Hi Meenu! Can you please introduce yourself and Fyoli Fyoli in your own words?
(Tell us a little about who you are, what you create, and what Fyoli Fyoli is rooted in)
I'm Meenu Devrani, founder and designer of Fyoli Fyoli, a social enterprise I run together with my sister, Seema Bhardwaj. I work from my studio in California, Seema is based in Dehradun, India, where she oversees our operations, compliance, and exports. Before Fyoli Fyoli, I was a studio artist and silversmith, and that background lets me think like a maker, I know the creative ebb and flow that comes with working in a medium that demands the full presence of your hands, heart, and mind. This gives me a radical empathy for the artisans I work with. Honestly, these are my people.
Fyoli is a yellow spring-blooming flower that grows in the Himalayan foothills of India, where my family is from. It's associated with Phool Dei, a festival marking the onset of spring, young children gather flowers from nearby forests and hillsides and leave them on villagers' doorsteps to wish them prosperity, and when they're "caught," neighbors offer them gifts and a sweets. Fyoli Fyoli grew from the belief that creative practice carries responsibility, and that design can be a bridge rather than a way of extraction. It's a deeply collaborative process where meaningful design intervention, fair livelihood and holistic well being are inseparable. We work with generational artisan communities across rural India- We're not modernizing skills to make them palatable to a global market- we're asking what a global market, one that's anxious about climate and disconnected from its own pace of life, actually needs to relearn from them- working with natural materials, at a human pace, wasting very little.
At its core, Fyoli Fyoli is about reciprocity, trust, continuity , the understanding that all of us, the earth included, are part of one continuous, breathing ecosystem. Making something carries opportunity and responsibility at once, we don't take that lightly.
Before Fyoli Fyoli, you had already spent years as a studio artist and maker. What first drew you to creating with your hands, and what has kept you connected to that work over time?
To me, working with my hands has always been a way of listening and staying curious and grounded. That was especially true when I emigrated to the US twenty-five years ago, leaving most of my family behind, I had to rediscover who I was in a new place. I felt inspired by the natural beauty of Northern California, and before I made human friends, I think I made friends with the local flora and fauna, patterns in nature I'd never seen before, unusual seedpods, everything from beaches to mountains. My work became a fusion of modern and ethnic art. There was a constant yearning in me, and answering my creative spirit brought a sense of belonging in a place that felt foreign for first few years. Even though I don't get much studio time now for one-of-a-kind work, I'm still designing and occasionally painting, that can range from an idea, to a drawing, to a jewelry prototype I make myself, to figuring out which heritage craft I can collaborate on that holds both the potential for a new design language and real positive social impact. Nature closely observed, its boundless beauty, cultural sustainability of heritage crafts that's still what pulls me back, again and again.
Fyoli Fyoli began during the Covid-19 pandemic, during a time when so many people were rethinking what mattered. What was happening in your life, your work, and the artisan communities you were connected to that made you feel like this needed to exist?
When COVID hit, the fragility of the handmade economy became impossible to ignore. As global systems stalled, artisan communities who were already operating without any structural support or safety net, faced collapsed markets, broken supply chains, and in some cases, genuine struggle for survival. Skills that had been passed down through generations were suddenly no longer enough to sustain a livelihood.
I was a practicing studio artist in California, making art jewelry and painting at the time, and I became deeply aware of the privilege of being able to continue creating, while so many craftspeople were left without access to markets or income. Creativity has always been a way of slowing down and paying attention for me- to materials, to the beauty of nature, to the condition of life on earth for all beings. That contrast, between my own continued ability to make and their sudden inability to, sat with me and wouldn't let go.
Fyoli Fyoli emerged out of this, the belief that creative practice carries responsibility, that design can be a bridge rather than a way of extraction, and that after years as a solo artist, I was ready for a collaborative creative process which would redefine and expand the idea of belonging, home and family for me.
Fyoli Fyoli feels deeply rooted in connection: between you and your sister, between your designs and the artisan families who help bring them to life, and between the person wearing the piece and the hands that made it. Can you tell us more about that?
