From Biology to the Land

Pranoy didn’t come back to Chikmagalur with coffee in mind. He had studied biology in Australia, fascinated by the natural world, but his plans were elsewhere: ecotourism cabins, avocados, and ideas for farm-to-table ventures. Coffee was present on the estate, and it was chugging along. It was just… there.

Long before coffee became a focus, Pranoy first learnt the value of fermentation on a small farm in Delhi. In 2018, he spent his days surrounded by microgreens under lights, vegetables stacked in crates, and jars quietly working through kombucha and kimchi.

“I loved the idea of adding value to what you already do, preserving it, ” he says.

His background in biology helped him understand fermentation at the microbial level, demonstrating how controlled environments can provide consistency, stability, and complexity.

At first, he imagined pursuing fermentation itself, even considering a kombucha brand. But the practical limits, regulations, bottling, infrastructure, and scale made the idea impractical. Coffee, by contrast, was already abundant at Kerehaklu and carried the same processes he was learning to understand. That realisation shifted his focus; instead of taking fermentation elsewhere, he brought it back to the estate.

Thoughts began to shift further with exposure. Time in Australia revealed how deliberately coffee was treated once it left the farm. Around the same time, speciality coffee in India was gaining visibility, discussed with care and vocabulary borrowed from kitchens rather than commodity markets. It was no longer just about yield or price, but about intent, precision, and the story behind the cup.

By the 2019–20 harvest, Pranoy decided to apply his lessons to coffee on a small scale. When the pandemic hit, movement stopped, and the carefully processed coffee had nowhere to go, with some sold and some held back. But what could have been a dead end became an opening: Corridor Seven and Blue Tokai were interested in a few tiny lots, some barely 40 or 50 kilos after dry milling, which they turned into sampler packs. The experience stayed with him. Starting small wasn’t a constraint; it became a way of learning. At that scale, every decision was visible, every mistake explained itself, and scaling wasn’t just about volume; it required rethinking the way work was done.

Coffee as a Process

As processing volumes grew, change had to happen within the estate itself. New practices, like raised beds and polyhouses for slower drying, went against decades of established routines. Faster methods were always available, but speed came at a cost, and Pranoy was determined to do things differently.

He often reminded his team, “We have to treat coffee like food. If you wouldn’t do something while making food, you shouldn’t be doing it while processing coffee either.”

Hygiene and care mattered. Even small mistakes during drying could undo everything done correctly during fermentation. Rather than giving instructions from afar, Pranoy stayed involved in every step, fermenting, drying, and observing, and learned alongside his team. Convincing others to change became easier when he led by example.

The estate has been chemical-free since 2016, a decision that has led to a deeper shift in processing philosophy. After working extensively with commercial microbes, Pranoy began paying attention to the microbial life already present on the farm. The logic was straightforward. If the farm is healthy, its microbes should be too, he realised. Fruits like mulberry and fig grow at Kerehaklu, rich in sugars and native beneficial microbes. Instead of importing lab-grown yeast, he began building starter cultures from what was available locally. These were not co-ferments, but carefully prepared additions that amplified what the environment already supported. Commercial yeast works, but it is expensive at scale and often promoted as essential for quality. For Pranoy, uniqueness came from staying local, encouraging indigenous microbial populations rather than replacing them. It wasn’t easily replicable or widely practised. But it aligned with how he understood fermentation, as a biological process shaped by place rather than an intervention imposed from outside.

Weather, however, remained unpredictable, and drying always posed a major risk. Sudden rain could wipe out weeks of work overnight. One of Pranoy’s earliest major investments was in covered polyhouse drying structures, inspired by farms in Costa Rica and later adapted from Colombian producers. They provided airflow, protection, and peace of mind. Mechanical dryers, once dismissed for their high-temperature misuse, were now reconsidered for their consistency, labour efficiency, and gentle control. For Pranoy, the question was never about traditional versus modern methods; it was about whether each approach was applied with understanding. The goal was never speed; it was stability, precision, and respect for the coffee.

Washed Coffees and Quiet Confidence

The result of this careful, methodical approach is Kerehaklu’s washed Arabicas. Bright, tea-like structured, often compared to Kenyan coffees, they reflect decades of practice that has been refined rather than reinvented. Innovation here is incremental, shaped by slowing down a process, adjusting a single step, and paying close attention to what follows.

It is this deliberate care that shapes not just the flavour but also how Pranoy approaches evaluation. While cup scores can provide useful feedback, they are never the goal. Good coffee, Pranoy believes, speaks for itself, especially when it improves with rest and travel rather than deteriorating.

"Consistency, drying, logistics, and honest sampling matter more than inflated numbers. Oversorting a sample only raises expectations that a full final lot cannot meet", Pranoy explains.

For Pranoy, it is the care taken at every step, from processing to evaluation, that ensures each cup reflects the true quality of the estate and the story behind it.

Education as Storytelling

Building on this commitment to quality, Pranoy has focused on sharing Kerehaklu’s story with people in India. Even though nearly 90 per cent of the estate’s coffee is currently exported, he has deliberately invested in domestic engagement, aiming to show what truly happens before a cup of coffee reaches the café or home brewer.

That understanding, he realised, wouldn’t come from technical papers or certifications alone, but through storytelling, visuals, and the rhythms of daily life. Instagram then became a space not just for showcasing coffee, but for explaining plants, microbes, breakdowns, water shortages, and the unpredictability of estate life. The intent was never to present perfection. It was to showcase the reality behind the cup and build trust beyond it. This also attracted an international audience curious not just about the coffee, but about the life around it.

Recently, Pranoy began roasting, cautiously. Not to compete with established roasters, but to respond to people who wanted to buy coffee directly. The project, called Ruckus, approaches coffee differently. Each release is paired with art and music rather than dense processing jargon. The goal is accessibility without dilution, good coffee without intimidation. A café may come next, a place where coffee is taken seriously without being solemn, and where service matters as much as taste.

At Kerehaklu, the work continues much as it always has: slow, deliberate, and grounded in the belief that if you take care of the process, the cup will take care of itself.