Small steps lead to small accomplishments
“Try karne mai kya jata hai (what do we lose in trying)
While, by conventional metrics, The Sanjories project was a financial failure, it delivered a victory far more profound: a moral triumph. Our true achievement was seeing the voracious desire for progress and the resulting empowerment of women. We may have moved very little product, but helping women push ahead, regardless of the challenges they faced, was an achievement beyond my wildest dreams. The future, driven by that desire, looks undeniably bright.
With the ‘why’ of the project firmly established, I was still stuck on the ‘what’ and ‘how.’ Desperate for direction, I called my main source of inspiration: my mother. After all, she had successfully launched a small venture in the 90s, working alongside Adivasi women in North Bengal. My initial ideas quickly hit snags. Crochet was out because I lacked the skill. I discussed making Dhoopbatti and Agarbatti (incense sticks made with cow dung) with the village women but faced a major hurdle: the market was already saturated, and without the right investments, bulk marketing was nearly impossible.
The breakthrough came the very next evening. My mother called and delivered the perfect pivot: “Why not milk soaps? You have loads of milk.”
India has no dearth of milk. It’s a national staple, an abundant resource. For an entrepreneur, it suggested an untapped opportunity in the cosmetics space: milk-based soaps. The idea was intriguing, but the leap from concept to consumer demanded rigorous analysis.
The critical questions loomed: What is the current state of the Indian bath and body market? Who are the competitors? Crucially, how would the Indian consumer react to a new line of premium, milk-infused soap? A deep dive into market research was not just advisable — it was essential to chart a successful course.
My First (Disastrous) Attempt
That was it. Milk soaps were calling my name, and I knew I had to answer. The only problem? I had absolutely zero time to take a proper class.
Since there wasn’t a soap-making course anywhere near me, I did what any modern learner does: I turned to YouTube. I dove into the amazing world of channels like Royalty Soaps and countless others. I soaked up every bit of lye safety and oil mixing until I finally felt ready to try it myself.
I got all my ingredients — or so I thought — and got down to work. My first try? Let’s just say it was less “artisan craft” and more “hot, oily mess.”
The whole thing went sideways because of one colossal rookie error. I’d asked a friend to grab me caustic soda (the essential ingredient for saponification). He returned with a box of… baking soda.
In soap science, they are about as far apart as Earth and Mars.
It took two painstaking weeks to ensure I had every detail of the recipe and process absolutely correct. Finally, the moment arrived: my first batch of homemade soap was ready for testing. Naturally, I became my own test subject.
I chose to work with cow’s milk because it was readily available in abundance. Early on, I did face a few setbacks, such as some minor itchiness and redness. These initial reactions gave me an idea of how important it is to be absolutely sure of each batch and their respective pH. (We manage a pH of 7–8). One small error and we could be in problems
However, once I managed to nail the basic technique and formulation, I immediately transitioned into teaching the women. I gathered the local didis (a respectful term for older sisters/women), and together, we began the process of turning our dream into reality.
We experimented with a wonderful array of natural ingredients, including:
* Neem oil
* Reetha (soap nut)
* Coconut oil
* Soyabean oil
* Sunflower oil
* Fresh cow’s milk
The women were completely absorbed in the entire process. We spent hours sitting together, meticulously creating various batches, testing the pH and putting it out to cure. They looked forward to this activity everyday.
After roughly six weeks of constant trial and error and perfecting a simple formula, we decided to take the leap and sell our small batches in the surrounding villages. Our debut product was a simple vanilla bar made with pure cow’s milk and neem oil.
To successfully enter the market, we partnered with a vital group of women we named the Sabun Sakhis (Soap Friends). This partnership was key, as they not only helped us distribute the product but also provided us with invaluable feedback from the community.
We initially priced the soaps at a price of Rs 25 per bar, and the response was overwhelmingly positive. The average price per bar that the village folk bought was in the range of Rs 10-15.
The feedback was remarkable, with many villagers reporting that the soap helped in healing ringworm.
Despite the positive early reception, the initial model proved unsustainable. We quickly realized that the demand for cow’s milk soap wasn’t strong enough to support a growing enterprise.
To build a long-term, viable business, I decided to flip the standard business model.
Instead of leading with a cheap variety, the new strategy was to first focus on a more premium, expensive soap. The goal was to engage a wider audience from cities around India, exclusively selling on our official website to people willing to pay for high quality; establish a strong brand name and reputation, and then — once we had a solid foundation — we would work on developing a more affordable variety for the mass market.
My SBI Youth for India fellowship was nearing its end in September 2018. It wasn’t the smoothest departure. The NGO had little desire to work with me due to my critical perspective and willingness to stand up for what I believed in.
I must have been quite the influence — it’s been seven years, and no other fellow has been sent back to that location. I sometimes joke that I was a bad influence, but I’ve always known my conviction was the real friction point.
When my fellowship officially concluded, we had our final review in Bangalore. I was directly challenged: “Why did you start this project? The women alone won’t be able to carry it forward.”
My answer was immediate and firm. I told them I was going back to personally invest in the community. I wasn’t just completing a project; I had a vision and a dream, and I wasn’t about to give up on it.
For me, the end of the fellowship wasn’t an ending at all. I was just getting started.
