THE ITCH

I don’t think collections begin with sketches. They begin with an itch.

The itch can come from a building you walk through, or an interaction with a book where you connect the strings at 3 AM. For me, it came from two things: a recent stay at Pierre Jeanneret’s house in Chandigarh, and a memory of admiring a Hans J. Wegner chair in a book a few years ago in our university library.

Pierre’s house felt like a living philosophy, not a museum piece. The wall, the beam, and the chair asked questions: how should we live together in a space? Meanwhile, Wegner’s designs whisper: How should we feel when we sit?

My itch was simple: What if Pierre and Wegner were designing together today? Not just acknowledging each other, but actually in conversation.

I pictured a room where architecture and handcraft debate quietly—a thoughtful back-and-forth between the masters’ beliefs. One asking, “How must it stand?” and the other replying, “Cool bruh, but do you want to sit on it?” In that silence, I realised a new collection could breathe.

SAMA (Equanimity) began as that itch: a conversation between systems & soul, structure & comfort. How do you answer both questions at once?

THE QUESTION

The more I read about Pierre Jeanneret, the less I saw Chandigarh. I saw a way of solving problems through structure. The famous V-shaped legs & the cane seats, those were outcomes, not the starting point. If Pierre were here, they’d probably say, “Nice V-leg, but why exactly does it need to be V-shaped?”

Wegner was the opposite. When I flipped through his work, I was captivated by how wood seemed to answer. He never asked how a chair should look. He asked: “How should it feel? What does wood want to do?” He treated wood like a stubborn friend. You don’t force your way in; you gently discover it.

The question still remained for me: which path matters more - the architect asking, “How should it stand?”, or the craftsman asking, “How should it feel?”

Of course, it’s tempting to pick a side. But what if I don’t and instead start finding what lies between them?

As the idea grew, even a dining table, a chair, or a side table became a set of questions. Does this chair demand honesty? Does the table demand balance? Does this sofa demand conversation?

It convinced me not to make another pretty moodboard of chairs. I needed a rulebook built from questions. Which led to my next itch: could these two design philosophies find a common language?

THE RULES

I brainstormed every question I had: why does furniture have to feel so heavy? Is this curve honest? What happens if I remove that piece? Each itch scratched at the next question.

From that, a design DNA emerged, I wrote a list of principles both Pierre and Wegner would nod at. I turned it into a set of no’s: things I would never allow.

Example for material

• No marble—architecture drapes in marble, not in this collection.

• No cane—Pierre’s genius, but it would be an impulse to copy.

• No upholstery explosion—I love it, but SAMA would show comfort differently.

• Yes to one material: honed wood. Wood that shows its grains, curves, and honesty.

These answers came from asking, “What would Pierre do? What would Wegner decide?” and landing on what both would have concluded: “Make it structural, make it human.”

The DNA also had “must-haves”: every joint had to be obvious. No hidden screws under upholstery. This was to channelise Wegner’s respect for the material - let wood speak for itself.

Setting rules felt like writing a playbook for SAMA, designing a language instead of furniture. Sketches flowed freely, but I evaluated them : “Okay, Kathan, you’ve got rules. Let’s see if any sketches survive them.”

WHEN RULES BECOME FURNITURE

Instead of saying, “Here’s a chair,” I asked, “Which conversation needs a voice next?” Each piece in SAMA had to answer a question that kept the core ethos aligned.

Neev (Lounge Chair). Its first conversation had to be structural. Every collection needs a foundation, and Neev became that piece. I tried to make it honest and carry bold slants. It answered: How should it stand? Without forgetting, how should it feel when we sit?

Antaral (Sofa). Sofas aren’t just furniture for sitting. They’re containers for what happens after you sit - dialogue, silence, shared books. The name itself means interval or space between. Antaral isn’t about the arms or cushions; it’s about the volume between the wood and the people. It answers: what is a sofa really for?

Similarly, the other seven pieces answer questions that attempt to solve their respective queries.

As I sketched & produced 3D renders of multiple ideas, many fell away. Some ideas stayed too - Pierre-heavy, Wegner-soft, but the rules caught them. If an idea didn’t pass the “lean in or speak out” test, it was rejected. In the end, nine pieces were extracted, or rather, nine conversations.

Each piece in the collection is a clue: Neev (foundation), Antaral (between), Sthir (steady), Antah (within), Paas (beside), and others that come together as a family. They earned their names by the questions they answered.

SAMA isn’t just a collection I built. It’s the sum of every question I couldn’t shake a nod from both sides of the conversation (Pierre & Wegner).

WHY SAMA COULD ONLY BE THIS FOR ME

Looking back, SAMA was never about Pierre or Wegner. It was about asking enough questions until the furniture started answering itself.

Every piece you see is one of those core questions, reflected as an answer. Some answer structure strongly; some answer comfort; some answer silence, dialogue, or belonging.

At the end of the day, if you just see nine beautiful pieces, I haven’t done my job. I hope you finish this and think, “Bruh, I’ve never thought about furniture like that.” And then maybe you scroll down and actually click on the collection, not just for another cool piece, but because you want to hear those answers.

Ready to discover the conversation? SAMA.