That Lady In CEO Suit(e): Karishma Manga Bedi And Her Indomitable “Spirit”

‘Dear little K,

You have always been the responsible one. The one who notices what needs to be done before anyone asks. The one who carries things quietly, believing it’s just the way life works. I hope you learn, slowly and without shame, that you don’t have to hold everything alone. It’s okay to rest. It’s okay to choose yourself sometimes…Walk the mountains when you can; literal or otherwise. Let them remind you how small your worries can be, and how strong you already are.’

A letter to her younger self by Karishma Manga Bedi, Founder, IDAAYA.

There is something achingly beautiful, almost surreal, about the way a woman speaks to the girl she once was. Not the public woman. Not the CEO. Not the entrepreneur.

Just the little girl she used to be.

Karishma grew up in a home held together by women. After her parents divorced, her father was largely absent, and her mother, grandparents and masi (maternal aunt) became her constant world. It was an upper middle class household where education mattered, exposure was part of growing up, and the conversations around the dinner table often taught as much as any classroom ever could. ‘I was loved, listened to, and encouraged to speak my mind,’ she says. ‘High standards were not imposed, they were modelled.’

That upbringing shaped her profoundly.

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By 2005, she had stepped into the world of global luxury with Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy, leading Dior Watches and Zenith in India. She would later help shape the identity and global growth of her family business, Forest Essentials as Chief Marketing Officer. She brought Sephora to India. She introduced Jo Malone London to the country as its exclusive retail franchise partner.

It might sound like a smooth, straight path, a clear growth trajectory, but in reality it was anything but.

‘I started working young, driven by a quiet but relentless fire to prove myself. I took on every role with intensity and responsibility, and consistently delivered results; not out of arrogance, but out of necessity,’ she tells me. ‘Age, however, was a real barrier. Being young often meant my judgment and contribution were questioned before my work was considered. I had to earn credibility faster and more visibly than others.’ She learned early that consistency outlasts doubt. Deliver. Then deliver again. And again.

For years, she was the woman who could handle it all. The one who did not show strain. The one who believed endurance was strength. Then came a period when the work that once excited her began to feel hollow. ‘…Work became stripped of creativity, momentum, and flow. More than fatigue, it was the feeling of no longer contributing meaningfully that stayed with me. Once I allowed myself to fully acknowledge that disconnect, I chose to address it directly,’ she says. ‘Work became transactional.’

That was her cue. She stepped back. Recalibrated. Just enough to hear herself think again. When she returned, she returned differently.

The Rum That Began In Scripture

The seed of IDAAYA was planted during lockdown in 2020. One evening at home, she and her husband Samrath were sipping a rum they had brought back from their travels. It was exceptional.  They wondered aloud why India, with its sugarcane history, had not produced a rum that commanded the same global respect.

‘If it doesn’t sell, we’ll drink it,’ Samrath joked.

Karishma didn’t take it as a joke. Within weeks, she had drafted a proposal and shared it with her husband. He was stunned. He had thought she was joking the first time. ‘This was the starting point for Those Good Distillerss. We then called on our friend and industry insider, Shivam Misra to join us at the table to bring this idea to life,’ she recalls.

Her research unearthed a reference in the Arthashastra to Amlasidhu, a fermented sugarcane drink. For her, it was validation enough to pursue the project. ‘We wanted to honour this heritage through a modern, world-class expression,’ she recalls.

IDAAYA takes its name from the Sanskrit word “Ida”, the mystic energy, and the final syllables of “Himalaya”, symbolising the spirit’s connection to the mountains. It draws its depth from a combination of 12-year-old Bourbon-cask-aged rum and pure Indian rum, which are then unified through a Solera system housed in Sal wood casks, a timber indigenous to India and native to the Himalayan foothills.

What sets it apart is the revival of Lepam and Dhoopam. Historically used to treat and enrich wooden vessels, they were adapted with indigenous botanicals to influence the casks before the rum ever touched them.

