What makes anaar, anaar

Close crop of sage-green cotton hand block printed with cream, pink and green leaf motifs
the print.
A woman in blue-green printed anaar & co. pyjamas lounging across a red-and-cream gingham armchair on a lawn
Hands pressing a wooden printing block onto cotton printed with red and blue floral motifs in Jaipur
where it starts.
A hand wearing pearl and gold bracelets holding a whole red pomegranate

the prints, the people,
the pomegranate, and a tram.

Why anaar?

We could hardly call it anything else.

Anaar means pomegranate.

The name comes from the anaar buti, a pomegranate motif found in Rajasthani block printing.

Loose watercolour illustration of a cut-open pomegranate showing red rind, pink seeds, cream pith and a green leaf.

A fruit that's never been particularly good at blending in.

Neither have we.

It starts in Jaipur

Weathered turquoise double doors set in a carved dusty-pink stone arch in Jaipur

A good print needs
somewhere good to go.

Close-up of a quilted anaar & co. jacket on a cane chair: block-printed cream cotton, striped piping, a striped lining curling back and a patch pocket

We work directly with workshops in Jaipur, choosing prints from their existing blocks and developing the shapes and proportions of each piece. There are a lot of decisions between falling for a print and making a jacket you’ll actually wear.

How does it sit on the body? What fits in the bag? We care about those questions as much as the colour.

Does the pocket land where your hand expects it to?

The result is made in Jaipur,
with room to go wherever you do.

The tram made me do it.

Inayat as a child, painting at a small red desk
An early interest in colour, apparently.

I grew up in Delhi, went off to boarding school young, and have been packing and unpacking ever since. New York came next, then Amsterdam. I moved here because of my husband and stayed because I fell for the place too: the light, the bikes, the flowers everywhere, and the collective belief that twelve degrees is terrace weather.

On tram rides, I kept noticing women carrying Indian hand block printed bags. The prints felt like home. The bags themselves sometimes left me wanting a little more. One day, I spotted threads coming loose at a seam and couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Inayat on an Amsterdam tram beside the window, looking at her phone
The scene of the crime.

The print deserved a bag that worked just as hard.

A WhatsApp conversation confirming the dimensions of tote bags and pouches
Many messages followed.
The first quilted tote bag sample, held up in a workshop
First bag sample. We had notes.

That thought became anaar & co.: a small collection of quilted jackets, bags, pouches and sleepwear made with workshops in Jaipur. Good cotton, prints with plenty to say, and shapes I’d want to reach for on an ordinary Tuesday. Especially an ordinary Tuesday.

The first orange printed quilted jacket lying on an unmade white bed
The first jacket.
A quilted jacket taking shape on a workshop table in Jaipur, among printed fabric and paper patterns
Things becoming things, Jaipur.

I want the finishing to feel as considered as the cloth. I want a jacket that goes over what you already own and a bag that comes along when your plans change halfway through the day.

Most of all, I want you to use these pieces. Wear the jacket out for coffee. Pack the bag a little too full. Open your parcel, send a photo to the group chat, and tell me where it goes next.

Inayat

Inayat standing on a bridge over an Amsterdam canal

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