a piece of paper. We were staying at my grandfather’s family friends' house in Colaba, Mumbai. He owned 3-star hotels. We would stay there until we could get our flight to Gujarat, as there were not that many flights back then.
The policeman read the piece of paper and his face dropped. He said to my mum in Hindi: “I will not let you go alone as I am your brother. The area you are going to is full of dancers (prostitutes). It isn’t safe.” Once we got out of the airport into a taxi the policeman escorted the car all the way to the apartment in Colaba. Today a chic quarter, at the time it wasn’t that way. Fate wanted that Colaba is where I live now.
The next few days we went on a tour of Mumbai. I don’t recall enjoying it. Everything felt alien to me. The Mumbai hustle & bustle noise, the shouting of the street vendors, beggars trying to grab us for money... We did the Gateway of India and The Taj Mahal hotel. Mumbai is probable the only city in the world in which the main landmark happens to be a
hotel. I now walk past it almost every day, never forgetting how I have posed here in very different circumstances. My mother got us some sweets to make the moment more joyful. It didn't work out. It was monsoon season, and every picture came out miserable as we were. Everything was grey and wet. We felt like those children in a Dickens tale.
After a few days we arrived in Porbandar, and we settled at my grandfather's house. He was my father's dad, a man who had many friends from all walks of life, a socialite on his own
turf. He knew Mumbai inside out and he was there often rubbing shoulders with the who’s who of the bay city. He threw out favours when asked, without expecting anything in return or mentioning the favours he had carried out. That I've heard from various people over the years. Unfortunately, my grandfather's belle vie in Mumbai was cut short, as he was
summoned to head back to Porbandar to take care of his ill mother.
At that time, Grandpa tried to audition for Bollywood films but wasn't lucky. Had he made it, I would have chosen to become a Bollywood actress myself. However, I was extremely shy as a kid. My nickname back then was “Mungi”, which means mute in English. I once visited a specialist in the UK as my parents were concerned about me being in Vipassana mode. Doctors thought I could be deaf as I never used to speak but this was then ruled out.
Porbandar, a historical port city on the western coast of India, is famed as the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi. However, it also carries a colourful past with tales of local dons. The city's heartbeat can be felt through the unending flow of people, creating a dynamic yet intimate atmosphere that I vividly remember.
The house in Porbandar was a hive of activity, with the door perpetually ajar except at night. Each entry was marked by a distinctive cluck sound, signalling the arrival of another visitor. It was a home where boundaries to private space were blurred and everyone was welcome.
A massive bed dominated the social space, serving as a communal lounging spot. Afternoons were particularly special, as I would nap alongside my grandmother, enveloped by the comforting aroma of homemade food. This bed was not just for resting but a landmark for bonding, sharing stories, and creating lasting memories.
Weekends would be spent at our relatives' farmhouse, where the women dressed in a backless blouse, red skirt, and a head cover, most of the body covered in tribal tattoos and most men would sport a cool white outfit with a white turban and a moustache. sitting outside while taking in the breeze.
Schooling in India was a stark contrast to my experiences in the UK. The educational discipline was strict, with children often facing physical punishments for misbehavior or
incomplete homework. Miscreants were made to bend with a ruler on their backs or perform squats while holding their ears, all very humiliating. Fortunately, I escaped such indignities, possibly due to my good behaviour or perhaps my grandfather's influence.
Porbandar's afternoons were serene, unlike its lively mornings and evenings. The blistering sun froze any kind of life or activity, rocking the city into its own siesta-time. Despite the tranquility, resisting a nap was often futile. The city reawakened around 5 PM, bursting with energy. My cousins and I would venture out to street vendors, eager for an evening snack, savoring the local flavours that have since become nostalgic treats.
It was a deeply immersive experience. The city's rhythm, its people, and the warmth of family life left an indelible mark on my heart, weaving a rich tapestry of memories that I cherish to this day
I felt free there, and my mood started to change. Having my father around felt nice, as I was spoiled by him. I received treats from him every day and an immense love & affection.
Destiny can be very stubborn. No matter how hard we try, its strong winds end up flying us to its designated landing strip. All we need to do about it is surrender to its force and enjoy
the trip. I am persuaded that that's the secret of life, of happiness. Live not only the moment, but, more importantly, the circumstance which encompasses a series of moments.
Moments are the threads of life, and circumstance the fabric of our vital patchwork.
That journey as a child to –and in- India made it clear to me that I couldn't escape India, as India would always chase me back. Places choose us, and not otherwise.
