Kodavas are a special breed. They can slay dragons (okay, maybe not literal dragons, but definitely metaphorical ones), lead armies, and grow the best coffee beans in the world—all before breakfast. They are calm, collected, and deeply grounded in their roots. The kind of people who wake up with the sun, sip on freshly brewed coffee grown in their own backyard, and somehow manage to cultivate perfect beans while holding conversations with the wind.
But ask them to step out of their lush plantation estates and into the unpredictable world of modern creative business? That’s like asking a lion to host a talk show—awkward, confusing, but mildly entertaining. Why? Because the Kodava planter has mastered the rhythm of stability. Their world revolves around discipline, honor, and a cyclical rhythm of planting, harvesting, and legacy. The soil is their battlefield, and the plantation, their palace.
Being a Kshatriya is about pride, duty, and defending one’s domain. So, imagine a warrior—sword in hand, fiercely loyal to their land and legacy—suddenly being told to sell a product, hustle on social media, or create an Instagram campaign. It goes against the very grain of who we are. We don’t lick boots. We don’t beg. We fight, we create, and we protect—often in silence. That fire, that fury, that resistance to bullshit, runs deep in every Kodava—man or woman. We can tolerate a lot, but once the line is crossed, we roar. And that roar doesn’t echo for validation—it echoes for truth.
Speaking for myself, as a Kodava woman, I was raised amidst beauty, bravery, and the comforting predictability of tradition. I come from a world where the soil is sacred, where pride is preserved like ancient heirlooms, and where emotional explosions are rare, but volcanic when they happen. I was raised to be strong, to never bend, and to stand firm. That upbringing gives you backbone. But it also makes it incredibly difficult to venture into the unpredictable wilds of creative entrepreneurship. When you’ve always had a cushion of comfort, a community that protects you, and the legacy of a proud clan behind you, the idea of starting from zero—without a safety net—feels brutal.
Creative business requires vulnerability. Risk. Chaos. And for us, warriors of the soil, that feels like being thrown into war without knowing who the enemy is. The battlefield we know. But boardrooms, pitches, and curated branding? That’s foreign terrain.
Still, when a Kodava chooses to break the mold, to step out of the plantation and into the unknown, we do it with integrity, with fury, and with the kind of fierce vision that can cut through noise. We may not chase the spotlight, but when it finds us, we stand in it like warriors—undaunted, unbent, and unapologetically bold.
So yes, we may stick to the soil, but when we step into new arenas, we don’t just participate—we dominate. And we do it in our own quiet, fearless, Kodava way.