Virasat begins with a leg every older Indian home once knew – the turned baluster of a verandah railing, a stair, a four-poster bed. Each one is shaped on the lathe, the wood spinning against a steady hand until the profile emerges: a swell, a shoulder, a narrow waist. We kept the proportion and let the ornament go.

What remains is the memory of the form rather than a copy of it – the same rhythm of curves, drawn in a quieter line, set into clean frames made for rooms lived in now. The turned leg does what it has always done: it carries the piece, and it carries something older than the piece.

Virasat is the Hindi word for inheritance. These are new things that feel handed down.