That connection is really the whole foundation of this brand, at every level. Seema and I grew up with a shared appreciation for handmade things we spent hours as kids painting, crocheting, knitting, embroidering pieces for our home. She later spent years working close to Dilli Haat, the artisan marketplace in Delhi, and came to know the trials and occasional triumphs of artisan communities directly. Now she runs our India operations from Dehradun while I handle design from California.
With the artisan families, every collaboration is a relationship, not a transaction. Take the Patwa family in Rajasthan, who do all our thread-knotting, we work with a multi-generational family there: a grandmother in her eighties still actively contributing her skill, her son and his wife, their sons and their wives, an aunt, a neighbor who joins when bigger orders come in. In that one family, you see the whole arc of what ancestral and familial craft actually means, knowledge passed from grandmother to grandchild, skill shared between spouses and siblings, community drawn in as needed. It isn't a supply chain. It's a living tradition.
And that's what we want the person wearing the piece to feel too. Heritage craft skills are—something that's been loved across time, passed between hands, trusted to carry memory and knowledge forward. When someone understands that the bracelet on their wrist carries the knotted fingerprints of three generations of a family in rural Rajasthan, the object stops being simply beautiful. It becomes a relationship.
Your earlier studio practice was often inspired by nature, slowing down, and paying attention. How does that same spirit show up in Fyoli Fyoli and your pieces?
My primary influence has always been nature closely observed, wonder and reverence for the beauty of nature is the first step toward taking care of it. You'll see that show up literally in the work: Jewelry forms inspired by leaves and seedpods, moss, textures and prints pulled from patterns in nature, use of landscape colors and botanical motifs. But it's not just about how things look. Our products are meant to be an invitation to slow down and pay attention to the beauty of nature, not just to look, but to actually cultivate a way of seeing that brings back some awe and wonder for the planet. That's something I try to build into the small, thoughtful details that only handmade work can really carry.
It's the same instinct behind how we work, too. We don't rush product development. It takes months, sometimes a year, and we don't do seasonal collections. We go with the pace of the makers who have their own rhythms of rural life. This slowness and attention are also embedded in how our textiles are made, without use of electricity, on simple pit handlooms. Sometimes the raw materials demand this intentionality and slowness. Like high count hand spun and handwoven Jamdani textiles, a unesco intangible heritage.
Cotton yarn is hand-spun by women artists called Katuni on a spinning wheel called Ambar Charkha, using extra-long-staple Suvin cotton, a fiber so fine it can spin up to a 500-count yarn. This yarn then is worked in with rice starch and needs natural humidity just to withstand the tension of weaving without snapping, which means the work only happens in a few hours at dawn and dusk. The motifs themselves are inserted with a small metal hand tool called a Shola, essentially on-loom needle embroidery, thicker yarns worked directly into a finer base weave. The warp setting up for our Kota silk textiles takes place near a local river kaithooon village in the early morning hours where Chambal river mist helps keep the yarn intact as wild onion juice is applied to strengthen these fine yarns in preparation for hand weaving.
Comfort, softness, and sensory experience are such a big part of your designs. Why does it matter that a piece not only looks beautiful, but also feels good to live in?
This actually comes from something very personal, my mother and I both have sensitive skin, and from the very beginning I wanted every textile we made to be honest in its materials, gentle on the body, and extraordinary to the touch. That search is really what led us to some of India's most endangered craft traditions in the first place, Khadi( hand-spun, handwoven natural fiber textiles), for instance, remains one of the most breathable and skin-kind textiles in the world, and working with it connects us to a whole philosophy of slowness and self-sufficiency. Our Kota silk is the same, so weightless and luminous, you genuinely have to touch it to believe it. Cashmere Pashmina which is hand combed from Changthangi goats by shepherd communities in the high glacial mountains of Ladakh.
There's also a real gap we noticed in the market: a shortage of textile products made for people who are genuinely sensitive to what touches their skin both in terms of chemical exposure and in terms of texture and weight. That's why we've specialized in high-count, hand-spun, handwoven, lightweight textiles that are soft to the touch without compromising on style. Most of our textiles are either naturally colored just as nature intended or dyed with plant and mineral derived dyes.
