Yes, Sonam Kapoor is my wife. We engaged in conversation, married in dialogue; honeymooned in analogue. And she'll widow herself by shooting me tonight.

And the dance continues - right into carnal desires and Midsummer Nights of water fights and sexual sights of bites on the neck, like a certified check. You gotta take it nice and slow, like opening a Bordeaux; you gotta let it breathe. 

     And we do, forsaking the Coffee With talk show for reruns of The X Files and a mid-90s U.F.O. Scully was doing the driving, which she preferred. Mulder knew only two speeds: fast and faster. 

‘What do you think Mulder?’… Scully said.

‘I think we should sleep with the lights on Scully’… he replied.

     Perchance I was typing out the last of the love-scenes; had to be sensual and flirty more than rough and dirty – sex with no head is like a sandwich with no bread right? Yeah but not tonight.

     The answering machine takes down messages: ex-girlfriends, coach T, a friend who wants cocaine, the cat who lost the jugular vein, and the kid who never got laid but wants a blowjob on a dream train. And then there’s Rumi, who’s been dead for centuries; says there’s a field out there and I’ll meet you there, beyond rightdoings and wrongdoings.

     I’m an April fool for not droppin’ out at 14; I waited til’ I was 15; hit the mezzanine floor – the cesspool of bad dreams and H2SO4. But hey, Rumi’s callin’. It’s either the end of the world or the best damn block party since 1969.

But you gotta bring a date right?

Someone to navigate through the callings of fate. 

     And so I asked out Sonam Kapoor. And the diva says yes; she’s as sure as her dress, readying to impress with her freedom of the press.

‘You gotta engage me in conversation’… she says.

‘I can do better than that’… I reply… ‘I’ll marry you in conversation’.

Now we have a chance, like Butch n’ Sundance.

     She called me to her set - she was filming her next, and I arrived fashionably late. That’s her job; the very first page of How to be a movie-star for dummies.

Her manager Tina walks me inside.

     I’m expecting Diet Pepsi, lights, long-drawn confessions, breakdown, megaphones, cigarettes, salads, avocados, genuine leather, artificial weather, stationary, plug points, hair dryers, kohl, cocaine, Hip Hop, talc, novels, jeans, thongs, Aloe Vera plants, The Beatles, Mercedes Benz, and machine guns loaded with depleted Uranium shells. 

I sat in her trailer; mineral water and takin’ a piss. 

     Sonam walk in, dressed as a bride, but there’s no pride, in her eyes. Perchance she was baking in that 2 million carat dress. Her hands were warm, like really warm – someone’s forgotten to drink water. But we both know, it’s time to paint the fucking sky with as much silver as we can use.

The stars were shining on.

She lifts her pallet knife and starts work on our still-life. 

     We got into the back seat of her beemer and drove off, home. She’s chirpy, like a bird. Scary little creatures; minions of the Antichrist. But it’s better than movie stars showing up in Cashmere. Bet she’s got a collection of things that cater to the fairer sex, like pantyhose and garter belts.

I pulled out my Dictaphone and pushed in a cassette. 

‘You’re such a 90s boy’… she said… ‘Analogue guy’.

‘And you’re a digital girl’… I reply, as the Universe bent backwards for us.

That song from Delhi 6; did they really put a pigeon on your head?

Oh yeah. That was a real fucking pigeon on my head. I had to train with it.

(Laughs) You trained with a pigeon?

Well, yeah dude. It had to be comfortable on my bloody head and shoulders. 

Birds are scary.

No they’re not. (Laughs) What shit? Look at best, it was going to crap on me. I’m not scared of animals at all. I love them. (Fiddling) Animals and children, I get. And they get me. People, not so much. But I have a tendency to be liked by kids.

I loved that picture, Delhi 6. Had this primary text-book quality to it.

What do you mean?

There’s a moral to the story. Why’d you do it?

