Saffron has always lived in the smaller, quieter moments of Indian life. A pinch in the morning tilak. A few strands in the milk before bed. A jar opened only for weddings and Diwali sweets.
It belongs to celebration, but also to care. To the way grandmothers warm milk on cold nights. To the way mothers pack a single sachet into a daughter's trousseau.
This is the saffron Baby Saffron has packed for six generations.
