Crazy-Good/Crazy

A flip-back diary of my feelings during the creation of a collection

Post Runway Show: I feel depressed. What now? How can I avoid the post show press conference?

During the show: my name is announced for me to take a bow. I feel irritated. Why bother with it at all? During the show: the last model walks out into the arc lights. I feel relieved. The show went off without a hitch.

During the show: buttoning up garments, tying closures on models, I feel like I am on steroids. Adrenaline high. I scream, I hug, I manage to squeeze in a smoke break.

Pre show: I spot mum and friends seated waiting for the show to begin. I feel happy and blessed. Morning of the show: I feel nauseous. I need a bucket near me, and a bottle of water.

One day to show: I am filled with trepidation. Preps for show are done. There really is nothing left for me to do.

I still refuse to leave my room, somehow feeling if I step out for a drink or a meal, it’ll all go wrong. My fellow designer friends are functioning normally. They are so well adjusted. I hate them.

Three days to show: Model castings and fittings. I feel like the second lead in every Bollywood movie—inconsequential. There is nothing really for me to do. I have the shortest fitting schedule always. The entire exercise takes 15 minutes. There is no point having a sit down with the hair and make-up artist. Even with references provided, they will still do their own thing. Why bother?

Five days to show: Prepping guest-lists, last minute dry-cleaning, collecting accessories from vendors. I feel like The Brain Whisperer. I can hear a pop in my head each time I feel like I’m experiencing an aneurysm. Apparently, we as a nation do not understand the significance of RSVP. I’m willing to bet any amount that on the morning of my show, I will have people calling and texting me for invites.

14 days to show: I feel crazy-good/crazy. The last batch of printed textiles comes in to the workshop.

They’ve turned out great! But wait! Is there enough time to create a minimum of four garments out of these fabrics to have a cohesive sub-story in the collection? Crazed.

18 days to show: I feel like I need to finish the world’s supply of ice cream.

29 days to show: I feel a need to ameliorate. Actually I don’t. This day just needed a word I do not understand.

31 days to show: I feel there needs to be a way I can expand time. One month left.

37 days to show: I feel, dare I say, happy with the way preps for fashion week are progressing. 55 days to show: Pattern cutting and calico toiles are done! I feel like I deserve a pat on the back. Except that if I ask my tailors to do that, they’ll certify me insane.

61 days to show: I feel a manicure session coming up. Finally, print artworks have been sent across to my printers. Screens will be made. Soon. Hopefully. Hours on the computer; my right palm can carry out only one function—cradling a mouse. Patterns are being cut; I’ve got callouses from using old school iron scissors. There is no emoji that can represent my physical state of being. What’s that you say? You’ve found one with a hunchback and deformed hands?

63 days to show: I am indebted to my Meitei friends

for their instructions on how to pronounce Manipuri cuss words. With everyone in Kolkata familiar with English, Hindi and Bengali cuss words, screaming out a thunaba or a thigun means nothing to them and everything to me.

71 days to show: I feel snails would outrun me at this pace. Colour samples have been finalised. I mean, how difficult is it to decide between two shades of black? Shapes have been frozen.

79 days to show: I feel I am a functioning depressive. During ideation, if I am momentarily happy, the ideas I come up with are scrapped within the hour. Creative juices flow well when I brood.

83 days to show: Music is sorted. I feel like an entourage is in order. For every showcase, I decide on music first.

I know which tracks are going to be played. These tracks are on 24/7 in my studio, workshop, car and home. This time, I’m leading with Shelter by The XX. I imagine myself being part of The XX, holding intimate gigs in my studio, workshop, car and home. I’m crooning Shelter with such familiarity, it seems like I’m a songwriter too. I am tone deaf.

90 days to show: I feel like I’m exotic. Hotter than the tropics. No, wait. I feel like I need to feel. ASAP. Three months left. Just the storyline in place. There are, however, no catalysts to get my brain to work. It’ll happen of its own accord. I slip out of the studio for a drink. Expensive wine and wasabi nuts. Now I feel exotic. Where art thou, Pitbull?

A few snippets from my journal leading up to a showing of my Spring/Summer 2013 ‘Grotesque Nonsense’ collection at the Wills Lifestyle India Fashion Week. The collection was based on how Eastern concepts get lost in translation when they travel Westwards.

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