The beginning
She arrived at
900 grams.
4th November 2021. Diwali night. 1.27 in the afternoon. Little Jasvita came into the world two months early, weighing 900 grams. A tiny fighter. Still assembling herself outside the womb — organs, systems, connections that were meant to form in quiet now forming in the light and noise and urgent care of a NICU.
Her father, Ravit, had a fever of 106.5 degrees. He was climbing the stairs of Safdarjung Hospital. Not because he was strong. Because his wife was there. Because his daughter was arriving. Because there are moments when the body does not get to decide what the person does next. He climbed.
For three months, little Jasvita could not breastfeed. She wanted to — Ravit could see it in her. The will was there from the very first day. But her body did not yet have the energy to do what her instinct was asking. Three months of wanting something she could not reach. Three months of a father watching, and being unable to help.
"Have I ever looked at what I am feeding her?"
Both fighting
She has been fighting
since before she could breathe on her own.
So has he.
Jasvita grew. Slowly, stubbornly, beautifully — against every early prognosis. Delayed milestones, yes. The walking, the running, the building of physical strength that full-term children take for granted. She worked for each one. Every milestone she reached, she earned. Her body knows what it means to fight for something. She learned that before she could speak.
While she was fighting the consequences of arriving too early, her father was fighting the city they lived in. Since 2021, a chronic cough — post-COVID, every winter, without fail. Delhi's air settling into the lungs and not fully leaving. The AQI alerts. The odd-even schemes. The doctor's repeated advice: leave the city.
He knew it was not simple. A life was built in Delhi. A business. A school for Jasvita. Roots that do not lift easily. The doctor knows this too. They say it anyway, because there is nothing else medically honest left to say.
The daughter born at 900 grams, fighting to grow strong. The father with a cough that will not leave, fighting to breathe clean. Both of them — every day, in a city that makes fighting necessary where it should not be.
The decisive moment
Diwali 2025.
Must build now or never.
Because I love her.
18th October 2025. Two days before Diwali. Delhi's air put Ravit in a hospital for a night. Not from an accident. Not from illness. From the air. The same air Jasvita breathes every morning. The same air the doctor keeps saying she should not be breathing.
In that hospital bed, something shifted. Not a business idea. Not a strategy. A decision. Four years of a question that would not leave him. Four years of watching his daughter fight. Four years of a city taking something from both of them, slowly. And the realisation that the only answer was not to wait for the city to change. It was to build something that did not need the city to change.
"Must build now or never. Because I love her."
That night was Diwali 2025. The same festival that brought little Jasvita into the world four years earlier at 900 grams. The energy synchronised. Life supported the decision.
The six months
Six months of
constant research,
search, and planning.
Father Farmer is born.
The question that arrived in the NICU in 2021 finally had a direction. Not a supplement. Not an air purifier. Not a filter. A farm. A sourcing network. A community of families who ask the same question and are ready to act on the answer.
Six months of research — into the food system, into sourcing, into which land in which district could carry what this farm needed to be. Five-point-six acres of black soil in Tamaspura, Jhajjar, Haryana. Panchayat land with trees 700 metres to the north. No truck sound on a Sunday morning.
Token paid. Land committed. The gaushala planned. The sourcing network beginning — one trusted communicator, one named farmer, one harvest at a time.
Father Farmer will feed you what they are feeding their children.
One kitchen. One standard. One truth.
