Our Story

The Bridge

How a baba on the ghats of Rishikesh, without knowing it, named us.

It was an ordinary evening in Rishikesh. Walking along the ghats, an old baba sitting by the river called out to me: "Baith ja, beta." Sit, son.

He pointed toward the bridge in the distance — the new one, with its glass floor and temple-shaped towers, standing where Lakshman Jhula once stood. "Do you know what this bridge does?" "It connects two banks," I said. He smiled. "No. It gives power. A person alone wants to cross — they are afraid, the Ganga is fierce. But they climb onto the bridge, and they make it across. The bridge gave them strength." Then he said something I have never forgotten: "Your job is the same."

The bridges of Rishikesh aren't random names. First came Lakshman Jhula — built where Lakshman crossed the Ganga on two ropes alone. Then Ram Jhula — the elder brother's bridge. And when Lakshman Jhula was retired after 90 years, the legacy passed to Hanuman: the one who served both brothers, who carried a mountain to save Lakshman's life, the bridge between devotion and power. The new bridge is called Bajrang Setu. Hanuman Setu.

Hanuman Setu isn't just a bridge in Rishikesh. It's the idea that devotion can carry you — that Hanuman's strength flows through every murti, every pooja, every moment you sit in front of your altar and feel held. We make products built to do one thing: give you that strength. Be that bridge. Jai Bajrangbali.