In an industry often driven by speed, scale, and spectacle, The Vrindavan Project stands apart, quietly rooted in philosophy, material honesty, and a deeply human approach to design. Founded by architect Ranjeet Mukherjee, the studio is less a conventional firm and more an evolving journey, one shaped by craft, spirituality, resistance, and resilience. Where most architectural firms chase glass façades and glossy renders, he chose earth, brick, and patience. And where many founders speak the language of growth hacks and funding rounds, Mukherjee speaks instead of legacy, consciousness, and duty.
His firm, The Vrindavan Project, was never meant to be just a company. It was and remains- an idea in motion.
In this conversation with Indian Startup Times, Mukherjee reflects on his unconventional path, from premier institutions and global academia to rural construction sites, spiritual communities, and a design philosophy that prioritises legacy over volume.
A Clarity Discovered Early
Mukherjee’s journey into architecture did not begin with uncertainty. It began with unusual clarity.
As a student at The Doon School, Dehradun, his days were shaped less by textbooks and more by workshops, carpentry studios, metal shops, and art rooms where hands learned before minds theorised. That tactile engagement stayed with him. Architecture, when it entered his life, felt less like a career choice and more like a natural extension of how he already understood the world.
That conviction carried him to Centre for Environmental Planning and Technology (CEPT) in Ahmedabad, where he ranked fourth nationally in the entrance examination. CEPT, at the time, was an ecosystem of intense academic rigour and creative freedom. Giants like B.V. Doshi, Bimal Patel, and Professor Kurula Varkey shaped an environment where students were not insulated from practice; they were invited into it. The culture of mentorship went beyond classrooms; exceptional students were invited directly into faculty studios, blurring the line between education and practice.
For Mukherjee, architecture was never abstract. It was lived.
The Detour That Changed Everything
After CEPT, Mukherjee moved to the Technical University of Delft in the Netherlands to pursue urban planning on a full scholarship. On paper, it was a prestigious step forward. In reality, it felt like a slow erasure. Urban planning there, he realised, was preparing him for bureaucratic absorption, moulding minds to serve municipal systems, distanced from land, materials, and people. Sitting behind computer screens in climate-controlled rooms, disconnected from site and soil, he felt something vital slipping away.
So he did what few are brave enough to do: he quit.
He returned to India disillusioned, but searching. In Kolkata, working briefly with a senior architect, Mukherjee entered a period of introspection. It was here that Sri Aurobindo’s writings, particularly his interpretation of the Bhagavad Gita, began to reshape his worldview.
The image of Krishna delivering wisdom to Arjuna in the middle of a battlefield struck him deeply. Spirituality, he realised, was not withdrawal; it was engagement. Action, when aligned with duty, could itself be meditative.
That insight would define everything that followed.
Auroville: Where Design Met Consciousness
Guided by that inner shift, Mukherjee travelled to Pondicherry, eventually finding his way to Auroville, a radical experiment in human unity, sustainability, and conscious living. Auroville was not just a workplace. It was a re-education.
Here, architecture meant hands in the soil, not just drawings on paper. It meant learning alternative construction, ecological design, and sustainable material practices. It meant collaborating across languages and cultures, often without a shared spoken tongue, but with a shared understanding of material and intent.
“Auroville taught me that construction has no language other than materiality and detailing,” he reflects. For five years, Mukherjee worked, learned, and lived in Auroville. It was here that he met his life and creative partner. It was here that philosophy and practice finally aligned, and unknowingly laid the foundation for what would become The Vrindavan Project.
The First Project and the Birth of a Philosophy
When Mukherjee asked his future in-laws for their daughter’s hand, his father-in-law posed a simple challenge: “Build me a house first”
The site was a 12-acre mango orchard near Mumbai, known locally as Vrindavan Farm. With no office, no team, and no safety net, Mukherjee took on every role imaginable: architect, contractor, supervisor, and sometimes even mason. Together with local villagers, he executed Maharashtra’s first rammed-earth wall farmhouse, alongside brick vaults, filler slabs, and recycled materials.
The scepticism was real; villagers gathered during the first monsoon, expecting the house to wash away. It didn’t.
Instead, the project stood firm and soon caught the attention of leading design magazines. With nothing more than photographs taken on a manual SLR camera, the farmhouse was published widely. What began as a test of worth became a foundation.
Thus was born The Vrindavan Project, not just a firm, but a philosophy of continuous becoming.
When Ideals Collide with Reality
The name Vrindavan carries spiritual weight, symbolizing Lord Krishna’s creative, playful youth before the battlefield of Kurukshetra. For Mukherjee, it represented inspired action rooted in dharma, not detachment from the world.
But the name also came with unintended consequences.
In 2025, another young design firm published projects under the same title – The Vrindavan Project, across multiple magazines, effectively hijacking search visibility. Despite being a registered trademark holder with over 15 years of published work, Mukherjee found legal remedies impractical.
The lesson was brutal but clear: in India’s startup ecosystem, scale often determines justice.
His response was pragmatic. The firm now operates under a new entity: Shreenu and Ranjeet Design LLP – named after its founders.
Designing with Integrity, Not Volume
At the core of Mukherjee’s practice is selectivity. He believes architecture is an intimate relationship, one that requires trust, mutual respect, and shared values.
“We don’t work with everyone,” he says plainly. “And we’re intentional about staying small.”
The studio avoids rapid scaling, large teams, or volume-driven models. Every project demands personal involvement, site presence, and accountability. For Mukherjee, growth without depth risks eroding legacy.
“Architecture is public. You can’t hide bad work.”
A House That Withstood Everything
Among his most defining projects is a 10,000 sq. ft. family home in Jammu, a project that survived GST implementation, demonetization, security lockdowns, internet blackouts, administrative upheavals, and the pandemic. Built for a joint family inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s brick architecture, the house became a test of perseverance, not just design.
The house would later be published internationally, including by ArchDaily China, where a Beijing University scholar translated Mukherjee’s writing on entheogenic design – architecture as a medium to awaken inner consciousness.
In a time of geopolitical tension, it was a quiet gesture of cultural diplomacy.
It reminds him that ideas, culture, and spirituality can transcend borders, even when politics cannot.
A Cautionary Tale for Startups
Mukherjee’s journey is as much a warning as it is an inspiration. From social media censorship affecting professional visibility to trademark vulnerabilities and systemic power imbalances, his story reflects the precarious reality many Indian startups face.
Yet, his response remains grounded, not bitter.
“You have to stay agile. Nimble. Rooted. And honest about what you stand for.”
The Legacy, still under construction
For Mukherjee, architecture is not about trends, labels, or rapid expansion. It is about continuity, of values, craftsmanship, and consciousness. He speaks less about buildings and more about process, legacy, and responsibility. Sustainability, for him, is not a checklist. It is a way of being.
Architecture, like life, must be practiced as karma aligned with dharma.
“The process creates the product,” he says. “And the process must be ethical.”
In a world racing toward sameness and scale, The Vrindavan Project stands as a reminder that some journeys are meant to be walked slowly and truthfully, barefoot, perhaps, with earth still clinging to the hands.
-Interview Conducted By Shivani Solanki
