From a village tripod to a label of my own.

I started in my village, carrying a tripod through streets where nobody understood why. Before that I welded, cut hair, ran a small mobile shop and did daily wage work — nine days here, a few months there, but always giving the job everything I had. You can hear the whole journey in my podcast with Zain Ul Abideen.

Somebody once told me: if you can't fly, run; if you can't run, walk; if you can't walk, keep crawling — but don't stop. I took that seriously. It was a year and a half before anything worked, and when the first video finally went viral I didn't celebrate — I started thinking about the next one.

There was a moment I almost sold my page for eighty thousand rupees. I took the advance back and kept building instead. Today that decision supports my team and fifteen to twenty families, and it taught me the only rule I trust in business: rise slowly, stay honest about your intention, and it lasts.

The same standard runs through this label. My team has written over five hundred scripts, and I've re-shot a single line fifty times because it wasn't what I'd pictured. Cloth is no different — if the finish isn't what I imagined, it doesn't get listed.

That's why I started this. Good suit cloth in Pakistan is either overpriced or it doesn't hold up. There isn't much in between. So we found the mills, imported the yarn, and set one rule: if I wouldn't wear it, it doesn't go on the site.

Every colour, I see before you do. Every pack is a full 4–4.5 metres — because there's nothing worse than your tailor telling you there isn't enough cloth.

I'm not trying to build a fashion label. I'm trying to make sure that when you walk into a wedding, nobody has to ask if the suit is good. They'll already know.