It shows up in the jewelry too, not just textiles. When we noticed that woven grass choker could cause skin irritation in some people, we trained artisans to integrate soft brown cotton inner linings into the pieces, solving a real wearability problem while giving them the technical capability to make something that's both skin-friendly and commercially viable. We wanted to make statement size earrings without the heavy weight so we designed hand embroidered earrings and vetiver and grass woven jewelry and accessories where we could go big and sculptural while the pieces remain lightweight and comfortable to wear.
Here's the thing: when something is genuinely beautiful and comfortable, you forget you even have it on and then the compliments that follow remind you, pleasantly, that you're wearing something special. That's honestly the best kind of feedback a design can get. Functional design has to care about wearability and comfort and feel, in addition to how something looks, we’re highly conscious of that. Ultimately, we want our ideal customer to feel that who they are is connected to what they wear, that it reflects their inner values. Luxury, for us, is about breathability and a superior sensory feel, alongside the story a piece carries. A piece has to earn its place , through design, material honesty, and excellent craftsmanship. That standard only means something if the piece actually feels as good on the body as it looks.
Can you tell us more about the artisan communities you work with and the hands, families, and traditions behind each piece?
The artisans we collaborate with carry stories that go back much further than the moment we started working together.
Our silk and fine cotton textiles primarily come from weaving communities in rural West Bengal. Lightweight and diaphanous Kota silk is woven by Jahida Bano and Faridan Bano in Kaithoon village, Rajasthan.
In West Bengal women hand-spin extraordinarily fine cotton thread.It is woven into intricate patterns using Jamdani weaving skill recognized by UNESCO as a cultural treasure
The artisans who know this craft are aging, and few younger weavers are learning it which makes every piece we make together even more meaningful. None of these are supply chains to us. They're living traditions and what we're really doing is asking- together, what these already-extraordinary skills can become next. Our naturally dyed peace silk stoles are woven and dyed by women artists from North East India. We have collaborated with hand blown glass artist Manoj ji from Firozabad in Northern India to create beautiful metal and glass jewelry. We collaborated with generational thread knotters from Patwa community in Rajasthan for our metal and fiber jewelry collection.
In the remote village of Pindrai in central India, we are now working with a family of Date palm leaf artists led by Kanta Bai and her husband Kacharu Khadse. Their children, grew up learning the craft from them. When cheap plastic goods wiped out the market for their traditional handmade rope and brooms, the women of this community took the same weaving and braiding skills they already had and turned them toward something new, handbags, jewelry, wall hangings, building their own path into a wider market. It's been moving to watch a skill once tied to hardship become a source of real pride and opportunity.
Near Shantiniketan in West Bengal, we work with Santhal indigenous artisans, among them Tapasi, along with Nirmal and Dipumani Soren and their extended family- who craft with vetiver grass and a forest vine called Shyam Lata. For the Santhal, this work is tied closely to their spiritual traditions and their deep respect for the sacred groves the plants come from. Harvesting at the right season isn't just practical, it’s a way of honoring a forest they consider sacred.
When someone buys a Fyoli Fyoli piece, what are they supporting beyond the product itself? What does that purchase make possible for the artisan makers, their families, and their communities?
Beyond the piece itself, what someone is really supporting is a different way of doing business, one where value doesn't just flow in one direction from maker to customer, but circulates. This is in addition to supporting ancestral knowledge systems that are inherently sustainable.
Practically, here's what that purchase makes possible: our artisans aren't paid an hourly wage, they're paid by the piece, at a price they set themselves. During the sampling phase, the most uncertain part of any collaboration, we provide fixed monthly allowances so they can buy better raw materials without cashflow anxiety and we absorb the cost of samples that don’t work out. We invest in skills training and digital literacy so artisans get better at representing their own work. A purchase also supports something less tangible but just as real: dignity. When artisans set their own prices and get paid regardless of whether a sample makes it to production, they retain agency in the exchange. It’s also worth saying: this work tends to shift family and community dynamics too, when everyone in a household, men and women alike, is involved in the making and the earning, that tends to create a more equitable dynamic at home and in the wider community. Zoomed out, what your purchase supports is craft communities that have adopted eco friendly ways of making, staying whole, families able to stay rooted in their own villages and traditions rather than being pushed into precarious urban labor just to survive. My biggest dream for this work is that these crafts become self-sustaining everywhere, practices that pay school fees, build homes, and get passed to the next generation with pride.