27 years later, in 2016, I was back in Mumbai to head an international studio. After seven years of hard and enriching work, I felt the winds were changing again for me. I needed to
find purpose by founding my own company in the creative sector: Yoshi.
Yoshi was born with a vision:
being an India-based and manned studio of the new age which brings in a network of virtue to our community.
For us, it is about building strong relationships, creating a network and partnerships, both locally and internationally. As a founder, I want to bring energy into the agency with the
right attitude and nurture those bonds. It’s about going beyond in focus, thinking and ambition. Although it is the start, I have learnt that the journey is more important than the
destination. Hardships shall be faced bravely and success will come in waves, big or small.
In 1989 I moved to India forever. At least, this is what my 7-year-old brain said back then.
We were packed up and ready to fly from London to Mumbai. I was with my mum, who was
28 at the time, and my elder brother, Jayraj, who was 11. We were inverse migrants, ready
to live with my grandparents and reunite with my dad in Porbandar (Gujarat), the birthplace
of Mahatma Gandhi and a town known for its peace and its mob.
Many reasons explained our moving, the main one being to save my parents' marriage. My
mum had cried out many times that it was not working. The plea was handled by the Elders,
the real Supreme court for private matters in our community. The last word was with a
powerful lady named Jethi (pronounced 'JT'). I remember her fierce look and her body
covered with tribal tattoos. She inspired both fear and respect. JT and her peers pronounced
their verdict. We were to 'go back' to India, although my brother and I were born in Britain,
and had never been to India before.
My dad was a free soul, an attractive man and an ill-mannered one. That alone could have
been a valid reason for a divorce. Truth is that my parents were not compatible. They were
as stubborn and free-minded. My mum acknowledged this reality, and she was lucid about
it. Albeit her youth, she was empowered, full of dreams and stamina, a hard worker who
would never fit back into the traditional family scheme.
In the morning, a few minutes before heading to Heathrow airport, I wasn’t quite sure how
long I would be going but it felt like forever. No one ever had a chat with me about this big
move. At that time, nobody cared about a kid's feelings. However, even as a child, the gut-
feeling I had was that the decision was big and erroneous. On our way to the airport, I felt
my stomach uneasy with anxiety. I threw looks at Jayraj to try to find out, intuitively, what
were his feelings. He didn't look happy either.
I remember what I was wearing that day. My “Airport look” was a high-waisted light blue
denim jeans, with a simple t-shirt tucked in and Birkenstock-style sandals. I wore a short bob
and fringe. I looked like a tomboy who had had an electric shock, since my hair always grew
sideways and not down. My mum was in salwar kameez (Indian suit) light grey in colour
with white flower patches. Bottoms were loose in fusion pink and she had a chiffon baby
pink dupatta over her shoulders. Her jet-black straight hair was up in a ponytail. She had no
make-up on her flawless skin. Someone took a picture of us. My brother and I looked
miserable, and my mother tucked her thick lips in for the photography, because at that time
she found them lascivious. They are sexy and beautiful, and people pay money to get them
done that way nowadays.
I held my teddy bear called "Rainbow" in my hand throughout the whole trip to the airport.
I had him facing the window, taking in the scenes of what would be a very long time until he
saw the UK again. I don’t remember much about the flight and journey. I probably went into a long inhibitory
sleep. But I do remember landing in Mumbai 10 hours later. I have a recollection of interminable
corridors covered in a brownish carpet and a smell of scents, which were not totally
unfamiliar. I remember my mum being interrogated at Customs, as she was carrying
jewellery, a VCR player, gadgets etc. The customs official started to unpack everything and
asking questions. This took a long time.
My mother was growing desperate. Suddenly a knight in a shining armour came along. He
was a policeman, asking the searchers what the fuss was about. The grace of God wanted
that his surname was Sisodia, just like ours. Familiarity in India, no matter the degree, makes
a difference, sometimes to the point of changing your destiny. He asked my mum where
was she headed. She gave him the address on a piece of paper. We were staying at my
grandfather’s family friends' house in Colaba, Mumbai. He owned 3-star hotels. We would
stay there until we could get our flight to Gujarat, as there were not that many flights back
then.
The policeman read the piece of paper and his face dropped. He said to my mum in Hindi: “
I will not let you go alone as I am your brother. The area you are going to is full of dancers
(prostitutes). It isn’t safe.” Once we got out of the airport into a taxi the policeman escorted
the car all the way to the apartment in Colaba. Today a chic quarter, at the time it wasn’t
that way. Fate wanted that Colaba is where I live now.