Well, Saawariyaa wasn’t released yet.  And Rakeysh Mehra has just made Rang De Basanti -which was such a great picture. We were fans. And I get this call saying, look, he wants to sit with you. So now I’m jumping. (Smiles) And so I met him. We got talking. And I kid you not, a few hours into the meeting we sort of fell in love with each other. He was auditioning a lot of girls for this one. (Laughs). But alright, the script has layers to it. There was the Ram-Leela in motion. The Ramayana. Great epic. And it’s very symbolic of things, the perfect husband, and the perfect wife sort of thing. The perfect king. And through the film, we ourselves became symbols. The characters of the film I mean. My character Bittu Sharma represented the youth of India. You know what I’m saying? Om Puri was the patriarch of the family. Picture the middle class. Abhishek’s (Bachchan) character Roshan was someone who was discovering India from within. Hence the name Roshan – he was shedding light on things. Delhi 6 WAS India. And I found something utterly liberating in Bittu Sharma as a character – she didn’t want to be another Bahu. She didn’t want to make Aachar with the other women in the family. (Laughs) If you revisit the picture, you’ll see she’s barely with the mother. She’s always with her father. 

Give me a moment.

(Laughs) why?

Because I got a feeling of being force fed from that picture. Free value education. Which is good. It’s the stuff that rock bands can get away with; megalomania. But you’ve stumped me good. Do you like being famous at all?

Sure I do. (Pauses) Every once in a while you have a go at yourself. Ask some difficult questions. ‘Why are we here?’ Those kind of questions. (Pauses) Maybe the goal is happiness. Maybe it’s to live life a certain way. Do things that please us. Some people choose to be conspicuous. Fame on the other hand, allows you to make an impact. And a hard one. You can change someone’s life by pulling your craft. I’m an actor. I do my job. I want to set trends. I want to use that to do good. Bring something good to someone else’s life. Isn’t that why you writers write? Or painters paint? Or people make films? Why we go to work basically. To be remembered. We want our name to go down in posterity. What else is there to do? Did you ever read Ayn Rand when you were younger?

Just The Fountainhead.

Everybody’s read The Fountainhead. It bullshit after 10 years.

(Laughs)

(Laughs) There’s a line that really got to me, from Atlas Shrugged. Which made a very strong impact on me. (Quotes) ‘Fransisco, what’s the most depraved type of human being? The man without purpose.’

I thought we do it to fill a void. 

Maybe we fill a void. But without purpose, we’re fucked. You need something to drive you, at a gut level. I don’t judge people who squander their life away. I’m saying I’d be lost without purpose. The idea of fame; is not forgetting yourself. It’s a great way to meet yourself. The contrast. Because you can’t act 24/7. I’m not in character right now.

Have you read a novella called ‘Into the Wild?’ The Christopher McCandless story.

I have, I have. Love it.

He writes “Happiness is only real when shared”. Using that logic, the more famous you are, the happier you can be…

…(Interrupting) Celebrity can be a lonely place. Sometimes, you prefer isolation.  But to be famous, and still connect, there’s an idea. You can’t think of your place in society as a morally higher ground. You can’t belittle someone else, the ones who don’t share your power, or place. Ideally fame brings opportunity. You’re not different or better, you’re only lucky. Pretty fucking simple. You’re just lucky. I’m sure there are prettier girls out there, who can act, who are better than I am. But I’m here. (Pauses, and lowers her voice) That’s my fortune. I was born in THIS family. I was discovered early. No doubt I worked very hard; but who doesn’t? It’s the meeting of luck and work. (Blushes a little like she often does). 

Go on a relative tangent with me.

Sure.

Keeping that novella in mind, mind you. (Smiles) Think about it, you bake a cake, smoke a doob, grab a boob, whatever, put it on Twitter. You’re now sharing your day with others. Does your celebrity ever help you come clean?

You mean say things you want to say to people but can’t? Ah. Honestly, I’ve pulled a lot of things. But you cannot help other people’s opinion about you. You can’t force these things. I’m an actor. I’d rather be spoken about. Being ignored isn’t good for my business. Then, I’m fucked. Grander scheme always. (Laughs). This is my job. I work so people can see my work. You’re a writer; you’re out there for them. Sure the world can be cruel. It can be jarring. Sometimes it makes me wonder, when you see cruelty: is that even possible. Can people be so ugly? 

The driver picks speed; our wheels rollin’ by.

     Sonam’s staring out the window, staring at a city that refuses to sleep. You’d need Propofol to knock it out. Never figured cities to be insomniacs. But they are. The town’s on dope, wide awake as BBC.

