The tablescaping can wait. Before Jai Madaan gets to the table setting or decides what to wear, she considers what kind of week her home has had. The frantic mornings, the arguments, the exhaustion: in her view, a house carries traces of the lives unfolding within it. Preparing for company begins with opening the windows, clearing the corners and taking a slow walk through the rooms. Then comes a little work on the host herself.
“If I’m stressed out and snapping at people right before six o’clock, no amount of marigolds is going to fix the vibe,” she says.
It is a refreshingly practical observation from someone whose approach to hosting has a spiritual dimension. Madaan makes room for the rituals: a ghee diya before sunset, fresh flowers at the mandir, a moment spent silently wishing each guest well. But much of her philosophy plays out in gestures any guest would appreciate. Water arrives without having to be requested. Dietary preferences are checked beforehand. The person sitting quietly in a corner gets a proper conversation, too.
There is plenty of pleasure in the setting. In her Delhi and Mumbai homes, seating turns inward to encourage conversation, while her festive entrance might feature a marigold-and-mango-leaf toran, rangoli and an urli of floating flowers. Her own wardrobe follows the mood of the evening, from welcoming reds and deep pinks to quieter shades of ivory. Friends, meanwhile, have learnt to enquire after her signature dessert before enquiring after her.
What holds it all together is her understanding of hospitality as seva. To invite someone in, she believes, is to take care of the mood and the worries they arrive with, as well as their appetite. Here, Madaan shares how she prepares her home, why she leaves the evening room to wander, and what she hopes guests carry away.
Manifest: Before the food, flowers and décor, how do you prepare your home to welcome people?
Jai Madaan: Even before picking out flowers, I focus on how the house actually feels. Homes carry whatever went on during the week: frantic mornings, an argument or just plain exhaustion. I believe people pick up on that energy the second they walk through the door, even if they can’t quite put their finger on it.
That’s why I start getting ready a day early. I keep the windows open for an hour to let fresh air in, clear the random clutter out of the corners, and place fresh water and flowers at the mandir. Then I take a slow walk through each room to see what feels stuffy and what feels calm.
The most important part, though, is my own headspace. If I’m stressed out and snapping at people right before six o’clock, no amount of marigolds is going to fix the vibe. Right before anyone shows up, I take ten quiet minutes to myself with one goal in mind: whoever walks through that door should leave feeling a little lighter than when they arrived.
M: Are there any simple rituals you turn to before guests arrive, particularly during the festive season?
JM: Keep it simple, as rituals done in a hurry lose their meaning. Personally, three things work. First, sound: ring a bell or play a soft mantra through the house for a few minutes. Sound shifts stale energy faster than anything else I know.
Second is light. One ghee diya at your mandir or in the heart of the home can be lit before sunset. During the festive season especially, light is an invitation. Third is fragrance: camphor with a couple of cloves, carried from room to room.
And one more, which costs nothing. Before the doorbell rings, think of each guest by name for a moment and wish them well. It sounds small, but you’ll greet them differently, and they’ll feel it.
M: How much of an evening do you plan, and how much do you leave to chance?
JM: I plan the basics and leave the rest to the evening. The menu, the seating, the lighting, who shouldn’t be placed next to whom: all of that is settled well before anyone arrives, precisely so I don’t have to think about it later. A host who keeps disappearing into the kitchen or glancing at her watch makes everyone slightly anxious.
What I never plan is the conversation or the clock. If dinner goes out an hour late because everyone is enjoying chatting, I take that as a good sign. Every gathering has a mood of its own. I see my job as reading it and gently steering.
M: Your homes in Delhi and Mumbai offer plenty of room to entertain. How did you approach the dining and living spaces?
JM: I designed them for people to sit together, and entertaining follows from that. A few principles guided me. Seating should face inward, in circles and clusters, so conversation flows without anyone raising their voice or craning their neck.
The dining area should feel generous and well lit, because in our tradition food is where abundance is expressed. I like space between furniture, too, so that people and energy can both move freely. And I am careful about what hangs on the walls. Art that is peaceful or joyful sets a very different tone from something heavy or melancholy, however beautiful it may be.
M: What does a festive welcome look like at your front door?
JM: The entrance is where your home makes its first impression, and in Vastu it’s where energy enters, too, so I give it more attention than any other spot.