‘There was no manual,’ she says. ‘We worked through trial and error. We adjusted proportions. We started again when something didn’t feel right.’ The result is complex without being too overpowering. Notes of caramel, vanilla, spice, and toasted oak give way to dark chocolate, toffee, and hints of nutmeg, cinnamon, and pepper, culminating in a long, warm finish that evokes the mountains themselves.

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Idaaya Himalayan Sipping Rum

Karishma chose rum deliberately. A category she believes has been underestimated. ‘Rum hasn’t yet got its due,’ she says. ‘IDAAYA’s taste profile was built to attract a Single Malt aficionado without it being a whiskey.’ The bottle was envisioned as a “modern artefact.” A decanter-like silhouette. A subtle Himalayan motif. A copper cap inspired by Ayurveda that doubles as an ice stamp. It turns pouring into an art form.

Within a very short span of time, IDAAYA has managed to earn international recognition, including a Double Gold at the SIP Awards USA, a Silver at the Asian Spirit Master 2024, a Bronze at the International Wine and Spirits Competition 2024, alongside additional accolades in London.

For Karishma, however, the awards matter less than the process. ‘We promised ourselves we would be uncompromising,’ she says. ‘Less, but better.’ And that uncompromising spirit carries into her life beyond the distillery.

The Hidden Cost Of Being A Woman At The Top

Being a woman at the top in India is exhausting, she admits. ‘Sometimes the hardest part is simply being a woman – the visibility, the scrutiny, the expectation to always be polished.’ She has been in rooms where financial conversations were instinctively redirected toward men, and others where her authority went unquestioned. The contrast sharpened her instincts about whom to work with. ‘I focus on partners who care about quality,’ she says. ‘The rest is noise.’

What has shifted most in recent years is her relationship with perfection. ‘For years, I was that woman, striving to do it all, holding everything together without showing strain,’ she admits. ‘Over time, I realised that perfection is not sustainable, and silence around struggle only deepens it. I’ve spent years working on myself to become unapologetic about needing a break, asking for help, and setting boundaries; without guilt or explanation. Strength, I’ve learned, isn’t in doing everything alone; it’s in knowing when to pause, delegate, and care for yourself with the same discipline you bring to your work.’

At the start of 2025, she survived a serious accident that nearly cost her life. The experience altered her rhythm. Her mornings are quieter now. Tea. Dogs at her feet. Breakfast without rushing. Work still occupies most of the day, but she is deliberate about pauses. Evenings are for movement or physiotherapy, then dinner with her children. Some nights are social. Others are for reading in bed.

‘Success used to be about external milestones,’ she reflects. ‘Today, it’s defined by my own assessment, by whether what I’ve built, contributed, or created truly aligns with my ambitions and values.’

When things feel overwhelming, she returns to basics. Sleep. Walking. Time with her children. Doing nothing. ‘Boredom, I believe, is essential to creativity,’ she says. ‘It’s one of the most underrated aspects of clear, cognitive thinking.’

Ask her about her favourite S(hero), she mentions Goddess Durga. ‘When faced with chaos, she knows who she is and doesn’t falter; Shakti itself. That clarity dissolves fear and hesitation. When you are anchored in your truth, courage follows naturally.’

That courage is what she writes about in her letter to little K, her younger self.

To the child who thought she had to carry everything alone.

Who measured her worth in speed, in perfection, in finishing every task before the clock ran out.

She knows better now.

‘Behind the titles, my life is less about speed and more about presence,’ she says – presence in her work, her relationships, with herself and giving herself the grace to pause and rest along the way.

When I ask her what myth about women at the top she wants to dismantle, she doesn’t hesitate. ‘That confident women have no doubts. Most do. The difference is they don’t let doubt dictate their decisions.’

Maybe that’s the real message to little K, and to all of us.

You don’t have to outrun fear to lead. You just have to refuse to let it lead you.

And every so often, as grown-up K reminds her younger self, ‘Walk the mountains when you can; literal or otherwise.’