     The movie business is a Gulf Stream of bad dreams – arguments, settlements, indictment; enhancements in the breast area. But this one wears her celebrity like a sunscreen. I know now that she’s an inefficient liar’ that's her kryptonite. She will die if her life depends on it. She’s no bimbette or a love-struck Juliet, waiting on an Alpha Romeo; she’s all heart.

She turns to me and asks ‘Why me?’

‘Why not?’… I counter-question.

I mean sure she makes terrific copy.

     And sounds very standoffish when she says “that’s rubbish”, but then her heart’s unpublished. Wants to be a Spider Lily flower swaying many miles an hour; smelling like a baby shower, leaning like a watching tower. Wants to grab a hip, give it a slow kiss, smudge her own mascara and do it in the French Riviera to add to the hysteria of movie-star dating rituals.

Its megalomania vs. Wrestle Mania.

     But when her time comes, she won’t just R.I.P; she’ll rest in our stories. These pages will show, and the world it will know, she was here once.

Do you suffer from compassion fatigue?

(Thinks) My mom says this a lot, but I’ve concluded this myself: I have the Gautama Buddha Complex.

(Laughs) What?

Really. Okay I’ve made that up. And I know I’ll get a lot of shit for saying this. But whatever. Who cares? (Smiles) Ah, you know how Siddhārtha was in a gilded cage and he saw the real world after stepping out? He had never seen the world. He was a stranger to harsher reality. And when confronted by it, he became all the more sensitive to it. I’ve been protected my entire life. When I see the world through - say the glass of my car, I see it with wonder and compassion. (Looks out the window and talks) There’s no filter. I relate to Siddhārtha. I never knew that people could be so amazing. How they could have so little and yet be so happy. How much they give, to others, in times of need. It reminds me of how lucky I am. Even in this industry, people have had difficult lives, difficult childhoods. And see how they’ve risen. The glass is always half-full. Do I deserve my luck? (Leaning forward and asking genuinely) Does that make sense? (Smiles)

(Smiling) Yes it does dearie. I'm glad you're this optimistic. Any asshole can see how bad things are. (Abruptly after a poignant pause) Hey, you know when your Coffee with Karan adverts came on, I thought you’d show up in a Papa was a Rolling Stone T-shirt.

(Laughs loudly) Why? No Mark Jacobs is the way to go. (Giggles beautifully). I really liked the Spring-Summer collection. Fashion is art. And I believe that. But you know; I try to avoid doing things with my dad. I get nervous doing things around him. And then I talk rubbish. (Chuckles). (After a short pause) There’s not much that grows under a Banyan tree.

You use ‘Rubbish’ the way Sting uses ‘Fashion’.

(Laughs) I do? He does?

Yes. (Pauses) Is celebrity your inheritance? 

Ah. (Pauses) My mum’s brought me up very differently. You have to understand, they didn’t want this for me. Really. But I think my upbringing got in their way. Double edged sword. It was ‘Do what you want to do with your life’. (Smiles) It wasn’t an inheritance. I had to go snatch it. Hold it by the scruff, and take it. I auditioned my ass off for Sanjay Leela Bhansali. My father didn’t launch me, or produce a picture for me. Sure, it’s easier for me to get my way around in this industry. They respect my father. He’s worked very hard for 30 some years. I do enjoy his success. And there’s a lot of goodwill out there which lets me get away with things. But it wasn’t an inheritance as much. No. I wouldn’t say that.

Do people prefer artifice?

Yes, yes. (Raising her voice) Especially here in India. But no one has a choice; we see so much grief around us. Not us. (Pointing at herself and me) But we’re not even 1%. We surrounded by ugliness. Such ugliness, in everything. When people go to the movies they want to see things that are larger than life. Something exotic to take their mind off things. Remember, when they go to the cinema, they’re paying 200 rupees for a ticket. People lead hard lives. You can’t give them hard shit all the time.

Fits perfectly in the pantheons of the movies, or art, or Rock N’ Roll and its juvenilia. But isn't it unseemly in real life?

