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Interviews, Art Direction and Photography by Asad Sheikh.

“In terms of design, I think Indian fashion is undergoing a transformation in its narratives. Eurocentric ideas of what is expected of an Indian designer on a global platform are changing,” says Kahkasha Sidra. As they negotiate the many Indias that have emerged due to the proliferation of digital content, especially social media, young designers like Sidra are building identities and creating work in response to this multiplicity and the need for unique individual explorations of fashion aesthetics, even if it means opening up uncomfortable dialogues.

Along with Sidra, we spoke to four other recent graduates of the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT), Delhi, to understand what drives their imaginations and the perceptions they hope to alter as they move forward in their careers.

Anya Wahi, for instance, turns a critical eye towards the societal limitations that also dictate the “rules” of the fashion industry — a space where self-expression is often intruded upon, particularly when it veers too far from the status quo. Speaking about one of her favourite designs from her collection, she says, “As a transgender woman who is currently in the middle of legally transitioning, there are so many instances where I have to prove my womanhood, my transness, and I am genuinely exhausted by it. To me, this look says, ‘I am who I am, and I am unafraid of being perceived any other way’. It has taken me a while to get there.”

Besides bringing diverse approaches to conceptualising fashion collections, particularly through redefinitions of what is considered to be “Indian”, these designers in their early twenties are also innovating with techniques and materials as they find their niches: Sidra with embroidery and engineered printing on leather; Wahi with laser cutting and micro pleating; Anmol Venkatesh with upcycled fabrics; Purvasha Singh with metal, knits and hand crocheting; and Anusha Parashar with experimental surfaces like paper, latex and bubble wrap .

Verve takes you through their graduation projects, revealing five minds that thrive on the exchange of ideas and have a clear vision for the future of Indian fashion.

Anusha Parashar, Guwahati
Anmol Venkatesh, New Delhi
Anya Wahi, Hyderabad
Kahkasha Sidra, Patna
Purvasha Singh, Bhopal

Interviews, Art Direction and Photography by Asad Sheikh.

Anmol Venkatesh
Degree: Bachelor of Design (Fashion Design)
Home town: Bengaluru

How would you introduce your graduate collection?
Baara Thangi is an amalgamation of the past and the present; it is steeped in nostalgia and yet has elements that bring out the quirkier graphic aspects of who I am today. This Pre-Fall collection puts craft at its centre, with an emphasis on hand embroidery, hand block printing and hand quilting, and appeals to anyone who would appreciate a slower, more conscious approach to life.

“Baara thangi” literally translates to “come, sister” in Kannada; it’s a term of endearment, one that takes me back to a childhood defined by a free-spirited way of living. This collection prompts the wearer to pursue a future that values crafts that are timeless and to keep that flamboyant child within alive at all times.

What are the underlying concepts — the primary inspirations — behind your collection?
I seek inspiration from a more sustainable pursuit of living and one that upholds the virtue of upcycling. I drew from my upbringing, and that of a lot of people from my generation, during the early 2000s, in a Bangalore that still had a certain old-world charm to it. I also drew from childhood memories of exquisite kolam patterns [decorative designs drawn on the ground, traditionally with rice flour, in southern India] strewn across jet-black tar roads, the comfort of my grandmother’s cotton saris, stark white kasuti work [a type of counted-thread embroidery practised in northern Karnataka] on heirloom clothing and Madras lungi fabrics, and paired them with quirkier heart motifs, or silhouettes that are geometric and asymmetrical.

Many of my fabrics were painstakingly collected from second-hand sari shops or donated by my grandmother or other relatives back home. It was important to not use any fresh fabric and to reuse fabric waste or textiles that had stories to tell. I also wanted to present textiles and crafts that are common to our everyday existence in a manner that prompts us to look at them through a new lens.

Tell us about the techniques you have used and your design ideology.
My design process began by enriching the narrative that I wanted to bring forth through the collection. This involved the extensive curation of images that then became very detailed mood boards. It was a reflection of how important craftsmanship is to me and represented a seamless blend of textures that could go together alongside a fine-tuning of a colour palette.