The basics come first: a clean threshold, a door that opens fully without a creak, good light, no shoes piled up or dustbins in sight. For a celebration, I add a fresh toran of marigold and mango leaves, a rangoli, diyas on either side of the door, and an urli with floating flowers. Something fragrant right at the door helps as well, since scent is what people register first.
But the real welcome is the person standing there. I always try to open the door myself. Nothing tells a guest they matter quite like the host being the first face they see.
M: From your saris to your statement jewellery, you have a distinctive personal style. What do you reach for when you’re hosting?
JM: When I’m hosting, I dress for ease first. I’ll be on my feet, hugging people, bending to serve, so anything that needs constant adjusting is out.
I do think about colour with some care, because colour carries a mood. Yellows, reds and deep pinks feel welcoming and festive, while white and ivory bring calm to a more intimate dinner. I’d avoid anything so elaborate that guests feel underdressed in my home. I believe that the host should put people at ease, never outshine them.
Whatever I wear, I get dressed early. Those quiet fifteen minutes before the first guest arrives are when I settle into myself for the evening.
M: What would friends immediately associate with an evening at your home?
JM: I think people would say it’s a special dessert that I make, which has been part of my gatherings for so long that friends now ask about it before they ask about me.
But if I’m allowed a second answer, it’s the goodbye. Nobody leaves my home empty-handed. It might be a small box of mithai, a diya, a flower from the puja, or something I’ve picked with that person in mind. In our culture, a guest who leaves with something in their hands carries the blessing of the house with them. It needn’t be expensive. It only needs to say that I thought of you before you came.
M: What are your non-negotiables when it comes to looking after guests?
JM: Three things. First, nobody should have to ask for anything. Water offered within a minute of arriving, a place to sit, food that works for them. I always check beforehand whether someone is fasting, vegetarian, or avoiding onion and garlic, so no one sits at my table with an empty plate, feeling awkward.
Secondly, attention. My phone stays away, and I make sure I’ve had a proper conversation with each person. This includes the quiet one in the corner who came with somebody else.
Third, calm, whatever happens. If a dish burns or a glass breaks, we laugh and move on. Guests take their cue from the host, and tension travels through a room very quickly. Comfort is mostly about feeling unhurried and unjudged.
M: Indian celebrations can become elaborate. What makes a gathering feel personal, whatever its scale?
JM: Scale has very little to do with it. I’ve been to weddings with a thousand guests that felt intimate and dinners for eight that felt like a showroom. The difference is whether the evening was built around the guests or around the host’s image. Impressive means showing off, but warm means being truly happy someone came.
Add a few personal touches: a family recipe for dinner, handwritten name cards, or your grandmother’s old cutlery alongside newer dishes. When you introduce guests, share a fun story about them instead of just mentioning what they do for work. Make sure the elders have comfortable spots to sit. Don’t stress if the kids are being loud.
Most importantly, don’t try to plan every single minute. The best moments are almost always the ones you didn’t plan for.
M: Once the last guest leaves, how do you reset the home?
JM: I’d say it matters as much as the preparation. A big gathering leaves a lot behind. Mostly it’s joy, but also other people’s tiredness, their worries, the occasional flicker of envy, none of it ill-meant.
I don’t leave dirty dishes or wilted flowers overnight if I can help it, because I believe stale things hold stale energy. The next morning, open every window and let the sun and air in. The floor also needs mopping; this can be done with a little rock salt in the water. Then say a simple thank you for the people who came and for the home that held them.
And rest. The host needs resetting as much as the house does, so keep the following day gentle.
M: Beyond throwing a beautiful party, what does being a good host mean to you?
JM: For me, hosting is a form of seva. We grew up hearing Atithi Devo Bhava: the guest is a form of the divine. I take this quite literally. When someone chooses to spend an evening at your place, they’re trusting you with their time and their mood and whatever heavy stuff they might be dealing with that day.
A good host pays attention to the small things. You notice who wants to join the conversation and who just needs some quiet space, who hasn’t grabbed a plate yet, or who’s putting on a brave face.
A pretty setup is nice, but it’s really just the background. What people actually remember is how you made them feel: looked after, comfortable, well-fed and relaxed. If a guest walks out my door feeling even a little lighter and better about their day, that’s all that really matters.