The name of the atelier sits on the page in two scripts, one above the other. अरात्रिक्काज़ on top, in Devanagari, in the champagne we use only for the wordmark. Aratrikkaz beneath, in Roman, in the small uppercase letter-spacing that holds the breath. They are the same word. They are also two different inheritances, set the same size, on purpose.
The pronunciation is uh-rah-TREE-kaz. The stress is on the third syllable. The first vowel is a soft schwa, not a long “ah”. The double k is a soft doubling rather than a hard one — the tongue touches twice but does not snap. The final z is voiced, not a soft s. I am being this specific because I have spent eleven years in Australia watching people try to say Indian names without being told how, and the most generous thing a brand can do for a non-Indian reader is to spell the sound out plainly.
Why the doubled k and the final z. The doubled k is in there because the Devanagari अरात्रिक्काज़ doubles in the mouth at that point — the sound is closer to “trik-kaa” than to “tri-kaa”, and I did not want to soften the consonant for an English keyboard. The final z is the small diaspora marker. In an Australian classroom Aratrikka will become “the Aratrikkaz” the first time a teacher pluralises her name — a class of one, but a class. The plural is the inheritance. It is also the universalising move: the atelier is for her and for the everyone-else who shares her crossing.