Vinta Nanda speaks to Arti Dwarkadas about her journey from advertising to organic farming, her debut book Two Bandra Girls Buy a Farm, reinvention, privilege, rural realities and choosing to begin again. 

I first met Arti Dwarkadas at a dinner hosted by my ex-boss Sandeep Goyal and his wife Tanya. It was one of those warm Mumbai evenings where conversations move easily between art, advertising and food. I had just arrived and was asked what I would like to drink. I hadn’t yet been formally introduced to Arti.
“I’ll have a vodka tonic,” I said.

“Thank God!” she exclaimed, with genuine relief and laughter.

All the elegant women in the room were holding polite wine stems or soft drink glasses. Arti sat there with a whiskey glass held firmly in both hands, as though it were a trusted companion. That moment broke the ice. We needed no formal introduction after that. We spoke easily, instinctively, as women who recognised in each other a certain irreverence and independence.

That evening she told me about her recent shift from an illustrious career in advertising to farming in rural Maharashtra. It sounded adventurous, almost improbable. But with Arti, it felt natural.

Recently, I spoke to her again over a call. She was excited—almost glowing—about the upcoming release of her debut book, Two Bandra Girls Buy a Farm, published by Westland and scheduled for release on 23 February 2026. The book tells the story of how she and her friend Suzann, both urban professionals from Bandra, bought ten acres of farmland near Kolad, Maharashtra, in the middle of a pandemic.

What followed in our conversation was a story of reinvention, humility and humour.

When The City Meets The Soil  

Arti began her career in advertising, eventually becoming Creative Director at rediff.com and later leading Ogilvy Interactive India. She had spent years shaping brands, writing campaigns and navigating corporate structures.

Farming, by contrast, was completely unknown territory. “It began in the middle of the pandemic,” she told me. “And perhaps during what you could call a mild midlife crisis.”

She and Suzann were competent, articulate professionals used to deadlines and contracts. They understood client briefs and digital strategy. What they did not understand were borewells, land records, erratic electricity, soil health or wild boars. “And that,” she said, laughing, “made it irresistible. Travelling to Kolad, a five-hour drive from Mumbai beginning at 5am, reaching there and working with the tribal community, which has adopted us and much of which is fully engaged with developing our farm. It was barren land when we bought it, mainly because that is all our budget permitted, and today, five years later, it is a green hub, producing organic foods with trees grown enough to provide us shade. You see, we don’t have a home there, we have not built one. We return the same day, yes it’s hard but so worth it that it is addictive now!”

The decision surprised even them. Ten acres of farmland in rural Maharashtra is not a hobby purchase. It is a commitment. The weekly commute from Bandra to a remote village near Kolad became part of their routine. They found themselves navigating land documentation like the infamous 7/12 extract, negotiating with local power structures and learning that rural life does not move at urban speed.  

“In Mumbai, if something doesn’t work, you escalate it,” Arti said. “On a farm, you wait. The soil has its own logic. You can’t rush a mango tree.”

The shift from city confidence to rural uncertainty humbled her. It forced her to become a beginner again, along with the first man from the community they hired, who brought in others as the work increased.

The Shock Of Abundance

One of the most surprising challenges was not scarcity, but abundance. 

The first crop of mangoes will arrive this summer, and in generous quantities. Tomatoes and chillies have become a routine. What began as an experiment soon turned into a logistical puzzle. “There is only so much you can give away to friends and neighbours,” she says. “The produce just keeps coming.”

Instead of letting it go, they began bottling sauces and condiments. Marinara sauce became a small triumph. Pickles and other products followed. They started selling through Instagram and word-of-mouth. What had begun as an uncertain experiment slowly evolved into a small organic venture.

Her farm reshaped her understanding of food and sustainability. She began to see food not as a commodity on supermarket shelves, but as labour, time and vulnerability to weather. The experience changed the way she cooked, shopped and even thought. “Working with the land teaches patience,” she told me. “And it teaches you respect.”

Learning Again, In London  

Farming was not the first reinvention. Prior to this, Arti and her husband—who is a lawyer—took another leap. They paused their professional lives and travelled to London to study at Le Cordon Bleu. “We thought, why not?” she said simply. A certified patisserie now, Arti’s added baking and classical culinary techniques add to her repertoire. Farming by day, baking by night—it is a life that blends discipline with creativity.

For someone who began as a copywriter, the thread running through her life is clear: storytelling. Whether through campaigns, food or now a book, she has always been building something from scratch.

Two Bandra Girls Buy a Farm is part memoir, part social observation. It is told with humour, but beneath the comedy lies a deeper reflection on privilege and land ownership. “We were very aware that we were urban women entering a rural space that was not originally ours,” Arti said. “That awareness never leaves you.”

The book explores not just farming disasters and small victories, but also questions about modern ambition and responsibility. What does it mean for city dwellers to buy farmland? How do you coexist with local communities? What assumptions do you carry with you? “It’s about choosing to be beginners again,” she said. “And accepting that growth, like farming, is rarely linear.”

Writing the book brought together her different worlds—advertising, food, farming and observation. Though this is her debut, writing has always been her first love. “I’ve always written,” she said. “This book feels like the natural next step.”

A Life Of Reinvention  

Listening to Arti, I was struck by her willingness to step into uncertainty. From corporate boardrooms to muddy fields, from digital strategy to electric poles and wild boars, from urban gardening to organic farming, and from copy lines to crop lines—her journey is defined by curiosity.

She does not romanticise farming. It is hard, unpredictable and often absurd. But she speaks of it with affection. “Farming is not a lifestyle accessory,” she told me firmly. “It demands humility.”

As our conversation ended, I thought back to that first evening at dinner—the whiskey, the spontaneous laughter, the refusal to conform to polite expectations. Arti Dwarkadas is, above all, an adventurer. Not reckless, but brave. Willing to start again. Willing to learn.

Her book releases on 23 February 2026. But her real story is not about publication dates. It is about the courage to disrupt your own narrative.

And perhaps that is the most radical act of all.  

Power And Responsibility, Leadership Under Lens, Influence Examined, Authority And Accountability, Public Figures In Focus, Power Structures, Who Holds Power, Decision Makers, Legacy And Impact,