For customers new to slow fashion or handmade work, how would you explain the value of a handmade piece compared to something mass produced or machine-made?
I'd start by saying this: mass production and overconsumption have stripped a lot of the meaning and context out of what we buy. Most of us have lost track of what actually goes into the things we own, and that's a real emotional and moral disconnect, one we think about undoing with every piece we make. In a traditional, mass-market model, value flows in one direction, from producer to consumer, mediated entirely by price. In what we do, value circulates. When an artisan community thrives, when a craft that was disappearing finds new relevance, when someone holding one of our pieces understands what they're actually holding in their hands, that's a kind of return no balance sheet can capture, and it's the whole reason this way of making exists.
Concretely, a handmade piece from us means something specific happened before it reached you: someone set their own price for their work rather than being paid a flat wage. Someone spent months, getting the sampling right and then production, using only eco-friendly materials and processes. Compare that to what's actually flooding the market right now: cheap, digitally printed synthetic imitations and power-loom textiles at times designed to mimic heritage weaves or hand-block prints, priced and marketed in a way that makes it genuinely hard for a consumer to tell the difference. This kind of greenwashing and craft washing really make it hard for the customers to navigate this. That confusion isn't harmless, it’s directly responsible for undermining the livelihoods of rural artisans, and it's a real reason some of these crafts have disappeared altogether. Educating people on what authentic handmade actually means is one of the most important things we can do.
And here's maybe the deeper point: heritage craft is a living body of knowledge that adapts. We're also deliberately not optimizing the way a traditional business does, faster, cheaper, bigger. We've let go of those metrics in favor of things that are harder to quantify but matter more to us: reciprocity, trust, continuity. That's meant accepting a slower pace of growth, refusing rush orders and refusing fixed seasonal collections. So when something is made this way- with honest materials and craftsmanship that transcends trends, it earns its place in a life. It deepens with time, the way genuinely good things do. That's the whole argument against overconsumption, really: not guilt, not preaching, just the felt difference between accumulating mindlessly and participating in our collective healing through the choices and power we all have.
Price can be a tender conversation, especially when people are trying to make thoughtful choices within real budgets. What do you wish people understood about the true cost of making pieces slowly, ethically, and by hand?
We believe that conscious consumption is a journey, and we want to meet people wherever they are on that path. I have a huge amount of empathy for our customers who are simply living in a landscape where mega corporations have promoted and misled people into a use-and-throw culture. That's exactly why it matters to ask: what's in my products, who made it, and how?Another mental switch I've found helpful is seeing my budget, whatever it may be, as a kind of vote for the world I actually want to build and see. That shift generates real curiosity and much more intentional buying. Purchasing becomes something with purpose, something that has a cascading effect on entire communities behind the handmade economy.
With that lens, here's what I want people to understand about the true cost of making something slowly, ethically, and by hand. Pricing our products honestly, is a choice we make deliberately, fair wages and material integrity aren't line items we're willing to cut. Our artisans aren't paid a flat wage, they set their own price based on how long a piece actually takes them to make, consistently above government-established rates. During sampling, the most uncertain phase of any collaboration, we often add a stipend on top of that per-piece pay, including for samples that never make it to production. That's a deliberate transfer of risk from the artisan to us, so trying something new never costs them income.
So when you see the price on one of our pieces, that's what it's actually made of: fair compensation set by the person who made it, real design and testing time, the true cost of physically reaching remote communities, and a refusal to cut corners just because the market might tolerate it. And every time someone chooses that, consciously, it's a vote cast for the kind of world we're trying to help build.
Fyoli Fyoli emphasizes conscious materials, natural fibers, hand processes, and small-batch production. What does sustainability look like for your brand?