I then embarked on a month-long trip to the craft clusters where these traditions hail from. I first went to lungi-weaving clusters around Cuddalore, in Tamil Nadu, where Madras checks are woven for export. I understood the effort that went into creating something that I had taken for granted while growing up — the humble lungi now had so much more to tell.

I also visited Ilkal, in northern Karnataka, where the famous Ilkal saris are woven and traditionally finished with kasuti work. Here, again, motifs and techniques that had been perfected over centuries came to life in front of me.

I had been simultaneously working on quilting recycled fabrics and putting together fragments of old saris, dhotis and textiles that I had collected through my time at NIFT. The silhouettes that I had in mind drew extensively from minimal-waste pattern-making and had a geometric asymmetry that was integral to them.

Could you describe your favourite look?
My favourite look comprises a hand-quilted jacket with very detailed kasuti and kolam patterns embroidered on it. The base fabric took over a week to be painstakingly hand-quilted, and this was then overdyed to suit the colour palette. The jacket comprises an asymmetric front panel, attached from each shoulder. These panels have subtle stripes on them, an imitation of a black tar road with kolam. The pattern takes inspiration from the kimono, and the remnants from the basic structure were used to create the collars in an attempt to minimise fabric waste.

The embroidered motifs are scattered — asymmetric and yet balanced. Lilac and bright-pink hearts add that much-needed pop of colour and give life to a quirkier sensibility that I wanted to highlight. Small trinkets made with fabric buttons, metal beads and overdyed lace have been attached at certain places, almost like little secrets waiting to be discovered. The jacket is lined with an overdyed lungi.

The lilac top worn underneath has been made entirely from a repurposed silk sari. Braided tassels from either shoulder are tied at the front, mimicking elements that I’ve observed on children’s clothing. Brightly coloured loop buttons hold the top in place at the side seams.

Block-printed culottes complete the look, and these are held in place at the waist by using lungi fabrics that have been converted into tassels.

Conversations around personal representation are becoming increasingly prominent in today’s fashion world. In that regard, how would you say your work reflects who you are?
As someone who doesn’t dress according to conventional gender norms, I didn’t want to impose the same on my collection. For instance, using the lungi, which is a fabric that is traditionally worn by men, as part of garments that could be worn by anyone, irrespective of gender, reflects the same sentiment.

Which format would best translate your work to the consumer — physical retail spaces, online stores, demi-couture, or purely as a form of visual consumption through images only?
My work is very textural. It would be best translated when exhibited in a physical space, whether it is a retail store or an exhibition of some sort. These, supplemented by images, videos and other means of virtual display would be ideal. It is very important for me that people actually interact with the clothes and understand where I come from.

How has the shift towards digital fashion affected your creative process?
The shift towards digital fashion is certainly a boon to someone like me, who is geared towards reducing textile waste — it allows me to make changes digitally before implementing them on fabrics. Without access to a lot of resources, working on digital 3D prototypes has been a lifesaver for me. Considering how fast-paced the virtual world is, my creative process gets a boost, and I can enable my vision to be translated onto clothes at a much faster rate.

Previous: Anusha Parashar
Next: Anya Wahi

Interviews, Art Direction and Photography by Asad Sheikh.

Anya Wahi
Degree: Bachelor of Design (Fashion Design)
Home town: Hyderabad

How would you introduce your graduate collection?
More than anything else, my collection is an inquiry into how I’ve processed my transition. In June last year, when I came out as a transgender woman, I had no idea how my life would unfold. But today, about a year later, I think I know.

Changeling Vol. 1 is a narrative about growing into oneself, and it navigates the complicated ideals of beauty, womanhood and the image of the idealised body through garments that are transmutative, sculptural and inclusive. The whole collection is made out of deadstock polyesters that were upcycled and elevated through micro pleating and draped into forms that both follow and challenge the curves of the human body.

What are some underlying concepts — the primary inspirations — behind your collection?
Everything that I have learnt about the world as Anya has shaped this collection, right from when I began the design process. In that sense, my transition has been this almost overbearing, overwhelming force in my life.

I have also been fascinated by fay folklore from a very young age, and that has inspired the way I’ve used colours and textures. The diaphanous quality of some of the fabrics lends an ethereal look that conjures up in my head images of a gossamer spider-silk gown worn by mythical fairy queens. Each look tells the story of the birth of a distinct fairy queen, whether she has risen from an enchanted lake, bloomed from a lily or emerged from a chrysalis.