Sometimes, yes. But it’s a global thing. People get to leave their difficult life and go into the cinema. Going to the movies is such a big thing in some places. They're going to the movies, to see wonder. That’s the larger picture. Everything is that much beautiful. (Waving her hands as her eyes light up)Everything is cinematic. They get to forget their troubles for a while. (Takes a moment and smiles – I’m remembering black and white films. And Sonam's never looked this beautiful all evening)

Are you a trouble magnet?

I’m actually a very good girl. (Laughs) But trouble seems to find me. People don’t understand a lot of the things I say. Maybe I’m not articulate enough. Tina do you think I’m a trouble magnet? (Talking to her manager. Tina nods “Yes”) How can you say that? (Jokingly snaps at Tina). What do you think?

I think you’re a Trouble Electromagnet. Finish this sentence for me would you?

Okay.

Your Greatest Hits include…

Getting my tongue pierced.

(Laughs) Go on.

A fuckin' Chinese symbol for a tattoo; does it get cornier? Getting my belly pierced. Getting 6 holes in each ear. Black lipstick. Terrible fashion moment. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. Trying to build a school in Pune.

What? (Laughs)

I tried (Laughing). Didn’t work out very well. I was 16. I once elbowed a girl at a Basketball match in school. That was so mean. 

That was awesome. Very cool.

No. Not cool. I think it’s mean. I was one of those annoying kids who’d rather fail than cheat. You know what I’m saying? It seemed immoral to me; a crime. A violation or some sort. I HAVE to be honest. Maybe it’s an inherent flaw in me. Even now. I can’t lie. Which is why I come off the way I do. It’s easier for me to avoid questions entirely than lie. I’d rather say things out loud. Some people keep them inside, and it turns into something else.

Compared to you I’m like the AntiChrist.

Why? Did you cheat in school?

Awe, you’re so cute.

What are your Greatest Hits like?

Tried to kill my teacher with a bomb, set a hill of fire… shall I go on?

(Laughs) No.

(Laughs) Do girls in skirts hate wind?

Not if you’re Marilyn Monroe. Did you see that Marilyn Monroe moment on Coffee with Karan?

I did, yeah.

That was fun. (Pauses) Actually, I think girls in skirts LOVE wind. Gives you an excuse to be coy. A cinematic moment in real life.

Can you handle a compliment?

Absolutely not.

Great. Let's give you one. I saw the Coffee with Karan interview – moments of pure megalomania. I enjoyed it, because you gave the world a big kiss.

STOP MR. KATE.

(Laughs) The 90s saw some crazy stuff too; Zoo TV for example.

I remember that. U2. Love that band. You want to listen to some U2 right now?

(Laughs) Rockstars emerging from 40 foot lemons. Do you think it’s important not to be profound always? And yes, we could play U2.

Yes. Yes. One needs to have fun. What is the point of life otherwise? Please have fun. God. (In a frustrated tone) No one should take themselves too seriously. I love my clothes. I love being beautiful and fashionable. I love all of that. But at the same time, I can talk to you about deep philosophy. I can also be a bimbo and ask stupid questions. What’s wrong in asking questions? We need that duality don’t we? 

And there we were, bequeathing care; spreading just our wings.  I did check her out though, in the back seat of her BMW: Tods, skinny jeans, black leather belt, crop top, black formal jacket, and a Dolce & Gabbana sling bag.

‘Hey. Mind if I open your bag?’… I ask.

‘Are you serious?’… she says, looking something horrified.

Not really.

She’s an ol’ sport.

What’s inside Sonam Kapoor’s slim bag?

     Nothing extraordinary; a girl’s a girl: wallet, prescription glasses (she’s blind as a bat), hand cream, deodorant, wet-wipes, sunglasses, perfume, tampons, peppermint, mouthwash, lipstick, lip-balm, Shiv-Chalisa, Hanuman-Chalisa, Rudraksh, and her ipod.

‘I can’t believe I just opened my bag for you Ashish’

‘I am me afterall’… I say, smiling.

‘Isn’t Me & You by Barry Louis the most romantic song ever?’… she smiles back.

‘I wouldn’t know’… I say.

‘Can I play it for you?’

‘Sure thing’… I say, as she leans back and connects her ipod to the Beemer.

Nice little ditty.

‘What’s on your ipod Sonam?’

‘Dark Horse, Happy, Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, some John Legend, Beyoncé, Bastille, Avicii.’