Low carbon footprint. All our textiles are handwoven, and many use handspun yarns as well. Every surface decor technique is handcrafted, hand embroidery, hand block printing, on-loom needlework for extra weft designs.
Near-zero waste, by design. Our wraps are unstitched and worn right off the handloom — even the selvedge that's sometimes trimmed from the edges gets repurposed as cording for packaging. Our jewelry is made almost entirely from what most people would consider waste material: dried Benakathi (hand spunVetiver) grass, dried Shyam Lata vine, dried date palm leaves. Even the leaf's midrib, left over after the leaf itself is used, gets split into finer fiber and worked into plaited cordage.
Natural, safe materials. 100% of our raw materials are naturally sourced, as found in nature. Our textiles use only natural fibers, primarily cotton, silk and wool. Even fabric tags that go on our products are cotton. We use only mulesing free Merino wool and hand combed Pashmina Cashmere. We never use plastic embellishments. Metals are sterling silver and recycled brass, lead, cadmium and nickel-free, carrying product safety certification (ISO 14021); Our embroidered jewelry in rayon thread are OEKO-TEX certified, and any glass we use is the highest quality, lead-free borosilicate.
Non-toxic dyes. Beyond our naturally colored, undyed yarns, the majority of our textiles are dyed with plant- and mineral-based dyes. Only a small fraction uses low-impact, azo-free dyes.
Small-batch. We deliberately keep production batches small to avoid overproduction, and plan to offer made-to-order options for future apparel launches
Ethical sourcing. Our plant materials are gathered by artisans from their own local forests, in harmony with seasonal and ecological conditions that are part of their own spiritual belief systems. Khadi yarns are sourced through government-run institutions, at prices the government sets fairly.
Cultural sustainability. This matters to us just as much as the environmental side. Many of these heritage crafts are generational and specific to a particular tribe and region, that’s something we stay acutely aware of in every design collaboration. It goes well beyond just acknowledging a craft or giving credit; it means taking the time to genuinely learn the context and history of a craft before starting any project, and actually working directly with artisans from that ancestral craft community, rather than around them. We see heritage craft as a living body of knowledge, the goal is helping it adapt and stay relevant, not nostalgia.
Transparency. We're upfront about what our products are made of, where they're made, what processing they've gone through, who made them, and how and we welcome questions about our process or supply chain.
Plastic-free packaging. All packaging is 100% post-consumer recycled paper, cotton, silk and basket bags made of woven palm leaf. Put together, that's what sustainability looks like for us: not one big gesture, but a series of specific, deliberate choices, in materials, in scale, in how honest we're willing to be about the whole process.
What are your non-negotiable practices when it comes to design and creating your pieces?
Never plastic. We use wood, metal, or acetate cores in our designs, never plastic, with one rare exception: a recycled-plastic cord occasionally used inside a date palm leaf structure, hidden in the inner core. Everything else, cloth linings, bangle cores, is sourced by us directly, so that material honesty continues even in the parts a customer will never see.
Never toxic dyes or synthetic raw materials. We use plant- and mineral-based dyes for the majority of our textiles, with azo-free dyes only where natural dye knowledge for a specific tradition has been genuinely lost. We'd never sell products made with synthetic or toxic materials, or anything cheaply made with a questionable, untraceable supply chain — even if it were profitable.
Never rush a sample, and never move forward until it's right. We invest heavily in designing, sampling, and iterating until we're completely satisfied, we don't compromise on craftsmanship, and every mindful detail is treated as an argument for longevity and comfort over disposability.
Never press artisans with rush orders, and no fixed seasonal collections. Product development takes months, sometimes closer to a year. We've committed to clear timelines from the outset rather than forcing pace onto artisan communities, which is also why we don't operate on fixed seasonal drops.
Never sell through a rescue story. A piece has to earn its place through design, material integrity, and craftsmanship alone — with no story of struggle doing the selling for it. We refuse the narratives of saviorism, subsidy, or charity that so often attach themselves to handmade goods from the developing world.
Never treat an artisan as production labor. Every artisan is a collaborator, not labor for hire. Every sample is paid, including the failed ones and we absorb the financial risk of experimentation so the artisan retains full agency and dignity throughout.
