An interview with Tengin founder Madhu on turning coconuts into a business built around farmers, villages and communities.
Updated
June 1, 2026 1:46 PM

Workers of Tengin. PHOTO: TENGIN
In Southern India, coconuts are part of daily life. They are used in food, rituals, farming and home remedies. For Tengin, a social startup whose name means “coconut” in Kannada—a South Indian language—the crop also offers a way to build a rural business with deeper local impact.
Founded by Madhu Kargunda in 2017, Tengin works with farmers, artisans and women’s collectives in Karnataka to make products from almost every part of the coconut. Its range includes virgin coconut oil, desiccated coconut powder, shell-based handicrafts, candles, home décor items and other coconut-based goods.
The larger idea is simple. Farmers should play a bigger role in the value created from the crops they grow. Tengin is trying to help rural communities move beyond supplying raw produce and take part in processing, branding, packaging and sales.
Madhu grew up in an agricultural family. Over the years, he saw many young people move away from farming to look for stable jobs in cities. To him, the problem was not farming itself. The bigger issue was that farmers often missed out on the value created after crops left the farm.
A coconut might be grown in a village, but much of the income comes later through processing, branding and retail. That gap stayed with him, eventually leading him to leave his eight-year career in IT and return to agriculture full-time.

Started with just making virgin coconut oil, Tengin has grown into a wider coconut products business. The startup is now working with around 15 to 20 farmers and artisan groups across Karnataka. It is also building production capacity for larger retail and B2B partnerships.
Today, Tengin generates annual revenue of roughly ₹50-60 lakh, or around US$52,000 to US$62,000. It has also started testing international demand, including a recent export of around 200 kilograms of desiccated coconut powder to Texas.
As Tengin expanded, the team began looking more closely at parts of the coconut that were usually treated as waste or low-value byproducts, such as coconut shells and coir. At first, Tengin treated them that way too.
“When we started, we used to burn some of the shells”, Madhu said. “Later, we realized it was an economic opportunity”.
That changed the company’s product strategy. Local artisans working with Tengin now are turning coconut shells into bowls, incense holders, candles, coffee mugs, mobile stands and handcrafted décor items.

This gives Tengin a place in the circular economy, where waste materials are reused instead of thrown away. For Madhu, though, sustainability has to do more than reduce waste. It should also create income in the community.
“We wanted to minimize waste and maximize wealth locally”, he said.
Tengin does not depend only on one central factory. Instead, it works with smaller village-level production groups that connect to a larger business network. This helps farmers stay close to their land while also taking part in processing and manufacturing. It also creates local jobs, which can reduce the pressure to migrate to cities.
Yet, the model is not always easy. In the early days, Tengin had to convince some farmers to move from chemical farming to natural farming. Moreover, the weather has also become harder to predict. Irregular rainfall and changing harvest cycles can affect coconut prices and production consistency.
Still, Madhu sees the village-based model as central to Tengin’s identity. For him, villages are living systems built on shared work, local knowledge and interdependence.
“The definition of a village is inclusiveness”, he said.

That belief also shaped Tengin’s “coco tourism” initiative. Through the program, visitors meet farmers, learn about farming practices and see how coconut products are made.
During one visit by MBA students from Indiana State University, an unexpected spell of rain gave the group a closer look at village life. Farmers gathered and began singing traditional folk songs to express gratitude to nature. For the students, it became a lesson in culture as much as business.
Madhu sees these moments as part of what rural entrepreneurship can protect.
“If villages become empty, we lose language, traditions and local knowledge too”, he said.
Tengin’s model is not difficult to copy on paper. Madhu is open about that.
“Anyone can do it”, he said, “but what matters is how you work with people”.
For him, the harder part is building long-term trust with farming communities. Tengin works through relationships more than rigid contracts. This encourages farmers and local groups to participate in the system in a more collaborative way.
That trust has become one of the startup’s strongest assets. It shapes how Tengin works with producers and how it presents its products to customers.
For Madhu, it is not enough to call a product sustainable. Customers should be able to understand where it came from, who made it and how their purchase supports the people behind it.

That matters even more in a market where terms like “eco-friendly” and “organic” have become buzzwords. Madhu knows that these words can feel empty when brands do not show what they actually mean.
“Anyone can use these words today,” he said. “What matters is whether consumers can actually see what you are doing”.
This is why Tengin focuses on transparency and storytelling. The startup wants customers to see the full journey of each coconut product, from the farm to the finished item. It also wants them to understand whose livelihood is connected to that journey.
Madhu also believes small brands cannot depend on products alone. Products can be copied, but a clear story, a trusted community and a visible impact are harder to replicate.
“Don’t try to sell only the product,” he said. “When you try to sell the product, you are being sold once”.
Each Tengin product includes details about the people behind it and how profits are shared. In that way, the company connects its coconut products to the farmers, artisans and village systems that make them possible.
For Madhu, entrepreneurship starts with the problem. Founders, he believes, should understand the problem deeply before thinking about scale and revenue.
“An entrepreneur is someone trying to solve an existing problem”, he said. “Sometimes it may be a small problem, sometimes a niche one. It could be in technology, energy, farming or any other sector—but first understand what problem you are trying to solve”.
Farming has also taught him patience. He gives the example of coffee.
“When you plant coffee, you know it may take five years before you see results”, he said, “but you still [have to] water it every day”.
He sees entrepreneurship the same way. Building systems, communities and trust takes time. Growth may be slow at first, but daily work matters.
Adaptability is another lesson he returns to often. Farming conditions change constantly, and so do markets. In both cases, people have to keep learning, unlearning and adjusting.
“Entrepreneurship is about constantly learning new things because the world is changing all the time”, he said. “You need to stay relevant, understand what connects with [your customers] and adapt accordingly”.
Looking ahead, Tengin plans to grow its farmer network, strengthen production capacity and expand its export business. Madhu is also looking to collaborate with more platforms, storytellers and communities that can help amplify the voices behind the products.
The startup is also involved in rural community initiatives, including support for government schools and menstrual health awareness programs.
For Madhu, giving back is part of how he defines success. With more resources, he would invest further in farmer education, village-level production systems and community development.
By building a business around coconuts, Tengin is also making a larger case for rural entrepreneurship. Its work shows that a modern consumer brand can grow without losing its connection to the farmers, traditions and village ecosystems that make that growth possible. For Madhu, that is the real measure of progress: creating value that stays rooted in the community.
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How startups can use nostalgia marketing to build trust, spark loyalty and stand out with storytelling, vintage design and emotional connections.
Updated
January 8, 2026 6:35 PM