‘And what’s your favorite pop song these days?’

‘Ah, maybe Counting Stars by One Republic’… she goofs.

Midnight now.

And we’re still listening to love songs.

     Common friends were tenderly remembered. ‘Jitsu, my Jitsu’… she said, remembering Jitesh Pillai. He on the other hand had come down with the fucking Bubonic plague, and was freezing at a film trial. 

‘I’m fucked’... he texts... ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck’; illustrating the power and versatility of the word.

But we sat there wistfully thinking, of movies and the sweetness of life.

‘I wanted to date Flea from the Chili Peppers’… she said.

‘Liv Tyler’… I reply.

But my headache’s ascending.

     Sonam asked someone to bring her medicine box; and hands me some pain-killers, which I unwittingly chew; leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

‘That wouldn’t happen if you took your tablets like normal people’… she mothers me with a bottle of water.

Old habits die hard.

     I won’t write about how we said goodbye – that’s my perfect memory of her; of a girl whose public image is so different from her private reality.  But parked outside her house we realized that the generation was sitting at the same venue, starring at the same menu.

     Jitesh once told me that the price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it; he read that somewhere. What had I exchanged for Sonam Kapoor? Nothing. I guess everything.

Meanwhile, the rest of the world was out there.

And it was waiting on us.

     Of all the things that people say about her, most of them got it all wrong; Sonam’s the antithesis of Bollywood Bimbettes; takes simple pleasures in simple things; knows well the devil is God on booze; sex, drugs, the burning of your fuse.

‘What is this?’… I say.

‘I donno’… she replies.

     Perchance it’s the polar opposite of serendipity, ‘cause we manufactured our moments. ‘Zemplanity’, I think it’s called. And though life is seldom as sweet as a John Cusack movie, something told me paths that cross once, cross again. There’s a little Patti Smith.

Masaba Gupta is the enemy of the Machiavellians.

(FULLY UPDATED)

July 13, 1985, Wembley Stadium.

     It’s Live Aid in London Town; Geldof’s on the edge of a nervous break-down, folks are jumping up and down, Freddie’s sporting a Triple Crown, and singing becomes a verbal noun. It’s some night.

Bono walks up to Pete Townshend.
“Are you nervous?”… He says to Pete.
“Don’t be stupid… I’m nervous when I meet my maker. I’m not nervous going in front of I don’t care how many punters.” Front-man lip-locked.  
Save, those were pivotal moments, impossible to manufacture. 
The coinage, the currency of that culture was trust.
     That’s Masaba’s predicament: she thinks we’re cattle, regurgitating everything from guitar riffs, novels, dresses, corsets, advertisements, Lady Macbeth, bein’ cool, Quincy Jones, typewriters, blue jeans, the Mohawk, drinking coffee, Edwardian carpentry, and slam-books. Never thought I’d miss the chaos of Guns N’ Roses.
But hey: no shit, no roses.
     This conversation took place four years apart: 2014 Fashion Week, and 2018 bubble and squeak; we dubbed it, like a song; got the sense of right and wrong; we went along and got along. She was out drinking last night: wine in the vinegar, whiskey in the talk; we could’ve both used an evening walk.
     Here’s what happened in 2014: she was navigating through Fashion Weeksin a Batmobile. I mean for God’s sake it’s mixed up like a milkshake; you’ve no idea what it takes to stop it with a hydraulic brake. Its messy as a scrambled egg arguing with a chicken leg, over who came first. The Fashion Week I mean, not the 1955 Lincoln Futura.
     But I caught her, tucked in bed; phone call over coffees, over chilled beer; summer and its cheerleader. We’re mechanical engineers, black marketers, rounding the sphere in delusions of grandeur, while puppeteers make entrepreneurs out of the last of the Musketeers. The phone rings, and madam picks up instantly.

Good evening. Kind of.

Haha. Yes. Kind of. Good evening.

Tucked in bed at 6:45? Boy trouble?

Yea. No. I’m coming down with something; felt it last night. Felt a viral coming over but I ignored it. The tells. I went out for a birthday party. (Laughs) And now I am in bed. (Whining) Now I sound like a boy.

A little bit. You’ve got that singer’s voice thing happening.

You know, I learned music in London. I wanted to make it as a singer.

