'The most important quality a designer can have is empathy'
What began as a leap of faith has today grown into Studio Modak, a multidisciplinary design practice working across branding, packaging, illustration, visual merchandising, and product design. Founded by Gajesh, who describes himself as a multimedia designer rather than just a graphic designer, the studio is driven by the belief that design can exist across formats while telling a cohesive story. In this conversation, he reflects on storytelling, originality, Indian design, and the role of empathy in creative work.
Do you believe good design should explain itself instantly, or should it unfold slowly over time like a story?
‘I genuinely believe that good design should explain itself almost instantly. That's my personal philosophy.​
At its core, I see design as problem-solving rather than art. While art can invite multiple interpretations, design serves a different purpose. It exists to communicate, simplify and solve. And the more effectively it does that, the better it works. For me, design shouldn't require lengthy explanations. Whether it's branding, packaging, a campaign or even a simple everyday solution, the objective remains the same: people should be able to understand it quickly and intuitively.
Design also extends far beyond visual outputs. It can influence behaviour, improve experiences and even change the way people interact with the world around them. Some of the most effective campaigns, for example, are designed in a way that encourages people to think differently or make better decisions without feeling forced. That's why I believe good design should be accessible. It should communicate clearly across different backgrounds, age groups and experiences. If a design needs constant explanation to be understood, then perhaps it hasn't solved the problem as effectively as it could have.'
A lot of brands today claim to be “story-driven,” but many stories feel manufactured. At what point does storytelling in design become performance instead of truth?
‘One thing I've noticed is that it's very easy for brands to get caught up in chasing algorithms, views, likes and performance metrics. While those things matter to some extent, I don't think they should come at the cost of authenticity. A brand story has to be true to itse
You can't endlessly sugarcoat, romanticise or manufacture a narrative because today's consumers are far more aware than we often give them credit for. The moment a brand starts trying too hard to appear a certain way, people can sense it.
We're no longer living in a time when someone sees an advertisement and immediately trusts a brand. Consumers today research, compare, cross-check and have countless alternatives available to them. They're much more intentional about where they spend their money and attention. That's why I often tell clients that the strongest brands are the ones that grow organically. The more a brand focuses on building genuine value, the more likely people are to connect with it naturally. On the other hand, when a brand becomes overly dependent on manufactured visibility, excessive promotion or performative storytelling, audiences tend to notice that as well.
For me, the most memorable brands aren't the loudest ones. They're the ones that remain honest about who they are, what they offer and why they exist. That's what makes a brand feel relevant rather than performative.’
Do you think abundance has a role to play in it?
‘I actually experienced this myself recently when I was looking to buy a pair of wireless headphones. I went on Amazon, searched for "wireless headphones," and was instantly presented with dozens of options. There were established brands I'd known since childhood, newer brands with impressive marketing, highly optimised product listings and countless reviews. Instead of helping me make a decision, the abundance of choice left me overwhelmed. Eventually, I closed the app without buying anything.
Of course, every consumer is different. Some people enjoy researching products, comparing specifications and spending time evaluating their options before making a purchase. But in general, I think buying decisions have become significantly more complicated because we're constantly surrounded by endless choices.
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Take prebiotic sodas as another example. Just a few years ago, there were barely any options in the Indian market. Today, there are dozens of brands entering the category, each trying to carve out a unique identity and narrative. As markets become increasingly saturated, brands naturally feel pressured to stand out. More money goes into marketing, more effort goes into positioning and more emphasis is placed on creating differentiation. But sometimes that race to stand apart can make consumers even more sceptical. That's why trust has become one of the most valuable currencies a brand can have today. I often tell my team that almost everything that could be made already exists in some form. Most categories are crowded, and most problems already have multiple solutions. The challenge isn't necessarily creating something entirely new; it's creating something meaningful, honest and genuinely useful.'
Having worked with a wide range of brands and clients, what do you think helps a brand stand out in today's crowded market?
‘Honestly, I think honesty is one of the biggest differentiators for brands today. We have some really good examples of this. Take The Whole Truth, for instance. Since day one, they've been incredibly transparent about who they are, how their products are made and what they stand for. Whether it's the packaging, the communication or the founder's presence, there is a clear consistency and authenticity to the brand. It never feels like they're trying to create an exaggerated perception of themselves.
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Another example is Moxie. I've been watching their growth over the last couple of years and they've done a fantastic job. What stands out is how openly the founder talks about her own hair and scalp concerns while discussing the products. That kind of transparency resonates with people.