Vintage beer pong posters showcasing colorful, diverse designs from different eras in one collection. PHOTO: FREEPIK
Turning the subtle power of nostalgia into meaningful marketing.
Think of nostalgia as a time machine for brands—it doesn’t just take people back; it brings their emotions forward. And emotions sell. For those who are unfamiliar, nostalgia marketing is a strategy where brands use elements from the past—like familiar sights, sounds, or stories—to evoke warm memories and emotional connections with their audience.
This emotional pull isn’t just anecdotal—research shows its real impact: according to The Team and Forbes via The Drum, 80% of millennials and Gen Z are drawn to brands tapping into nostalgia, while 92% of consumers say nostalgic ads feel more relatable. And for startups competing in noisy markets, this is a goldmine.
In this article, we’ll explore why nostalgia marketing can be a game-changing strategy for your company.
Out of all the popular marketing methods—like influencer partnerships or attention-grabbing ad campaigns—nostalgia is unique because its impact starts intrinsically, in the brain. By triggering the release of dopamine, a reward-system neurotransmitter, Nostalgia evokes feelings of warmth, happiness and comfort. Consequently, people don’t just remember a moment—they relive it. Take, for instance, your favorite cereal brand bringing back childhood cartoon characters or using retro fonts and colors. You might choose it over a healthier breakfast option simply because it reminds you of the mornings you enjoyed as a kid. Similarly, speaking of stirring fond memories, Coca-Cola has mastered this effect, using classic holiday ads, vintage packaging, and iconic imagery. Those associations make people see Coke as more than a drink—it’s a familiar feeling they’re willing to pay extra for.
New marketing campaigns can spark curiosity but often trigger skepticism—especially when audiences lack prior connection to the brand. Nostalgia marketing breaks down this barrier by tapping into familiarity, using retro jingles, vintage fonts, pastel colors, or familiar packaging that immediately resonate. This recognition builds an emotional connection and trust with the brand. More importantly, it fosters social connectedness by making consumers feel part of a larger community—giving that reassuring “others remember this too” feeling. As a result, this sense of belonging reduces loneliness, strengthens warmth and trust, and encourages word-of-mouth sharing, naturally amplifying the campaign’s reach and impact.
While luxury brands can afford massive campaigns, startups and small businesses can tap into nostalgia as a cost-effective storytelling tool. In a world where marketing often chases the “next big thing”—from AI to futuristic tech—nostalgia offers the opposite: a chance to revisit the past. More importantly, nostalgia allows brands to stand out in a crowded, fast-scrolling feed by delivering something comfortingly familiar with a fresh twist. Think of Polaroid: in an age where smartphones boast crystal-clear cameras, it wins hearts with pastel hues, a vintage lens, and the tactile charm of instant prints—selling not just images, but a moment that feels straight out of the past.
The same principle worked brilliantly for Tiffany & Co., whose 185-year-old brand refresh featured Jay-Z and Beyoncé in a Breakfast at Tiffany’s-inspired campaign, blending timeless charm with contemporary star power and racking up millions of views. In essence, when done right, nostalgia doesn’t just market a product—it invites people to relive a story they already love.
Nostalgia resonates across generations speaking to diverse audiences. For Millennials, it’s a chance to relive the cultural touchpoints of their youth, while Gen Z approaches it with curiosity, eager to explore eras they never experienced firsthand. This crossover creates a unique marketing sweet spot: one group is driven by memory, the other by discovery. Pokémon proves this power by keeping lifelong fans engaged through retro trading cards while introducing younger audiences to its history. Similarly, Nike used nostalgia to bridge two different generations by reissuing retro classics, keeping both longtime fans and new sneakerheads excited. By appealing to both memory and curiosity, brands can create lasting connections that keep different generations engaged at once.
Nostalgia can be your startup’s non-cliché marketing mantra. Imagine a small bookstore that offers handwritten recommendation cards designed like vintage library checkout slips. This simple touch invites customers to slow down and rediscover the joy of reading. Or picture a local coffee shop serving drinks in mugs inspired by classic diner ware, evoking comforting memories of simpler times. Overall, the lesson is clear: combining nostalgic design with stories that connect people to shared moments creates emotional warmth and trust. Thoughtful nostalgia turns everyday products into meaningful experiences—building loyal communities eager to return.