The next few days we went on a tour of Mumbai. I don’t recall enjoying it. Everything felt
alien to me. The Mumbai hustle & bustle noise, the shouting of the street vendors, beggars
trying to grab us for money... We did the Gateway of India and The Taj Mahal hotel.
Mumbai is probable the only city in the world in which the main landmark happens to be a
hotel. I now walk past it almost every day, never forgetting how I have posed here in very
different circumstances. My mother got us some sweets to make the moment more joyful.
It didn't work out. It was monsoon season, and every picture came out miserable as we
were. Everything was grey and wet. We felt like those children in a Dickens tale.
After a few days we arrived in Porbandar, and we settled at my grandfather's house. He was
my father's dad, a man who had many friends from all walks of life, a socialite on his own
turf. He knew Mumbai inside out and he was there often rubbing shoulders with the who’s
who of the bay city. He threw out favours when asked, without expecting anything in return
or mentioning the favours he had carried out. That I've heard from various people over the
years. Unfortunately, my grandfather's belle vie in Mumbai was cut short, as he was
summoned to head back to Porbandar to take care of his ill mother.
At that time, Grandpa tried to audition for Bollywood films but wasn't lucky. Had he made
it, I would have chosen to become a Bollywood actress myself. However, I was extremely
shy as a kid. My nickname back then was “Mungi”, which means mute in English. I once
visited a specialist in the UK as my parents were concerned about me being in Vipassana
mode. Doctors thought I could be deaf as I never used to speak but this was then ruled out.
Porbandar, a historical port city on the western coast of India, is famed as the birthplace of
Mahatma Gandhi. However, it also carries a colourful past with tales of local dons. The city's
heartbeat can be felt through the unending flow of people, creating a dynamic yet intimate
atmosphere that I vividly remember.
The house in Porbandar was a hive of activity, with the door perpetually ajar except at night.
Each entry was marked by a distinctive cluck sound, signalling the arrival of another visitor.
It was a home where boundaries to private space were blurred and everyone was welcome.
A massive bed dominated the social space, serving as a communal lounging spot.
Afternoons were particularly special, as I would nap alongside my grandmother, enveloped
by the comforting aroma of homemade food. This bed was not just for resting but a
landmark for bonding, sharing stories, and creating lasting memories.
Weekends would be spent at our relatives' farmhouse, where the women dressed in a
backless blouse, red skirt, and a head cover, most of the body covered in tribal tattoos and
most men would sport a cool white outfit with a white turban and a moustache. sitting
outside while taking in the breeze.
Schooling in India was a stark contrast to my experiences in the UK. The educational
discipline was strict, with children often facing physical punishments for misbehavior or
incomplete homework. Miscreants were made to bend with a ruler on their backs or
perform squats while holding their ears, all very humiliating. Fortunately, I escaped such
indignities, possibly due to my good behaviour or perhaps my grandfather's influence.
Porbandar's afternoons were serene, unlike its lively mornings and evenings. The blistering
sun froze any kind of life or activity, rocking the city into its own siesta-time. Despite the
tranquility, resisting a nap was often futile. The city reawakened around 5 PM, bursting with
energy. My cousins and I would venture out to street vendors, eager for an evening snack,
savoring the local flavours that have since become nostalgic treats.
It was a deeply immersive experience. The city's rhythm, its people, and the warmth of
family life left an indelible mark on my heart, weaving a rich tapestry of memories that I
cherish to this day
I felt free there, and my mood started to change. Having my father around felt nice, as I was
spoiled by him. I received treats from him every day and an immense love & affection.
Destiny can be very stubborn. No matter how hard we try, its strong winds end up flying us
to its designated landing strip. All we need to do about it is surrender to its force and enjoy
the trip. I am persuaded that that's the secret of life, of happiness. Live not only the
moment, but, more importantly, the circumstance which encompasses a series of moments.
Moments are the threads of life, and circumstance the fabric of our vital patchwork.
That journey as a child to –and in- India made it clear to me that I couldn't escape India, as
India would always chase me back. Places choose us, and not otherwise.
27 years later, in 2016, I was back in Mumbai to head an international studio. After seven
years of hard and enriching work, I felt the winds were changing again for me. I needed to
find purpose by founding my own company in the creative sector: Yoshi.
Yoshi was born with a vision:
being an India-based and manned studio
of the new age which brings in a
network of virtue to our community.