No shit. Put your voice to good use. (Pauses) Say, do you Google yourself?

No. My God.

Where does your name come from?

Swahili. There was a princess named Masaba. I just came full circle.

You wild at all?

(Raising her cold stricken voice) NOT at all. I’m on the sober end of the spectrum. People have made an image of me. I’m very safe: visit the same place on holiday, eat the same food at the same restaurant. Even with people, if I like somebody I go all out. That is if I find one. It’s hard, finding friends. But I want to change myself. I’m hoping to. I’m too naïve for this society. I keep feeling bad about that. I want to be guarded. But I’m an idiot. (Laughs). There’s this steady state out there. Like the rich who like seeing the poor where they are. You know what I’m saying? The privileged like seeing the underprivileged. Even fashion is… (Pauses) such a game. Gives you a sense of power. Oh well… (Sighs)

Oh well.

(Chuckles)

Does the naked-man have an influence anymore? Because that’s a profound statement, to be nude as the news should be.

I see what you’re saying but I don’t think so. A few years ago I would've concurred. But as a society we’re happy being ignorant. Its bliss. Look at best we strum a string. We come back to things; we come back later. Hard to put in words, these thoughts. But I’ll give you an example. There was a photographer called Jagdish Mali. Truly great artist. He did a lot of work for free you know, wouldn’t charge people. HE was apparently found on the streets of Andheri; homeless, weary. Right then, people jumped in. Salman Khan and a few others. They helped. His daughter Antara Mali was blamed. She refuted it. The story made it to the papers. Then, the story got lost somewhere. I remember him. He shot mum (Neena Gupta) and me when I was still a kid. Mum told me he was too nice for this industry. I find it appalling. So from certain standpoints, the naked man as such, is meaningless. Or a story in today’s paper. Won’t be as important tomorrow.

Could clothes be our biography? 

I don’t know how to respond. I’m thinking about our generation, like right now. We’re a generation of clones. I don’t think we have a strong signature. In the 40s you had women wearing the tight bustier. Chinese women would bandage their feet. I think we’ve reached the far end of innovation. You’re just bringing the past back. Now the Balloon skirts are returning. Our closets, apart from underwear, you got basic jeans, t-shirts, shorts, dresses, shirts, suits. I do not think we’ve invented a staple silhouette in our closets. Our inventions are tributary like; maybe extensions – jeans for example. One looks classy. One athletic. One drab.

What are clothes?

A mix bag of emotions. Who we are who we want to be. Perspective comes into play. Individuality too. But I think they’re defence mechanisms more than anything. I see people dressing up to feel good, make someone jealous, be someone or something you’re not. Identikits.

What does design mean to you?

(Thinks) I don’t know. I honestly can’t say. Sometimes the ugliest things are tagged as art. We’re hard-selling. Design today is a part of the design of marketing and PR. (Pauses) I sort of grew up differently. My family was obsessed with picking different things out in the markets. Like a vintage lamp, a vinyl record. I pick these things up and put them there. At home. These things find a way into my work. They inform my work. My mum wanted to document impressions of my palms and feet. She framed them. I still have all those frames. One day I saw it in front of me, staring back. I used them on fabric; did a print with hands and feet.

I can’t tell if design at large is architecture, or mere embroidery.

Me neither.

What is your echo on uniform?

Humans work well when there’s structure: to society, to their lives, their work, settings. There’s comfort there to be recognized. Even pattern and discipline to your day brings ease. I mean, sure, it takes away from individualism, quirks, eccentricities, uniqueness. But it also cuts people down to size. It brings or alienates people. Wow. Crutch and a boon. 

What is Masaba’s world made of?

Food. I’m supposed to be on a strict diet; I have this hormonal thing going on. But, Butter Chicken (laughs). Lots of clothes. Lots of perfume. I actually collect it. I don’t wear it as much. Ah, Beyoncé records. I have all her albums. I spend a lot of time watching her interviews. And this may sound neurotic, but I need my afternoon nap. Two hours post lunch. I could be dying, but I need by sleep. I’m a social person. But I hate going out. I enjoy praise. My nails (Laughs); very particular about that. Nail paints. I hate light. In fact I avoid broad daylight. I’m very insecure about my skin. You’ll always catch me with some ointment on my face.