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Interestingly, consumers today don't always connect with highly polished, production-heavy advertisements. More often, they're responding to content that feels real, content made by founders, team members or actual users of the product. There's a sense of trust that comes from seeing genuine experiences rather than perfectly crafted narratives.
I also think there's been a significant shift in how people perceive homegrown brands. Earlier, international brands were often seen as the benchmark for quality, but that's changing. Consumers are increasingly embracing Indian brands that are building strong products and communicating honestly.
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At the end of the day, honesty creates trust. And in a market full of choices, trust is often what makes someone choose one brand over another. That's why I believe authenticity and transparency are some of the most valuable things a brand can invest in today.’
How do you think designing can contribute to the honesty of a brand?
‘Design contributes at multiple levels of brand building. A lot of people associate design only with visuals or physical outputs, but design also influences perception, communication and consumer psychology. It starts with how a brand introduces itself to the world. There was a time when brands focused heavily on the idea of an elevator pitch, a quick explanation of what the brand or product does. Today the emphasis has shifted towards brand storytelling. Consumers want to know why a brand exists, what it believes in and what motivated its creation in the first place. That's where design starts. It starts with the words you choose, the way you write your brand story, the structure of your website, how your products are listed online and how information is presented to consumers. Every touchpoint contributes to the larger narrative.
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Packaging is another significant part of that story. At Studio Modak, we've worked extensively on packaging design, and we've seen first-hand how much it can influence purchasing decisions. Consumers today aren't just buying products; they're engaging with stories, values and experiences. Packaging often becomes the first physical interaction they have with a brand.​
​A great example of this is Phool, a brand we've worked with for over two and a half years. Much of the packaging we created was deeply rooted in storytelling, communicating what the brand stands for, what the product offers and the experience consumers could expect. Over time, many people began recognising the brand through its packaging and the stories embedded within it. What's also interesting is how the role of designers is evolving. Today, designers are increasingly working alongside founders, not just as visual designers or product designers, but as brand thinkers. They're helping shape the brand narrative, define the founder's persona and build the overall experience that consumers engage with.
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That's why I believe design plays an important role at every stage of brand building. It's not a single touchpoint or a final layer added at the end. It's something that influences how a brand communicates, connects and ultimately stays memorable.’
India is visually loud, layered, chaotic, emotional. Yet modern design often leans toward minimalism. Do you think minimalism sometimes erases cultural honesty?
“A lot of the work we do at Studio Modak naturally leans towards maximalism. That said, I'm not against minimalism. What I question is the uncritical adoption of a Western visual language, especially when it comes at the cost of local identity and cultural context.
Over the years, I've seen brands across India and other parts of Asia gradually move towards a similar aesthetic, clean, neutral and globally familiar. While there's nothing inherently wrong with that, something valuable gets lost when everything begins to look the same.
The issue isn't minimalism itself. India has always had its own forms of minimalism. The problem is that we've often overlooked our own design traditions while treating Western aesthetics as the benchmark for what is modern or desirable.
Both minimalism and maximalism have their place. In many cases signage, wayfinding, systems design or digital experiences, a minimalist approach can improve usability and clarity. Simplicity is powerful when used intentionally.
What concerns me is the overuse of a singular aesthetic that slowly erases cultural nuance. India is rich with visual traditions, rituals and everyday practices that can inspire design in countless ways. From the way we eat and dress to how we gather, celebrate and interact with objects, there are stories embedded in our culture that often go unnoticed.
I think we've spent a long time looking outward for inspiration while undervaluing what already exists around us. But when designers engage deeply with their own roots, that's when truly original work emerges.
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What's interesting is that many of these ideas are already appreciated globally. Sustainable practices, community-driven experiences and handcrafted systems have existed in Indian culture for generations, long before they became global design trends. Yet we often fail to recognize their value until they're repackaged elsewhere.
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For me, the real opportunity lies in studying our own cultures with the same curiosity we reserve for international references. The more we understand where we come from, the more meaningful and distinctive our work can become.
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And thankfully, that's already beginning to happen. A younger generation of designers is embracing local influences, regional aesthetics and cultural narratives with confidence. Instead of imitating, they're interpreting. Instead of borrowing, they're building from their own context. Some of the most exciting design work today isn't about choosing between maximalism and minimalism, it's about creating work that feels honest to where it comes from.’
Are there any stories that Indian brands still hesitate to tell visually?
