The first version of House of Geru wasn't a business plan. It was Dilli Haat.

I grew up in Delhi, and Dilli Haat was where Saturdays went missing — a single open courtyard that somehow held all of India at once. Artisans from states I'd never visited, telling you the story behind a block-printed dupatta or a hand-beaten brass bowl while you ate on the same afternoon you shopped, watched a folk performance, and left holding something you didn't know you needed until it was in your hands. I used to think of Pragati Maidan, the bigger trade fair across the city, as Dilli Haat's grown-up cousin — the same idea, just larger. More makers. More stories. More of everything I already loved.

I didn't know it then, but that was the beginning of a habit that never really left me: curating a space, one considered object at a time.

Years later, I moved to the United States and bought my first home. The instinct came right back — except now I was looking for pieces that could do two things at once: hold their own as something genuinely well made, and become the reason a guest asked a question. A block-print table runner that turns into a conversation. A brass piece someone wants to know the story behind before they leave. Objects that carry a little bit of home back with them, whoever "home" means to the person holding it.

I already had proof this works, sitting in my own house. A set of silver keychains. A teapot set. Silk sarees. Dohars worn soft from years of use. A few pieces of jewelry. All handed down, none of them replaced, each one still doing its job a generation later. That's the whole idea, really — an heirloom isn't valuable because it was expensive. It's valuable because someone chose to keep it, and then someone else did too.

I married into a family from Jaipur, which pulled me even closer to the region's craft — the block printers, the dyers, the brass workers whose work I'd admired since childhood without always knowing the hands behind it. It's part of why House of Geru's own journey begins in Rajasthan.

Between an engineering degree, more than fifteen years in corporate life, two daughters, and a habit of finding my way into the local market wherever I travel, this brand has been a long time arriving. But the belief underneath it hasn't changed since I was a kid wandering Dilli Haat: craft deserves to be named, not just admired. A piece should tell you where it's from, who made it, and why it was made the way it was — whether that craft comes from Rajasthan, from Gujarat, or from anywhere else in the world worth learning from, each one told with the same care and the same respect.

House of Geru is where that belief finally has a home.

Every piece tells a story. This is where ours begins.