Part Studio, Part Stage, Part Burger Shop,
Welcome to Darry’s house!
What started two years ago as a creative space was never meant to be a burger shop. It was designed as an open room for like-minded people - writers, agencies, founders, performers, to come in and do what they love. Over time, the community shaped the space into what it is today: part studio, part co-working hub, part stage, and eventually, a food brand. At its core, it remains what it always was: a shared space for people building something of their own.
Was the idea born from a personal experience or a gap you saw in some way somewhere?
It was a bit of both. I don’t really think of creation in terms of market gaps or business size. My instinct is always ‘does the community actually need this?’
When I was working in the creative and research space, I often worked out of cafés, took meetings there, even tried recording sound bites and edits. While those spaces were lovely, they weren’t built for an efficient or truly productive creative process. That’s when I realised there was a need.
How would you describe “Darry’s House” in three words?
Inclusive, safe, and genuinely useful.
What have been the biggest tensions in running something that is both commercially viable and creatively experimental?
The tension has always existed. Any café owner will tell you it doesn’t make business sense for one person to occupy a table for an entire day. From day one, that question of opportunity cost has been there. But the purpose of this place was never just commercial efficiency. It was meant to be a third space, somewhere people feel safe enough to take their first steps, try new ideas, and simply exist without pressure. The moment we compromise on that, we defeat the reason it was created.
Of course, there are practical challenges. We charge for chair time, and some people don’t understand it. Others treat us like a regular café and then question why it feels different. Communicating that balance has been difficult. We’re not a typical food space, but we are also one. We’re inclusive, and that’s why we’ve never adopted a membership model. We don’t want anyone to feel like they can’t walk in.
The hardest part has been maintaining that inclusivity while also staying economically viable. But we constantly return to the values we set early on: to remain independent and inclusive. That balance is the real work.
How do you manage it all?
I’m still figuring out how to manage it all, but somehow everything fits into one narrative. Each part feeds into the other and it balances out. I try to finish my writing and strategy work before noon, and after that I shift into hospitality mode. It feels like living two or three roles in a single day.
What truly made it possible, though, were the people. I was fortunate that the first 10-15 people, a mix of initial core team members and early community members, who began working out of the space felt heaven sent and who slowly became the foundation of everything that followed. They made it easy for me to ask for help and genuinely showed up, whether it was giving feedback on a logo, helping with a video, or deciding where a poster should go. I give a lot of credit to those early members. They know who they are. They helped build this just as much as I did.
How does the community element show up in your day-to-day operations?
It really shows up in the small, daily interactions. If we’re trying a new drink or a new burger, we ask people what they think about the pricing. The same goes for co-working or event packages. We involve them in those decisions. At the same time, they’re building their own businesses from this space, and we’re building ours. There’s a constant exchange of knowledge. Someone shares a software they’ve tried, someone else suggests a better tool. It’s very fluid.’
‘It’s also emotional support in real time. Someone saying they’re exhausted. Someone stressed about a client not approving a budget. I’ve been there too. Just overhearing those conversations and being able to say, I know exactly what you mean, creates this unspoken solidarity. You realise you’re not doing this alone. And interestingly, others often have more faith in your venture than you do. When you’re surrounded by five or ten people all trying something of their own, that shared optimism becomes contagious. It’s not forced networking. It’s just very real, everyday social interaction. And that’s what builds the community.
Any advice on community building?
Honestly, I feel like I’ve just been very lucky. If anything has worked, it’s staying true to who I am and involving people in the process. I ask them questions. Do you think this is priced right? Would you come for this? Can I share this in the group? When I ask for help, they feel comfortable asking me for help too. It becomes mutual. It becomes shared. And over time, it just… happens
What has surprised you the most about how people engage with the space and what assumptions were completely broken?
I think what truly surprised me are two things, and they’re deeply connected.
The first is how much people genuinely need human connection. You can see it in their faces and in the way they interact. People just want to enter a space where others are around, where they can meet someone, exchange a few words, or simply not feel alone. It has very little to do with the food. Sometimes the food is almost secondary.
The second thing is the sheer number of incredibly smart, driven people around us. I didn’t fully realise the depth of talent in my own area until I saw it firsthand. The work ethic, especially among people under thirty, is remarkable. They’re sharp, enterprising, confident, and creatively fearless. Both our staff and the community members constantly surprise me. The talent was not surprising, but the volume of it was. If this is even a small reflection of young India, then we’re in very good hands.
Things every creative space needs.
I think it’s really about like minded people coming together. When you combine that with a fearless culture and good music, the space almost starts to feel alive. People often assume I live there because I’m always around, but I don’t. I just wanted it to feel like home for everyone else.
The idea was simple. You shouldn’t have to book a slot or perform a certain version of yourself to enter. You can walk in in the morning with a coffee, drop by at night, open your laptop, or sit for hours with just a bowl of rice. It’s meant to be easy and welcoming. The only real boundaries are practical ones. If you have pets or very young children, it might not be the most suitable environment.
Music is a big part of that atmosphere. The playlist is full of John Mayer, Jack Johnson, Mumford and Sons, and old Coldplay, not the new stuff. There’s a lot of warmth in it. And one rule we stick to is this: no DJ tracks. It has to be music made by someone behind an actual instrument.
Have you ever had to protect the soul of this space from becoming too “trendy”?
We have a fairly strict no influencer marketing policy. If someone who already comes to the space happens to be an influencer, that’s completely fine. What we don’t do is send out free burgers to ten influencers just for visibility. It doesn’t align with us. If we’re building a space for creators, we can’t reduce it to just another creator marketing loop.
We’ve also learned a few things along the way. We tried hosting one or two matcha raves once. That was enough. It’s just not us. The world doesn’t need one more loud, chaotic event for the sake of it. I say all of this lightly, of course. There’s room for everyone. But for us, it’s about staying intentional and not doing something just because it’s trendy.
What does success mean to you?
Success, for me, feels like what a band does with its albums. If the first space was our debut record, then I’d want to create the next one, and then another after that. Each album would sound different, evolve in its own way, but you’d still know it came from the same band. The same values. The same core.
Every new space should feel fresh and distinct, but still rooted in what matters to us: being useful to the community, making people feel safe, and remaining inclusive rather than exclusive. It can’t be a copy-paste version of the last one. It has to grow. If, at the end of it all, I can look back and say we created ten such “albums,” ten meaningful spaces that carried the same spirit but different expressions, that would feel like success. And ideally, they would be sustainable too.