Small doesn't mean informal. Here's what actually happens between the field and the box.
The factory isn't a metaphor. It's a real, portable setup, built on the same rented land the wheat grows on — designed so the grain travels the shortest possible distance before it becomes something you can eat.
It operates under an FSSAI license, the same food-safety standard any commercial kitchen in India is required to meet. That license didn't come after the fact, to make the marketing easier. It came because handling food for other people's families is not something this family was willing to do informally.
Cookies are made to order, in small batches, because there's no cold storage large enough — or wanted — to hold finished stock for weeks. A batch gets mixed, shaped, and baked only once an order exists. What ships is usually less than 72 hours old.
The team, right now, is exactly three people: Manpreet, his wife Manpreet Kaur, and Sandeep, who handles much of the day-to-day production floor. No outsourced labor, no unnamed contract kitchen. If something goes wrong with a batch, one of these three people already knows about it before a customer would need to ask.
Every pack that leaves is sealed and dated. Not because a regulation demanded that specific practice, but because a family that eats its own product wants to know, at a glance, whether what's in front of them is fresh.