(Laughs) You put ointment on your face and sit in a room with no lights?

Yes. Freaks the domestic help out. Her face goes “What the...” (Laughs) And I take walks at the beach. Clears my mind. That’s the exercise I get. I tried Yoga but I don’t like it. I’m also very religious. I carry a Pocket Hanuman Chalisa. I love doing Poojas; drives mum crazy. (Laughs) I learnt to dance from Shaimak Davar. He really got me into it. The auto-writing. He’s a big influence on me. Great guy. I remember feeling down and out one afternoon and I see his text, “Masaba, come for auto-writing at 5:30.” Lifted me. We all need that sometime.

I know about his auto-writing. He did that for a friend of friend. Does design help you discover your own humanity? I ask because writing saved me. And made me empathetic.

Honestly, the work I started off with was mediocre. I just sort of held on. And as I started cleansing myself, the work got better. And it turned into like a snowball. Even my shows. And I discovered things about myself through my work. Things I didn’t know before.

What fabrics do you like playing with?

Lot of Ikkat. Muslin in its raw form. Silks, scrape, velvet. I have a thing for the more organic fabrics. I use synthetic fabrics to survive; you know for commercial and financial reasons. But I like my fabrics raw – fresh from the sea kind of thing.

Name a historical figure you’d like to design clothes for.

Marilyn Monroe. That was easy.

Give me a virtual tour of the fashion week. 

It’s the worst thing ever. (Shrieks). It’s fun because we’re pulling our craft. But the preparation drives you crazy. Its five days of being at one venue, meeting the same people. Then you talk to the press. Your show gets done in 15 odd minutes. Meetings with buyers. Meetings with traders. Everything is right there. It becomes your home. Its hell, but its good hell.

You know Masabi, Bukowski wrote: “Style is the answer to everything”. But fashion, it’s an accessory of style. Are we sort of borrowing fashion to be stylish?

Indeed. I’ve just recently discovered Bukowski.  I follow his page on Instagram. (Laughs). I’ve read his quotes, not his novels. I plan to read his novels now.

Dark, tragic world.

Oh it’s not so bad. (Laughs) But a lot of people will have to die for the world to get better. That’s the price we pay, the eye of the needle we go through. 

But it is a dark, tragic world. Love is playing blind, and we don’t seem to mind. I mean, lingerie is so fuckin’ popular. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan.
     But this girl wants to put judgementalism up on trial; shut down the spineless and the mindless. Celebrity is fun from afar – when you’re in there you see it as Iso. You call a Spade a Spade.
     We hung up that night; would’ve led to an argument over Beer vs. Chicken Soup. Truth is there was some serious welcoming to do, to the story of us. Interviews are an acrobatic feat, brevity in the driver's seat, reinforced like concrete; we were hungry for luncheon meat, balancing out the music sheet, a neo- communication through new-media and Tweets. 
     By 2018 the idea of culture had taken a hit: hate attacks, neo-Nazis, an NC-17 election: that’s just fuckin’ mad. The hatchet wasn’t buried at all; it was there up on the wall. There was no undo button on the animals we’ve become. In such violent times the women were standing up – leading the way, informing us that the future is female, thankfully. I think the world looks obsidian to them; they’re gauging tragedies and anti-tragedies with units of emotional measurements. It was time to reconnect. 
Masaba was out last night. 
We had to postpone.

What did you throw back last eve? Thank God we didn’t have a booze-soaked conversation.

Yeah. I had wine. I drank lots of wine.

Didn’t take you for a wine person.

I’m not. These things change with me. Sometimes it’s Vodka or Gin, or Champagne. I love all drinks. I love alcohol. (Laughs)

Good talking to you again Masabi. And this time, no ridiculous requests.

Like designing clothes for a movie (Laughs)

Or an all-girl pop band. (Laughs)

That would’ve been fun.

If wishes were horses.

Oh well.

Why’d you do it --- join the parade of extraordinary looking people?