Never underestimate representation. How we speak about the communities we work with matters enormously, the line between celebrating craft and romanticizing struggle requires constant vigilance and humility.
What has it meant to have Fyoli Fyoli featured on Viva Voce’s marketplace? Where do you feel our values overlap?
Being part of Viva Voce's marketplace has meant a lot to us, honestly. So much of what we do can feel invisible in a market that rewards speed and scale, it’s meaningful to be somewhere that was built specifically for the people and brands the mainstream industry tends to overlook. Everyone I've come in contact within the organization so far has been very cooperative and I've felt a genuine connection and warmth. It's quite amazing to see this sense of community exude within the members of the organization. Where I feel our values overlap most is in this refusal to separate ethics from excellence. Viva Voce doesn't treat sustainability and inclusivity as two different departments, they go hand in hand for them, the same way craftsmanship and social impact aren't separate things for us.
There's also something in how both of us think about visibility. Viva Voce exists to make people who've felt overlooked, in body, in identity, seen, heard, and celebrated. That's very close to what we're trying to do for the artisan communities behind our pieces, communities where men and women participate equally, carrying ancestral knowledge systems forward not keep them invisible in a supply chain, share the stories and give credit where it belongs.
And I think we share a belief that commerce can be something more relational than transactional, a way to nurture a sense of community. Viva Voce is known to be a movement, not just a marketplace. Being featured somewhere that shares this ethos, rather than treating it as a marketing angle, means a lot to us. Curation matters enormously here, too. In a world flooded with stuff, we're deliberate about designing and producing things that do real good, a genuine positive socio-ecological impact, not just a good story. Viva Voce is built the same way: a curated marketplace where customers find meaningful products and caring community, not infinite choice.
What are 1–2 pieces in your current collection that feel especially meaningful or exciting to you right now, and why? (Even better if these are available on our marketplace!)
Gosh this one is difficult to answer as I love everything we make! In textiles we just completed another round of weaving the Dorukha Pashmina Cashmere(reversible two sided) stole. This is made of finest naturally colored Pashmina which is hand combed from Changthangi goats that live in the high altitude Himalayan glacial region in Ladakh India.
These goats are cared for by the nomadic shepherd community called the Changpa people. From there, it moves through a whole chain of specialized hands: cleaning, sorting, and spinning, done by women in our community like Saleema, who spin the pashmina in its natural ivory and grey tones, with no dye involved at all. Then it goes to master weavers, artisans like Firdose Jan and Hilal who bring generations of skills to actually construct the double-faced cloth on traditional looms in Kashmir. I like this because of it involves an advance weaving skill and the fact that you get two stoles in one, the shimmering side and the utterly soft and luxurious pashmina fleece side. A perfect accessory for the holiday season! This is woven in a compound double cloth twill, set up on the loom with two entirely separate sets of warp and weft threads running side by side.
Another product/project that I am very excited about which we are dropping this October is our collaboration with indigenous artists who work with plant materials possessing very sophisticated weaving and braiding and construction skills- The Maang community of Central India and the Santhal people from eastern India. We have created a unique set of jewelry and accessories collection in collaboration with them. These lightweight components go so well with our design principles of natural materials and wearability and comfort. These project also holds immense potential for positive social impact.
When someone buys a Fyoli Fyoli piece, whether for themselves or as a gift, what message do you hope it carries with it?
At its core, this is about love. Love is really the purpose here and we don’t distinguish between love and care. There's a real, felt joy in the handmade process itself, and excellent craftsmanship with careful, considered details speaks more loudly and lovingly than any words we could put on a tag.
Whether someone's buying it for themselves or giving it to someone they love, I hope what it carries is that same honesty, a real connection to the maker communities and to us, without corporate jingoism or a slick marketing sheen. I hope it carries a particular kind of pride, too — the pride of knowing that this choice supported a living tradition and a family's dignity. When someone knows exactly what they're holding, where it came from, what skills went into it, something shifts in how they relate to it. They feel the weight of it- morally and emotionally.