‘There are countless stories and cultural references that Indian designers can draw from, but I think one of the biggest challenges is that we keep returning to the same idea of India. Whenever a brand wants to represent India, we often see the same visual vocabulary, palaces, peacocks, elephants, royalty and grandeur. These are beautiful symbols, but they're only a tiny fraction of what India actually is. I think we've become so accustomed to this stereotypical representation that we've stopped looking beyond it.
Take Banaras, for example. If you spend time on the ghats and really observe the city, you'll find layers of stories, rituals, objects and visual languages that rarely make their way into mainstream branding. The same can be said for places like Rishikesh, Lucknow or even Kanpur, which I think is incredibly underrated from a cultural perspective.
Closer to home, where I come from in Nagpur and the larger Vidarbha region, there are traditions that most people have never even heard of. Because the region is surrounded by forests, there are communities that worship the tiger as a sacred entity. Not as a mythological symbol, but as a part of nature itself.
What's fascinating is how these beliefs naturally influence design and everyday living. I've visited homes where tiger-inspired motifs appear everywhere, from tapestries and carpets to decorative objects and household details. It's a beautiful example of how culture quietly shapes visual language without people even consciously thinking about it. That's why I don't think people are hesitant to explore Indian culture in design. I think we're often just unaware of how much exists beyond the most familiar references. The more we look beyond the obvious, the richer the stories become.
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For example, near Nagpur is a small town called Washim, historically linked to the Vakataka dynasty, the same dynasty associated with the Ajanta and Ellora caves. Their architecture carried distinct visual markers, such as parrot motifs carved into homes and structures. These are the kinds of overlooked stories that fascinate me because they reveal how much of our visual history remains unexplored.
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If given the opportunity, I'd love to bring influences like these into my work, not by recreating them literally, but by understanding their context and translating them into something contemporary. My family also comes from the same region, so these stories feel personal. When I learn about the artists and craftspeople behind places like Ajanta and Ellora, I often wonder if some part of that creative legacy has travelled through generations.
That's what makes cultural storytelling so powerful. It isn't just about looking at history. It's about discovering connections, identities and visual languages that have been around us all along, waiting to be noticed.’
Do you think audiences remember good design, or do they remember how a design made them feel?
‘People rarely remember a design for how it looked; they remember it for how it made them feel. Much like a film or a song, what stays with us is the emotional connection. A song hits differently when it mirrors what you're going through, and design works the same way. The most memorable designs aren't necessarily the most beautiful, they're the ones that evoke something personal.’
Having studies from NID, do you think formal education holds importance in the design world?
‘I know a lot of younger design graduates might disagree with me on this, but I genuinely don't believe that a formal design degree is the only path to becoming a good designer. Of course, education has immense value. It gives you access to mentors, networks, resources and ways of thinking that can be incredibly transformative. I experienced that myself at NID, and I'm grateful for everything the institute gave me. But I don't think a degree alone makes someone a designer.
Throughout history, we've seen people create remarkable solutions without formal design training. They've built products, systems and experiences that have impacted communities and changed lives, not because they held a degree, but because they were deeply connected to the people they were designing for.
For me, the most important quality a designer can have is empathy.
The ability to observe, listen and genuinely understand the problems people face is far more valuable than any software skill or academic qualification. Once you develop that sensitivity, design naturally becomes an act of problem-solving. And problem-solving isn't limited to branding or packaging. There are designers working on public systems, social issues, policy-making and accessibility, areas that affect millions of people, many of whom are often overlooked by mainstream design conversations. At its core, design is about making life better for someone else.
One of my favourite examples is of the ‘lota’. It's an object that has fascinated generations of designers, including people at NID. It's simple, versatile and incredibly functional. It's used for drinking water, cooking, rituals, bathing and countless everyday activities. What's remarkable is that it wasn't created by a formally trained industrial designer sitting in a studio. It evolved through generations of observation, use and refinement. Yet even today, it remains one of the most thoughtful and efficient products we interact with. That, to me, is proof that good design can emerge from lived experience just as much as formal education.
The reality is that we're living in a time when knowledge is more accessible than ever before. You can learn from practitioners, communities, books, workshops, online platforms and real-world experiences. There are countless ways to build your perspective outside a classroom. If I were making the decision today, I'm honestly not sure I would choose college in the same way. I might choose to learn directly from the industry, from people and from communities. I would spend more time understanding how people live, what challenges they face and how design can help address those challenges. That's not to say design education isn't valuable, it absolutely is. But I don't think it's essential for becoming a thoughtful designer.