Would you believe me if I tell you: I ask myself the same thing. Even now, before a big event, I usually have a breakdown. I can’t manage people to save my life. I loathe picking up the phone and calling people. Because I’m not meeting them over drinks. I’m not meeting them for dinner. It feels like a selfish thing, to call and say “hey, come for my show”. Because there are times when we don’t even get to say hello. And they have to trek from wherever they are to get to me. I can’t get them a half decent drink. (Poignantly)  Life in the city has become impossible; Ashish 30 things happen every night. I can’t not go. (Pauses) I love going to people’s homes, for dinners. I can’t handle the madness, the chaos of it all. It surprises me when I think back: it took a toll on me. I was sick for a while. And it shows on me, I wear it. I haven’t made fuck you money.

(Laughs) “Fuck you” money?

Well you know what I mean. It’s not an actual figure. It’s goodwill, its contribution to the art, the craft, and mostly the people around you – society. It gives you power. I envy a designer named Anamika Khanna. She’s so far away, Kolkata. Maybe distance from Mumbai gives her objectivity. Wendell (Rodricks) has it because he’s in Goa. He’s absent, which is great. With Anamika, it’s given her the ability to unclutter her mind. As for me, I’ve entered a model which demands decision making.

You still haven’t told me why.

Fashion chose me. I was 19. It sounded great to me at first. Seemed like less work. Seemed like an east job. Thought it was frivolous and all you needed was PR. Boy was I wrong.

Is it a life sentence?

Not at all. But it’s a tricky thing. You have to constantly prove your worth. Look at my mother: she came out of the movies untouched. And went right back in when she wanted. We’re quite alike she and I: she doesn’t like conflict. In our country they care about Bollywood and Cricket. Look at my dilemma. (Laughs) But luckily, they don’t care about designers that way. The Paps don’t bother me.

The what?

The Paps. Paparazzi.

Heavens. 

(Laughs) But look, with designers the culture is that they do not show themselves. It’s only happened recently. They converse for the most part. You don’t see them on media channels as such. So that’s a boon. People see me as that cricketer’s daughter or that actor’s child. Or sometimes, it’s that famous person’s friend. 

I was watching this thing where Tony Bourdain was talking about this celebrity chef shit that everyone’s milking. He called it the new porn.

(Interrupting) I came across something recently: “outrage porn”.

Goodness gravy.

Oh yeah. That it’s something worth documenting, people losing their kilter. To be mad. To be angry. And it isn’t necessarily rebellion from a cultural point of view. I wonder sometimes: is fashion similar, is it also the new porn. You watch people wear things that you may not wear. There’s so much mediocrity present. It’s the day and age of sensationalism. Things go viral these days.

I concur. It’s the century of Helvetica.

Which may not be your creative process. I did this thing recently where I had CAN’T printed on clothes. That’s what I was noticing: are THEY looking? Every single thing I do: I pick up pulses. I tune in on energy.

Why?

How else do you sustain yourself? Think of the amount of information that hits us every day. Texts, messages, emails, conversations, pick-up lines, blatant lies, trolls. I’d rather just read people. See what; say the young girls out there want. Because they’re a different animal. I did this thing in Hyderabad on an empty wall: we printed the hand of Fatima. With an eye in the center: “we are watching you”. I’m always watching. The Hijab Saree for example, it’s not a gimmick for me. I feel very differently about it. I wanted to show that a saree can be used in many ways. 

Ever done things for the heck of it?

Oh sure. I once had dreads in for a show in New Delhi. And so many people thought I did it because I’m half-black.  (Laughs) What’s funny is I think of myself as a Punjabi. Ashish, man I go through life on auto-pilot. I like money, fame, success; I enjoy it. 

I recall you doing that.

Yeah.

I also recall people spewing verbal venom at you.

Story of my life.

Are you subjected to racism?

It’s happened to me many a times I’ll tell you that. Racism is strongly embedded in who we are, it won’t just go away. We could be having this conversation some twenty years later. It may be milder. But you know what; I know they’re thinking it. So how much progress have we made? Other day heard this lady: she wanted a fair bride. It still happens. Does the counter argument make me a racist? I look mixed. I don’t look Indian. People ask me: “Do you understand Hindi?” I could crush you in Hindi. (Laughs) I was raised in Mumbai man, and by who. Luckily, my dad was very aggressive about it: he put that point across to me. Even my mother, because she had a child with a black man. (Pauses) People have asked me: “Can I touch your hair? