Aakriti Srivastava didn’t set out to change lives. She wasn’t carrying a business plan or a vision deck.
She stepped into the Thar Desert with a camera, a notebook, and the kind of curiosity that doesn’t ask for answers—it listens.
Fresh out of university, her visit to a remote Rajasthani village was part of a college project. But what she found there went beyond what any assignment could hold. Among the sand and silence, she saw a story few had stopped to notice—a story that stayed with her long after she left.
The silence in Bajju
The village of Bajju, nestled deep in Rajasthan’s vast desert, offered no dramatic scenes. There were no protests, no outcries—just a quiet shift that had left its people behind.
Camels, once celebrated as desert royalty, stood thin and underused. Their milk was discarded. Their significance, forgotten.
The herders who had shaped their lives around these animals now faced uncertainty, their traditional knowledge pushed to the margins by changing economies and modern disinterest.
They hadn’t stopped speaking—the world had just stopped listening.
Many would have passed through, taken photographs, scribbled down a story, and moved on.
But Aakriti didn’t. She returned—not as a visitor, but as someone who felt responsible for what she’d seen.
Each time she came back, she stayed longer. She asked more questions. Ate with families. Listened to the frustrations they no longer expected anyone to care about.
It was here, in the quiet spaces between conversations, that a single thought began to take shape:
What if camel milk—the very thing being thrown away—could become a source of value again?
Not just financially. But emotionally. Culturally. Collectively.
That question became Bahula Organics, launched in 2022. A social venture with a simple yet radical aim: to bring camel milk back into the economy and give the herders—especially women—a new reason to believe in their work.
Along with co-founders Romal and Suraj Singh, Aakriti began to build something that looked nothing like a startup and everything like a movement.
Built on trust, not strategy
Bahula wasn’t born in offices or incubators. It took root in courtyards, on long walks, and in kitchens where conversations flowed over shared meals.
There were no polished investor decks. What they had was solar-powered milk chillers, village meetings, and a commitment to keeping things local, simple, and clean.
Aakriti worked directly with more than 4,000 livestock herders. Many had long stopped seeing their milk as anything more than waste. Getting them to believe otherwise wasn’t easy. Trust doesn’t come in announcements—it comes in presence. And she gave them that.
Being a young woman talking about business and innovation in rural Rajasthan invited more doubt than excitement.
There were questions—about her intentions, her experience, even her place in the community.
But she didn’t try to fight that with words. She simply kept showing up.
Training women to manage decentralised dairy units.
Helping villages adopt hydroponic fodder systems so camels could be fed year-round.
Encouraging the use of biogas units to make daily life easier and cleaner.
Over time, resistance gave way to respect.
Bringing camel milk to city shelves
In the cities, camel milk wasn’t a known commodity. It wasn’t common. It wasn’t craved. And it certainly wasn’t understood.
But Aakriti wasn’t in a rush to impress. She started slow. Offering samples. Explaining health benefits.
Her efforts found curious and conscious consumers in places like Delhi, Mumbai, Bengaluru, and Goa.
Today, Bahula’s product line includes camel milk ghee, A2 milk, artisanal cheese like halloumi and feta, and cold-pressed oils—each product rooted in sustainability, tradition, and thoughtful craft.
Bahula is not just a company. It’s a quiet rebalancing.
A way to give people back their dignity, their income, their connection to land and livestock.
Women who had rarely stepped beyond their homes are now running dairy units. Villages that once seemed left behind are experimenting with green energy and climate-smart farming.
With support from partners like the ICICI Foundation, SELCO, and the Atal Innovation Mission, Bahula is preparing to expand into Ladakh, where yak milk may soon find its own place in the market.
But for Aakriti, none of this is about scale.
She measures success in the trust of a herder, the confidence of a woman running her first business, and the value of every drop once discarded.
The one who stayed
Aakriti never came to build an empire. She came to tell a story.
What she didn’t expect was that she would become part of it.
She didn’t build massive factories. She built something quieter—a culture of trust, an economy of care, and a path forward rooted in tradition.
Her work isn’t loud. It doesn’t scream for attention. But it is deeply felt—by every family it touches, by every animal given a second chance, and by every consumer who chooses meaning over marketing.
In a world filled with noise, Aakriti Srivastava chose stillness.
She chose to listen when others walked by. She chose to act when most would document and forget.
And through that choice, she’s building a future that honours the past, uplifts the present, and respects the land it rises from.
In the silence of the desert, her work speaks.
And it speaks for many.
Read more: Decoding “Greenwashed” brands in Indian supermarkets: The food aisle