Our studio is a good example of why I think diverse perspectives matter more than similar educational backgrounds. Today, we're a team of five people. Only my partner and I come from design institutions like NID and NIFT. The rest of our team comes from completely different backgrounds. One person doesn't have a design degree at all. Another trained as an architect before moving into visual and product design. We also have a photographer and videographer who has built an incredible creative practice without formal design education. And honestly, they've been doing fantastic work.
What quality should someone have in order to work with Studio Modak
Empathy is probably the first thing I look for in people. If someone approaches the world only through an elite lens, I don't think I'd be able to work with them for very long. And honestly, the design industry is full of that tendency. We often hide behind polished language, complicated terminology and the desire to appear niche or intellectually superior. But I don't think that makes someone a good designer.
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A significant part of our work involves collaborating with artisans and craftspeople across India from Khurja, Moradabad and Lucknow to Uttarakhand, Maharashtra and many other regions. When you work with people who come from completely different backgrounds, languages and lived experiences, empathy stops being a nice quality to have and becomes a necessity.
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These communities welcome you with incredible generosity and openness. The least you can do is approach them with the same respect. The moment you start creating hierarchies whether based on education, profession, language or social standing, you stop learning. And I genuinely believe that's when both personal and professional growth begin to suffer.
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For me, the ideal designer is someone who can comfortably sit across from a founder in a boardroom and then spend the next day talking to a craftsperson in a workshop with the same curiosity and respect. You should be able to connect with a sixty-year-old business owner and a sixty-year-old artisan who doesn't even speak your language.
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That's the kind of person who thrives at Studio Modak.
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We're not interested in the idea of design as a pedestal. In fact, one of the things that bothers me about the larger design industry is how much attention is often given to individual names while the people actually making the work remain invisible.
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When you think of luxury brands, you immediately think of the creative directors, the founders or the public faces attached to them. But very rarely do we talk about the artisans, technicians, craftspeople and teams who bring those ideas to life. I've never found that model particularly inspiring. At Studio Modak, we try to acknowledge the people behind the work whenever possible. Whether it's Disha, Leher, Anjali or anyone else on the team, we want people to know who contributed to a project. Good work is rarely the result of a single person.
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In many ways, I think the first requirement for working here is selflessness. Recognition, fame and success may come over time, but those things are outcomes. What remains constant is the kind of human being you are. If you're kind, curious and willing to learn from people regardless of their background, you'll always find your place here. Because at the end of the day, great design starts with being a good human.’
Young designers today have more access than ever - references, AI, trends, tools. Does that affect originality?
‘Originality is becoming increasingly rare, and I see that firsthand while reviewing portfolios. Every week, we receive applications at Studio Modak. As we go through them, a pattern begins to emerge. Illustrators are doing UI/UX projects. UI/UX designers are experimenting with product design. Product designers are presenting beautifully rendered concepts. On the surface, everything looks polished. But often, what feels missing is original thought.
And that's the thing, we're not necessarily looking for perfect skills. Skills can always be developed. The more you practise, the better you become. What is much harder to cultivate is a unique perspective. The easy answer would be to blame students, but I don't think that's fair. Students are still figuring things out. They're naturally influenced by the systems, institutions and mentors around them. Which is why I think the larger conversation needs to be about education itself.
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In my opinion, one of the biggest challenges in design education today is the lack of meaningful mentorship. Many institutions struggle to bridge the gap between academia and industry. As a result, students often graduate with technical knowledge but limited exposure to how design actually functions in the real world.​ The mentors I grew up admiring weren't just teachers. They were practitioners. They had strong points of view, clear values and real-world experience. More importantly, they encouraged independent thinking rather than replication. That's something I feel is becoming harder to find.​ Students need access to practising designers, artists and professionals who are actively engaging with contemporary challenges. They need mentors who can introduce them not only to tools and processes but also to curiosity, observation and critical thinking. Unfortunately, that exchange doesn't happen as often as it should.
