STYLE SaturDay, 19 November 2022

New Delhi 07
Shrabonti Bagchi
Shrabonti.B@livemint.com
The village of Anegundi near
Hampi, Karnataka, has
many stories woven
around it. Legend says it is
the mythical Kishkinda
from the Ramayan—the kingdom of the
vanara king Sugriva, whom Ram and
Lakshman meet during their search for
the abducted Sita. In more modern times,
Anegundi, which means “elephant pit” in
Kannada, was a place of great importance
in the Vijayanagara kingdom and houses
several relics of historical and archaeological
interest in the Hampi architectural
tradition.
A quiet village on the banks of the Tungabhadra,
Anegundi is at once a model of
rural life and a significant cultural centre—
today, it is also well-known as the
headquarters of The Kishkinda Trust, a
broad-based non-profit focused on the
conservation of the region’s natural and
cultural heritage through performances,
crafts and sustainable tourism.
It feels right, then, for the storied village
to become the site for a unique exhibition—
built along the concept of an
“unmuseum”—that tells yet another culturally
significant tale: that of the sari in
India. Curated by textile archivist Mayank
Mansingh Kaul, using garments sourced
by the Bengaluru-based Registry of
Sarees, the exhibition, Red Lilies, Water
Birds, which opened on 14 November and
will be open for general viewing till 6
December, locates itself in Anegundi with
meaning and deliberation. “I made the
curatorial decision to move out of formal
spaces in big cities—institutions, galleries
and museums—around seven years ago. It
is important to me to take exhibitions like
this to people who would be intimidated
by the conventional gallery space—we
seek deeper engagement rather than
wider viewership,” says Kaul. The exhibition
is spread over four heritage homes in
Anegundi that have been restored and are
maintained by The Kishkinda Trust.
The title Red Lilies, Water Birds refers to
the design motifs often found on saris and
was inspired by the English translation of
a verse from Muttollayiram, an anthology
of poems in classical Tamil which sing the
praises of three monarchs, one each from
the Pandyan, Chola and Chera dynasties,
explains Kaul. The specific verse is offered
to a Chera prince:
The land of Kothai,
deft wielder of a spear
with Poison-tipped, leaf-shaped head,
knows no turmoil
except that
caused by the water birds.
For when the red lilies
bloom in the waterlogged fields,
the birds panic,
Thinking the water is on fire…
The exhibition features a selection of
108 saris and draped garments narrated
through nine themes, which have been
acquired by The Registry of Sarees over
the past five years. They represent the late
19th to early 20th centuries and comprise
textiles from some of the most prominent
handloom centres, including Kanchipuram,
Venkatagiri, Chanderi, Paithan,
Patan, Varanasi, Murshidabad and Sambalpur.
The garments were not bought
directly from these clusters or from weavers
and sellers, however—almost all are
previously owned garments acquired by
Kaul and Ahalya Matthan, founder of The
Registry of Sarees, during their travels
across India; collected from individuals
who love saris and often donated by families
after the death of a loved one.
“Handwoven saris and draped garments
in the Indian subcontinent,
broadly, comprise three main design elements—
the border, the end panel and the
field. In the thematic groupings (of this
exhibition), they come alive through a
variety of fibres, motifs and patterns,” says
Kaul. “The drama that unfolds on cloth
here casts them aflame with colour and
emotion, their changing landscapes
reflecting the art, rituals and languages of
those who have created them, and those
whom they have dressed. To me, they represent
the ‘field’ of the poem.”
Exhibition designer Reha Sodhi
worked with Kaul and Matthan to display
the garments in heritage homes in Anegundi
in a way that would make them
accessible and real, as opposed to artefacts
locked behind glass cases—making it an
“unmuseum” of sorts—but this posed
logistical challenges as well. “These are all
archival garments, part of a textile archive
that The Registry of Sarees is building,
and we have to take care they are not damaged.
Natural light and excessive humidity
are destructive to them, so we had to seal
the doors and windows of the display spaces
and prevent any seepage of water,
using lime wash on the walls, which also
protects the environment from insects…
it took us over a month to set up the entire
display,” says Kaul.
