2025 marks ten years since I started my brand. A whole decade. It feels surreal to even say that out loud. The past ten years have been a whirlwind—highs, lows, lessons, and growth—not just as an artist, but as a person. I’ve evolved in ways I never could have imagined when I first started out.
Over the next ten months, I want to take a moment to reflect, to look back on each year of this journey and share the real, unfiltered truth of building something from the ground up. The self-doubt, the risks, the small wins that felt like everything, and the lessons that still resonate with me today.
So, let’s start at the beginning: 2015, Year 1.
When One Door Closes…
In 2015, at 25 years old, I thought I was on my way. I had landed what I believed was my dream job—a junior design role at Gucci in watch and eyewear design. Years of hard work had led me there: an MA in Fashion Artefact from the London College of Fashion, unpaid internships, countless job applications, and relentless ambition. But just eight months in, everything changed. The London design office was shutting down, and my team was made redundant.
I remember feeling completely lost. What now? The fashion world was brutally competitive, and even with Gucci on my CV, finding another role wasn’t easy—especially as someone who rarely saw people who looked like me in major luxury brands.
Finding My Own Path
Amidst the uncertainty, I found comfort in something deeply personal. I started going through my mum’s and Baa’s (grandmother’s) jewellery, running my fingers over the intricate details, piecing together their stories through adornment. Patterns began to emerge—shapes, symbols, motifs that spoke to me. I started sketching.
Those sketches became the foundation of my first jewellery collection: The Empire Collection. At the time, the name reflected what I understood about history—the clash of British and Indian influences, the romanticised aesthetic of Indian Summer. But looking back now, I see it differently. Over the years, I’ve unlearned and re-learned so much about Empire, decolonisation, and my own heritage. That first collection was the beginning of something much deeper—it was my first step in exploring identity through design, even if I didn’t realise it then.
Stepping Into the Unknown
When I launched, I thought I had to fit in. I had seen my parents do it—running their menswear store with a carefully curated British facade, hiring staff they felt would be more “acceptable.” I remember my mum’s panic when I told her I wanted to start my own business—and that it would be inspired by my culture.
She was doubtful, not because she didn’t believe in me, but because she had seen first-hand how hard it was to succeed as a South Asian entrepreneur in Britain. “You need a white woman to sell it for you,” she told me. It wasn’t just advice; it was survival—shaped by the barriers she and my dad had faced.
And so, I listened. My first campaign featured a Caucasian-looking model, a decision I made thinking it would make my work more “marketable.” On reflection, it was a choice rooted in the inherited trauma of my parents’ experiences—the belief that masking parts of our identity was the only way to succeed.
But even then, I was still proud of who I was. No matter how much I tried to fit into the mould, my designs told their own story. The patterns, the materials, the essence of my mum’s and Baa’s jewellery—they were woven into my work, impossible to erase. And as much as I thought I needed to appeal to a wider audience, I knew, instinctively, that my jewellery spoke directly to the British Asian experience. The fusion of heritage and contemporary design was something I understood intuitively—it was in me, in my upbringing, in the way I saw the world.
That First Sale
I took that first collection to Spitalfields Market, nerves running high as I set up my display. I had steamed my backdrop, arranged every piece with care, and stood there, waiting, hoping. After all that effort, I sold just one piece—for £25.
But that single sale meant everything.
It was proof that someone, somewhere, connected with what I had made. And that was enough to keep me going.
Looking Back, Looking Forward
Year 1 was all about finding my feet—navigating the unknown, learning what it meant to be a designer and a business owner, and figuring out how to stay true to myself.
Looking back now, I see just how much I’ve grown. Not just in running a business that feels truly authentic, but in finding a voice that is unapologetically my own. A voice that speaks up, pushes back, and challenges the structures that shaped that first year.
At the time, I was diving in headfirst, taking risks, and believing—without hesitation—that I was going to make it. I miss that version of myself sometimes. She was fearless, full of energy, and willing to throw herself into the unknown. Now, ten years on, I feel more grounded, more in tune with my practice, and more intentional with the way I create. The fire is still there, but it burns differently.
This is just the first chapter of this reflection series, and I can’t wait to take you along for the journey. Next month, we’ll dive into Year 2—the lessons, the struggles, and the moments that shaped the next stage of my brand.
For those who have been part of this journey—thank you. Whether you’ve been here since the beginning or you’ve only just discovered my work, I’m grateful for every single person who has supported, encouraged, and believed in what I do.
And with that, it’s now time to make space and say goodbye to the Empire Collection. This is your last chance to shop the collection before it closes in four weeks.
Here’s to the next chapter.