For us, it is about building strong relationships, creating a network and partnerships, both
locally and internationally. As a founder, I want to bring energy into the agency with the
right attitude and nurture those bonds. It’s about going beyond in focus, thinking and
ambition. Although it is the start, I have learnt that the journey is more important than the
destination. Hardships shall be faced bravely and success will come in waves, big or small.
Career Journey
Career Journey
I started as a checkout girl at Waitrose, a posh supermarket in Leicester, whilst studying at college. I learned how to scan products nonchalantly while having a chat with the regular customers about their day. I noticed that people, especially the ageing, often feel lonely and love a chat.
I started as a checkout girl at Waitrose, a posh supermarket in Leicester, whilst studying at college. I learned how to scan products nonchalantly while having a chat with the regular customers about their day. I noticed that people, especially the ageing, often feel lonely and love a chat.
I started as a checkout girl at Waitrose, a posh supermarket in Leicester, whilst studying at college. I learned how to scan products nonchalantly while having a chat with the regular customers about their day. I noticed that people, especially the ageing, often feel lonely and love a chat.
Simultaneously I worked at Harrods once a week, at the Men’s designer-wear selling brands such as Armani, Prada, Gucci, Helmut Lang, Jill Sander or Dior. The sales approach was one-to-one with the customers that came through the department. This is where I really learnt the art of perfect customer service and getting to know luxury brands. I got to witness some stylish people from all walks of life. I tried to be transparent and authentic when it came to selling to customers. I am convinced that is the right approach to sales.
Simultaneously I worked at Harrods once a week, at the Men’s designer-wear selling brands such as Armani, Prada, Gucci, Helmut Lang, Jill Sander or Dior. The sales approach was one-to-one with the customers that came through the department. This is where I really learnt the art of perfect customer service and getting to know luxury brands. I got to witness some stylish people from all walks of life. I tried to be transparent and authentic when it came to selling to customers. I am convinced that is the right approach to sales.
I was fascinated by the different trends coming in every season. I used to interact with first-class buyers and management, currently CEOs of big brands I'm still in touch with.
I was fascinated by the different trends coming in every season. I used to interact with first-class buyers and management, currently CEOs of big brands I'm still in touch with.
I dabbled in quite a few jobs and always learned something from all of them, while building up an amazing network of professionals. I worked as a PA at a property company and accountancy firm. I even took up a role in teaching software to fostercare homeowners, which allowed me to know the importance of the human touch and of never giving up learning.
I dabbled in quite a few jobs and always learned something from all of them, while building up an amazing network of professionals. I worked as a PA at a property company and accountancy firm. I even took up a role in teaching software to fostercare homeowners, which allowed me to know the importance of the human touch and of never giving up learning.
Entrepreneurial journey
Entrepreneurial journey
In my twenties, I co-founded a charity from scratch with my cousin Sonal, “Etc..! Educating the Children”, to help girls in the Masai Mara, Kenya. I embarked on a journey that would shape the course of my life and, I like to think, the lives of many children in Kenya. Sonal and I were driven by a shared passion for education, and a desire to create some impact among a community in need. Today, Sonal continues to successfully run the organization.
Our charity caught the attention of the Observer magazine by The Guardian, a recognition that validated our efforts and gave us the momentum to push the project forward. What set our charity apart was its unique approach: we facilitated the journey of British teachers to the heart of the Mara, where they could directly better the lives of local children through three-month long teaching periods.
The idea was simple and powerful. By sending experienced educators from the UK to Kenya, we aimed to provide quality education and training to the children and to local teachers. This cultural and educational exchange not only enriched the lives of the Kenyan children but also broadened the horizons of the British teachers who participated in it.
Building the charity from the ground up was no easy feat. It required solid fundraising, meticulous planning, and an unwavering commitment to our vision. We navigated countless challenges, from logistical hurdles to securing the trust and support of both the local community in Kenya and our supporters back home.
Reflecting on this journey, I am filled with pride and gratitude. What began as a modest idea between cousins blossomed into a significant force for change. As Karen Blixen said : « I had a school in Africa... ».
The experience taught me that with the right dose of passion, perseverance, and a clear vision, it is possible to turn projects into reality. The charity continues to thrive under Sonal's leadership.
Alongside the charity project, I started up a small production company. It was challenging and fun. We produced music videos and indie movies. It turned out to be very teaching, and I learned how to act swiftly. As an anecdote of that time, I had to find a celebrity for an e-cigarette brand. Through my network I found Ronnie Wood
from the Rolling Stones to promote it at the launch event.