The exhibition is open to viewers in the
form of guided walkthroughs in Kannada
and English—the effort was to make it less
dependent on textual explanations that
might have been difficult for local viewers
to follow, and to drive a deeper engagement
with the garments on display.
The “nine stories” in the title refers to
the schematic split of the exhibition. The
108 garments have been split along nine
themes that refer to either their particular
weave, colour or pattern, to their
place of origin, or to their place in a cultural
tradition. Among the nine themes
are “Kora”, garments made using
undyed, unbleached cloth; “Red and
White”, the tradition, largely significant
in eastern India, of using the two colours
in a variety of combinations to convey
everything from sensuousness to religiosity;
a collection of garments in the ikat
weaves of Odisha, Gujarat and Andhra
Pradesh; a selection of checked and
striped weaves from southern India; the
art of brocading on fine muslin cloth—
uppadas, venkatagiris and chanderis
from the southern states; and two sections
on Banaras weaves.
Talking about the Banaras sections,
Kaul says: “One of the less well-known
aspects of the Banarasi tradition is how the
weavers customised the silk and brocades
for various markets, often making significant
departures from known traditions:
for instance, the Baroda shalu sari created
for the Gaekwads of Baroda, the various
motifs they wove into saris for the Mysore
royals, or using black, a non-traditional
colour, for saris made for Coorg women.”
It is these kinds of details and storytelling
that make the sari part of a living,
breathing tradition rather than an object
of academic study, says Kaul. “The idea
behind this show was also to decolonise
the idea of a museum. There are two ways
to conserve something: You either spend
a lot of resources on creating a comprehensive
archive that is then sealed away—
and I am not disparaging that method,
because it works in some contexts—or you
make it part of a continuing tradition,” he
adds. “A museum is typically seen as a
place where you put dead objects, and the
sari is not dead by any means.”
Red Lilies, Water Birds is on till 6 December
in Anegundi, Hampi.
designer-run label. Bharti Sharma, its
designer-owner, says they overcome the
growth spurt problem by giving adequate
margins in their clothes, so that parents
may open up stitches and use the same
piece for a few years. “We don’t keep
inventory. We make to order,” she says,
noting that the idea is to help children
with varied body types as well as comfort
levels in terms of both material and cuts.
“Kids are very fussy, especially seven- to
eight-year-olds as (they start becoming
aware of their bodies),” Sharma notes—
“you have to think like a child” when
designing for them.
Retailers and parents agree that this is
in part due to an increase in parents’ purchasing
power and is in stark contrast to
their own childhoods . “I have an older sister
and whatever she wore eventually
ended up coming to me,” Saraf recalls.
Clothing was passed around between
cousins too. “It’s not the same at all now.
Parents now think, ‘why will my (child)
Nine stories about nine yards
A show of heritage
textiles in Hampi pays
homage to the sari as
a living garment, not a
dead artefact
(above) A ‘lehnga’ set from Free Sparrow for ₹13,500; and Puttisu’s nail art kit
for ₹2,700.
The exhibition features a
selection of 108 saris
and draped garments,
which represent the
late 19th to early
20th centuries
(clockwise, from above) Mayank
Mansingh Kaul (centre) conducts a
walkthrough of the exhibition; the
show is split into nine themes, one of
which is ‘ikat’ weaves; and a heritage
home in Anegundi that has been
used as one of the sites for the show.
Vangmayi Parakala
vangmayi.parakala@htlive.com
On a recent trip to New York,
Shradha Mehra Virani, an Instagram
influencer and mother of
two, picked up, among other things, a pair
of Air Jordans for her son. She trusts the
comfort of the Nikes, and thought the colour
she picked complemented the fiveyear-
old’s whimsical personality. For context:
Air Jordans can cost anywhere
between ₹4,000-9,000 a pair, depending
on the model and size. A child will likely
outgrow a pair in under a year.
“I am not the kind to blindly spend on
my kids,” says Virani, who bought an
Armani suit for her child’s first birthday. “I
like to dress my kids well and differently
(from their peers). I
think I only (spend) if I know
these will be well-used.”
Virani is one of many millennial
parents who are eager
to give their children the
best—of luxury clothes as well
as internationally known skincare
and make-up. While she
says she indulges mindfully,
many in the same demographic
want their children to
get dressed a certain way—in
luxury and couture, with hair
and face done—for birthday
parties and playdates, as a way to keep up
appearances and announce the parents’
ability to afford these products.
