It started with theft. I used to steal from my father's dresser — a spray here, a spray there, hoping he wouldn't notice.

He noticed.

Instead of a lecture, he handed me a bottle of Creed — Bois du Portugal and a cassette of Frank Sinatra. He said, simply: he wore this.

In one afternoon, I discovered two things that would define the next two decades: Frank Sinatra, and niche perfumery. In that order. With equal obsession.

Twenty years of meticulous collecting later — over 3,000 bottles. No signs of stopping.

Niche fragrance in India means paying three times the MSRP for stock that arrived six months ago. I wanted a trusted source. So I became one.

Grey market prices. No grey market anxiety.

Together: permission to take scent seriously.