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Part of the problem is structural. Teaching is often undervalued. Many practising designers don't have the time, incentives or support to engage deeply with education. And when strong mentorship becomes scarce, originality inevitably suffers. Because originality doesn't emerge in isolation. It develops through dialogue, feedback, experimentation and being challenged by people who push you to think differently.​ I often think about how every discipline has traditionally relied on mentorship. Musicians have gurus. Athletes have coaches. Craftspeople learn through apprenticeships. The transmission of knowledge has always depended on close relationships between learners and practitioners. Design shouldn't be any different.​ And while I don't believe designers need to overwork themselves or sacrifice their well-being to succeed, I do believe they need guidance. Eight honest hours of focused work are enough. What matters is whether those hours are supported by meaningful learning and thoughtful mentorship.
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For me, that's where the conversation around originality begins. Not with talent. Not with software. Not even with hard work. But with the people who shape the way we learn to see the world.’
What do you think designing will look like in the next 10 years?
‘It's difficult to make definitive predictions about the future of design right now because we're living through a moment of enormous change. AI is evolving rapidly, and there's no denying that it has made certain aspects of creative work faster and more accessible. Tasks that once took days can now be completed in minutes. Ideas can be visualized instantly. Outputs can be generated at an unprecedented scale. But speed and volume aren't the same as originality. I've seen situations where companies placed more faith in AI-generated outputs than in the people creating for them. In some cases, those decisions didn't end well. Not because AI isn't useful, but because creativity isn't only about producing options, it's about understanding people.​ AI can generate thousands of possibilities, but it doesn't understand human nuance in the way people do. It doesn't experience doubt, memory, culture, nostalgia, relationships or lived reality. And I think that's where the value of human creativity will continue to exist. In fact, I believe originality may become even more valuable in the coming years. When everyone has access to the same tools, the differentiator won't be technical polish. It won't be perfectly written emails, flawless presentations or endlessly refined mockups. The differentiator will be perspective. It will be the unique experiences, flaws, emotions and observations that only human beings can bring to the table.
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I often think that we're heading towards a future where people become increasingly tired of perfection. When every email sounds polished, every presentation looks immaculate and every design follows the same patterns, authenticity begins to stand out. The things that feel human start becoming memorable. Maybe that's why I feel the future won't necessarily become more artificial, it might become more personal.​​
The value will lie in the imperfections. In casual conversations. In stories that feel lived rather than manufactured. In work that reflects a real person behind it. AI will absolutely continue to grow. Ignoring that reality would be naïve. It's already deeply embedded in how people work and create. The challenge isn't whether it will exist; the challenge is deciding how we choose to use it.
For me, the ideal future isn't one where AI replaces people. It's one where AI helps with efficiency while humans continue to provide meaning. Because meaning has always been the harder thing to create. Technology will continue to evolve. But I suspect the things we value most will remain deeply human.’
What piece of advice would you give to somebody starting fresh in your field?
‘I think the most important thing is staying true to yourself. If I could meet my younger self today, the one thing I would thank them for is their honesty. They were honest about the work they wanted to create, honest about the people they wanted to work with and honest about the things they believed in. If something bothered them, they said it. They had conviction. And I think that matters more than we often realise.
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The best work usually comes from people who are deeply connected to their own values, perspectives and experiences. The moment you start creating purely to fit into trends, expectations or someone else's idea of success, something gets lost. For me, originality isn't about doing something no one has ever done before. It's about being unmistakably yourself.
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The strongest creative voices throughout history have all had that quality. Whether it's filmmakers, musicians, artists or writers, you can immediately recognise their work because their personality is present within it.
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Think of filmmakers like Anurag Kashyap, Karan Johar or Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Their styles are completely different, yet you can identify their work almost instantly. The same goes for musicians like Kishore Kumar or Lata Mangeshkar. They weren't memorable because they followed a formula. They were memorable because they brought something deeply personal to what they created. That's what made them stand apart.
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I sometimes feel that younger creatives are under immense pressure to fit into existing frameworks of success. As a result, many become highly visible but struggle to develop a distinct voice of their own. Visibility and identity aren't always the same thing. A thriving creative career isn't built only on talent or exposure. It's built on having a point of view. And that point of view comes from accepting who you are, where you come from and what experiences have shaped you. Even the parts of ourselves we consider flaws often become important creative tools. Our frustrations, our questions, our backgrounds, our insecurities and even our anger can reveal what we care deeply about.
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The more comfortable you become with your own identity, the less energy you spend trying to perform for others. And that's usually when your most honest work begins to emerge. So if there's one thing I would tell young designers, it's this:
Protect your originality.
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Not by trying to be different for the sake of being different, but by paying attention to the things that genuinely matter to you. Because trends change. Industries change. Tools change. But a strong sense of self is what allows a creative practice to endure.’