“Kids fashion is a huge industry and the
luxury market for kids is growing the fastest,”
said Manoj Mahla, director of the
Kids India Fashion Week (IKFW), in a
press statement earlier this month, during
the lead-up to the ninth edition of IKFW
in Delhi last weekend. “India is one of the
largest contributors to the apparel-retail
sector globally and it is becoming a hub for
kids’ apparel and fashion retailers as well.
Over 375 million individuals are below the
age of 15 years in the country. This represents
a huge consumer base for the kids’
fashion market,” he said, adding that the
IKFW is now also being planned in nine
cities in India, as well as Dubai.
Market research, too, is in line with this:
The clothing market in India for children
was valued at around ₹66,904 crore in FY
2017. This grew to around ₹1.4 trillion in
FY 2021.
Over the decade of its presence, Les Petits,
one of the earliest stores in the country
to offer luxury and couture for children,
has witnessed a maturing of the market,
too. “Millennial parents are changing the
way kids’ fashion was perceived a few decades
ago. They are themselves fashionsensitive
and see an extension of it in their
kids,” says Swati Saraf, president, Les Petits.
The store has just added two new international
brands, Stella McCartney and
Leblon Delienne, with the latter being
introduced for the first time in India
exclusively by the store.When Saraf first
started the store, in Delhi, she thought
most of her customers would come from
metro cities. “(But) greater consciousness
around fashion and awareness created
through the internet is leading to haute
couture for kids becoming more popular
in tier II cities as well,” she adds.
Some parents note, though, that while
Western couture and clothing from premium
brands, including Gucci, Moschino
and Michael Kors, has grown, there seem
to be only a few Indian designers in the
space. They surmise that this is possibly
due to the fact that couture, already an
indulgence for children who will fast outgrow
the expensive item, becomes further
limited in its use as Indian-wear like shararas,
kurtas and lehnga-cholis will be limited
to use during festivals and weddings.
“I don’t think Indian designers are that
involved or visible,” agrees Virani. “But
there are some
h ome g r own ,
independent
brands doing
Indian outfits
for between
₹5,000-7,000
too.”
Six-year-old
Free Sparrow
is one such
Children’s fashion gets a
couture touch this season
From luxury clothes to
beauty products,
millennial parents and
children go all out to look
their best
PHOTOGRAPHS COURTESY THE REGISTRY OF SAREES
wear...someone (else’s)’,” Saraf notes.
Aspiration has coloured the experience
of childhood across generations—children
have always wanted to try out their
parents’ clothing, play house and host
pretend parties, aspiring to be just like
their adults. This has only magnified with
the early exposure children now have to
gadgets, cameras and social media.
There’s great global interest in children’s
make-up too. Figures from Market
Research Future show the global market
for children’s cosmetics is projected to be
$1,795 million by 2026. Of this, the Asia-
Pacific market alone is projected to be
$408 million.
Just a week ago, noticing a gap for
child-specific make-up and skincare in
the Indian market, two Indian mothers,
Neha Varghese and Manasvi Shah,
brought Puttisu, a known K-beauty
brand of children’s skincare and
make-up, to the country. They currently
only retail the brand’s products, including
sheet masks, nail colours, sunscreens
and lip colours, online, targeting preteens
and older girls, in a price range of
₹299-2,700. Varghese and Shah say they
have already seen demand not just from
Mumbai, where they launched, but also
from cities such as Coimbatore, Hyderabad
and Kolkata.
All this, however, throws up a worrying
question: With so much importance given
to looks, will children start attaching their
self-worth and value to how they dress? “I
keep telling my kid not to derive validation
from looks and social media,” says
Varghese.
Similarly, Virani talks about inculcating
values through couture: What we need to
inculcate...is the idea of ‘don’t dirty your
shirt’,” she says. “I have the same reaction
to whether they are wearing Gap or
Gucci.” She isn’t too worried about her
children outgrowing their clothes either.
She just puts them up for sale on SoldResold,
her community-driven marketplace
for “preloved and precared” clothes
and accessories for children. “There’s a
huge demand…at least 5-10 people ask for
kids couture on the site—daily.”
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