It’s always summer on the California coast. The air—salted, sun-warmed—dances through linen hems and open collars, carrying the ease of endless golden hours.

On palm-lined streets, rooftop brunches, and beachside getaways, they moved—men who wore their stories. Light kurtas, crisp shirts, sun-kissed fabrics. Each piece a quiet ode to home, stitched with the freedom of the West Coast.

Arjun leaned against his Mustang, flicking the edge of his embroidered cuff. “Remember when we’d surf at sunrise and stroll into brunch still damp with salt?”

Kavi appeared, barefoot and familiar, holding a cold brew in one hand and a ripe mango in the other.

“Some summers,” he said, smiling, “are meant to be worn.”

The speakers hummed: California Soul.

The afternoon swirled on—easy, nostalgic, unforgettable.

Just like Calisutra.

Calisutra: Where timeless Indian silhouettes meet California summer.