My earliest memory of a saree is not of a mirror or an occasion. It is on my grandmother’s balcony.

I remember watching her wash her sarees and spread them out to dry, the fabric heavy with water, moving gently in the breeze. I would press my face into that wet cotton, breathing in a familiar fragrance that meant comfort, safety, home. It meant her. Even today, that smell feels like belonging.

Once the sarees dried, we would fold them together, she holding one end, me the other. She would then tuck them neatly under the mattress to iron them flat. I thought it was genius. Effortless, practical, deeply intuitive. That was my grandmother — my Didu. She never wore heavy silks. She wore everyday cotton sarees like second skin, with ease and quiet dignity.

Sometimes, she would drape one of her sarees on me like a half-saree when I was seven and ask me to dance to Rabindra Sangeet. Those moments were never planned. They simply lived. And those sarees carried her scent, her presence. Even now, when I touch certain fabrics, I feel her with me.

That feeling — that intimacy, that ease — is at the heart of RURIethnic.

I moved to Pune in 2015 and joined an app development company in marketing. It was good work, but I came from the world of media and PR in Bombay, a place of relentless pace, constant deadlines, and high-stakes problem-solving. Everything was due yesterday. I missed the madness. I missed being pushed to my edge.

Pune was slower. Quieter. And after a few years, I knew I couldn’t continue in monotony. When Covid hit, it brought the world to a halt — and unexpectedly, it gave me time. Time to think. Time to listen to what had been quietly building within me.

I knew one thing clearly: if I was going to build something of my own, it had to be something I cared about deeply. Something that connected me to people. Sarees felt like a natural drift — but I didn’t want to sell sarees. I wanted to build a brand that connected with women through their passion for them.

After the lockdown, I travelled to my ancestral home in Kolkata and into its interiors. I visited places where sarees were woven the way my grandmother wore them — honest, lived-in, unpretentious. That journey brought clarity. RURIethnic was never meant to be transactional. It was meant to be relational.

Handloom, for me, is not a trend. It is a heritage. I am deeply proud of our country and its craft traditions. The first time I watched a saree being woven from the thread wheel to the loom to the final fabric, I was in awe. The precision, the patience, the skill involved is beyond imagination.

To uplift even a small part of that ecosystem is what success means to me. Not performative gestures. Not symbolic posts once a year. But real, consistent work with weavers giving them dignity, livelihood, and continuity. I want RURIethnic to walk alongside them, not speak for them from a distance.

My years in the media shaped how I think and how I lead. They taught me resilience to never freeze, to always find a Plan B, to push through chaos with clarity. Entrepreneurship is not easy. It is often lonely. That headstrong focus, that refusal to collapse under pressure, is what carries RURIethnic forward every day.

I am building this brand for RURIsitara, a woman who is strong, independent, and rooted. She values her culture. She doesn’t see a saree as a burden. She sees it as comfort, as choice, as heritage. Some of her sarees have been passed down through generations. Others she chooses for herself. All of them mean something.

At RURIethnic, what matters most to me is how a customer leaves our space. Happy. Smiling. Lighter. Our store is filled with conversations, laughter, family moments, and shared memories around sarees. Those bonds are everything to us.

No matter how big RURIethnic grows, I will never compromise on this: the customer always comes first. Delight is not optional. It is the foundation.

RURIethnic is not just what I am building. It is what I am remembering and sharing.

— Shilpi Deshpande
Founder, RURIethnic