And now it's the time for Yoshi studio.
In my twenties, I co-founded a charity from scratch with my cousin Sonal, “Etc..! Educating the Children”, to help girls in the Masai Mara, Kenya. I embarked on a journey that would shape the course of my life and, I like to think, the lives of many children in Kenya. Sonal and I were driven by a shared passion for education, and a desire to create some impact among a community in need. Today, Sonal continues to successfully run the organization.
Our charity caught the attention of the Observer magazine by The Guardian, a recognition that validated our efforts and gave us the momentum to push the project forward. What set our charity apart was its unique approach: we facilitated the journey of British teachers to the heart of the Mara, where they could directly better the lives of local children through three-month long teaching periods.
The idea was simple and powerful. By sending experienced educators from the UK to Kenya, we aimed to provide quality education and training to the children and to local teachers. This cultural and educational exchange not only enriched the lives of the Kenyan children but also broadened the horizons of the British teachers who participated in it.
Building the charity from the ground up was no easy feat. It required solid fundraising, meticulous planning, and an unwavering commitment to our vision. We navigated countless challenges, from logistical hurdles to securing the trust and support of both the local community in Kenya and our supporters back home.
Reflecting on this journey, I am filled with pride and gratitude. What began as a modest idea between cousins blossomed into a significant force for change. As Karen Blixen said : « I had a school in Africa... ».
The experience taught me that with the right dose of passion, perseverance, and a clear vision, it is possible to turn projects into reality. The charity continues to thrive under Sonal's leadership.
Alongside the charity project, I started up a small production company. It was challenging and fun. We produced music videos and indie movies. It turned out to be very teaching, and I learned how to act swiftly. As an anecdote of that time, I had to find a celebrity for an e-cigarette brand. Through my network I found Ronnie Wood
from the Rolling Stones to promote it at the launch event.
And now it's the time for Yoshi studio.
In my twenties, I co-founded a charity from scratch with my cousin Sonal, “Etc..! Educating the Children”, to help girls in the Masai Mara, Kenya. I embarked on a journey that would shape the course of my life and, I like to think, the lives of many children in Kenya. Sonal and I were driven by a shared passion for education, and a desire to create some impact among a community in need. Today, Sonal continues to successfully run the organization.
Our charity caught the attention of the Observer magazine by The Guardian, a recognition that validated our efforts and gave us the momentum to push the project forward. What set our charity apart was its unique approach: we facilitated the journey of British teachers to the heart of the Mara, where they could directly better the lives of local children through three-month long teaching periods.
The idea was simple and powerful. By sending experienced educators from the UK to Kenya, we aimed to provide quality education and training to the children and to local teachers. This cultural and educational exchange not only enriched the lives of the Kenyan children but also broadened the horizons of the British teachers who participated in it.
Building the charity from the ground up was no easy feat. It required solid fundraising, meticulous planning, and an unwavering commitment to our vision. We navigated countless challenges, from logistical hurdles to securing the trust and support of both the local community in Kenya and our supporters back home.
Reflecting on this journey, I am filled with pride and gratitude. What began as a modest idea between cousins blossomed into a significant force for change. As Karen Blixen said : « I had a school in Africa... ».
The experience taught me that with the right dose of passion, perseverance, and a clear vision, it is possible to turn projects into reality. The charity continues to thrive under Sonal's leadership.
Alongside the charity project, I started up a small production company. It was challenging and fun. We produced music videos and indie movies. It turned out to be very teaching, and I learned how to act swiftly. As an anecdote of that time, I had to find a celebrity for an e-cigarette brand. Through my network I found Ronnie Wood
from the Rolling Stones to promote it at the launch event.
And now it's the time for Yoshi studio.
Key learnings
Key learnings
Grow your community and learn from others. Always be curious. Always remain humane.
Embrace mistakes and losses. There is always a lesson in failure.
Have cheerleaders around you
Ask for help & advice from those who know more than you do.
Grow your community and learn from others. Always be curious. Always remain humane.
Embrace mistakes and losses. There is always a lesson in failure.
Have cheerleaders around you
Ask for help & advice from those who know more than you do.
Grow your community and learn from others. Always be curious. Always remain humane.
Embrace mistakes and losses. There is always a lesson in failure.
Have cheerleaders around you
Ask for help & advice from those who know more than you do.
let's work
together
let's work
together
let's work
together
let's work
together
let's work
together
let's work
together