This Indian Startup Is Sharing Stories Via The Quirkiest Matchboxes

Ten months ago, two designers: Sonal Nagwani and Kevin Thomas, lit a quiet, brilliant fire. It took the shape of a wooden matchbox. And then another. And then an entire collection, each one carrying the spark of nostalgia, protest, memory, and art. Together, they founded Maachis, a design-led revival of India’s disappearing visual culture, using the humble matchbox as their canvas. Handcrafted, wooden, and fiercely local, each box is more than an object; it’s a conversation.

“We started very organically,” says Sonal. “Both of us come from design backgrounds, so we understand visual culture, typography, storytelling—all the things that shape how we communicate today. Somehow, the matchbox just made sense as a medium. There’s a lot of story behind it.” It began with childhood memories. But the real spark came when they discovered Gautam Hemmady’s vast archive of 35,000 matchbox labels, now shared with MAP (Museum of Art & Photography). That, combined with their encounter with artist Farid Bawa, who is trying to revive Indian truck art, brought something into focus.

What Sparked Things Off

“We saw all these older art forms like truck art, textile labels and calendar prints slowly fading. They’ve been replaced by mass production,” says Kevin. “We felt like this energy needed to be carried forward. This voice of the past, reimagined for today.” So how does Maachis navigate the line between heritage and humour, between tradition and the meme-verse?

They start with an old matchbox and ask: What would this say in 2025? Take their ‘IP Pride’ box, for instance. It was inspired by an old matchbox label called Swatantra—meaning “freedom”. “That word still means something,” Sonal explains. “But it’s also something that’s still being fought for, especially by marginalised communities. So we looked at that old design and reinterpreted it through the lens of Pride.” The result? A vivid wooden matchbox that carries both history and protest in its design.

How It’s Made

The process behind each box is hands-on, collaborative, and rooted in design. “We work with artists across India. People who help us rethink old visuals in today’s language,” says Kevin. “Some boxes are humorous. Some spark memories. Some are protest. That tone depends entirely on what the design wants to say.” Once the visual is finalised, it’s printed directly onto a handmade wooden box, not the flimsy cardboard ones you might expect.

“We were clear about that from the beginning,” Sonal adds. “We wanted something permanent. Something you’d want to keep. Pass on. It had to feel like an artefact.” Their own story, meanwhile, began with shared values. Kevin was part of Sonal’s team at a previous startup. “Even after that closed, we didn’t lose touch,” she says. “Somehow, how we think, how we value traditional visual culture. We’ve always been on the same page.”

In fact, when they first started Maachis, they weren’t even sure what form it would take. “We thought maybe we’d recreate the same vintage labels,” Kevin recalls. “But it became clear that what we really wanted to do was tell stories. Stories that matter. That has meaning. That can make an impact.” Though Maachis only launched in December 2024, a recent viral moment online has helped them gain traction. But they’re quick to point out: sales aren’t the point. “We’re not trying to build a brand, per se,” says Sonal. “We just want to keep the art form alive. Whatever sales come from that, it’s a bonus.”

“And five years from now?” Sonal continues, “We’d love to be on a global stage—not just as a product, but for the stories to be recognised internationally.” Like the box they designed around Nangeli, a woman who resisted caste and gender oppression in 19th-century Kerala. “Stories like this are so hidden. They’re deeply rooted, but they hardly show up in the mainstream,” says Kevin. “If a matchbox can carry that story across borders, then that’s the impact we’re after.”

If Cities Could Speak

When asked what a matchbox from 1990s Delhi might say to a Gen Z Mumbaikar, they don’t hesitate. “We’d actually do three,” Sonal states. One would capture the intellectual and cultural undercurrent of 90s Delhi with Faqir Chand & Sons, before Khan Market became a luxury lane. Another would reflect the subtle dating cues of the time—Purana Qila boat rides, India Gate lawns, landline calls between parental naps. And the third? It’s deeper. It’s personal. “Delhi is also a refugee city,” Sonal reflects. “Half a million people rebuilt their lives here after Partition. That thread of untold stories, of memories passed through food not words is something we want to explore. Maybe as a food series.”

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