Tell us about the techniques you have used, your design ideology, and the process and details behind your favourite look from the collection.
A lot of my work has been centred around the body, and this collection is no different. My favourite design from the collection has to be the burgundy-and-champagne look modelled by me. It was born from some very specific emotions.

As a transgender woman who is currently in the middle of legally transitioning, there are so many instances wherein I have to prove my womanhood, my transness, and I am genuinely exhausted by it. To me, this look says, “I am who I am, and I am unafraid of being perceived any other way.” It has taken me a while to get there.

Conversations around personal representation are becoming increasingly prominent in today’s fashion world. In that regard, how would you say your work reflects who you are?
This may come off as a touch too conceited, but I am my own muse. My transness is at the centre of this collection. The reason I am vocal about it is that throughout history, and especially today, trans voices across the world have been ruthlessly and mercilessly squashed. I can confidently say that the quality of my life has declined since transitioning because there is no institutional support, in terms of education, healthcare or governance, and I have suffered first-hand at the hands of bureaucracy, negligence and cis-heteronormativity. And this is despite the privilege I enjoy — my background, and the absolute and overwhelming support from my family.

Fashion is just as convoluted; there are hardly any trans designers at the moment. To quote Hari Nef, who has inspired me for years now: “I don’t think fashion is interested in trans issues. I can’t think of many fashion institutions or artists who have addressed ‘trans issues’ by name, can you? How many openly trans people are getting major work in the industry — models, designers, photographers? Can you count them on more than one hand? Fashion is having a moment with trans aesthetics, not trans issues.” I feel exactly the same way about it, and many trans people that I have interacted with do too.

This is also why I have very consciously stayed away from certain ways that the trans body is looked at, talked about or represented. I find it quite tasteless and extremely inappropriate to fetishise an identity like that, which is why I am not using my work to talk about the purely fetishised physical aspects of being a trans woman, like how much my breasts have grown since I started on hormones. There is some maturing that needs to happen on the part of the audience before trans creators can be expected to have these conversations. I hope my collection is one among many that encourage that maturation by talking about the emotions that trans people often feel because we are people first, trans second.

Which format would best translate your work to the consumer — physical retail spaces, online stores, demi-couture, or purely as a form of visual consumption through images only?
I don’t believe fashion is still rigid about demarcating spaces for all these segments separately. Some pieces in my collection would do really well as ready-to-wear; there are others that would be ideal to present to clients to be made as per their requirements; and there are others that make for some fabulous imagery. However, what I’ve explored is an idea, a narrative in its rawest form, and I think it’s an interesting concept to see how even deadstock fabrics can be reclaimed to create garments that don’t look like they might have been upcycled.

Where do you think fashion is going with AI and the metaverse?
Artificial intelligence is tricky; there needs to be more public discourse on the morality of creating a system that claims personhood, and I don’t think that the people who are pumping money into AI are considering that. Fashion is, at the end of the day, a business.

How has the shift towards digital fashion affected your creative process?
What people don’t know about my collection is that the toile of each piece was converted to a vector file that was used to laser cut the final fabric. The result is a clean edge that doesn’t require further processing and has a superior finish.

Do you feel digital design is the answer to fashion’s waste problem?
Fashion doesn’t have a waste problem; it is the waste problem. So, no, I don’t think digital design is the answer. A major shift needs to happen in the way fashion is consumed. And if I can be frank, people need to stop trying to ease the guilt that comes with participating in this vicious cycle of wearing clothes and disposing of them by buying into “sustainable fashion” — it’s just a marketing buzzword.

What are the driving forces behind the silhouettes in your collection and how have you tried to achieve them?
One of my favourite artists happens to be Georgia O’Keeffe, and many of the silhouettes take inspiration from her paintings. I have also tried to follow the body and break away from it in unexpected places to both generate interest and challenge ideals. I’ve done this through draping micro-pleated fabrics and manually heat-setting them in the forms and shapes that they take.

Previous: Anmol Venkatesh
Next: Kahkasha Sidra