Some dreams don't expire.
They wait.

For thirty years, Soniya Saluja's days belonged to everyone but herself. School tiffins, festival preparations, wedding shopping for half the extended family — if there was a gift to be chosen, wrapped, or made special in the Saluja home, it passed through her hands first.

Relatives joked that her gifts were better than the shops'. She would laugh it off. But somewhere between the ribbons and the rakhi threads, a quiet thought kept returning: what if this was mine? A little business. My own name on the box.

Life, as it does, kept the thought waiting. Children grew up. Responsibilities rotated but never really ended. The dream stayed folded away, like a sari kept for an occasion that never quite came.

"Mumma, you've packed a thousand gifts for other people. Why not a thousand and one — with your name on it?"

He built the website. She refused to let anyone else touch the packing. That division of labour has never changed: he handles the internet, she handles everything that actually goes inside a box — choosing each piece, writing each note by hand, tying each ribbon until it sits just right.

Tohfa (तोहफ़ा) simply means "gift." But in the homes we grew up in, a tohfa was never just the object. It was the fact that someone thought of you, took the trouble, and sent a piece of their day to yours.

That's the whole business plan, honestly. When you order from Tohfa, a real mother in Madhya Pradesh reads your message, writes it out in her own hand, and packs your box like it's going to her own family. Because as far as she's concerned — it is.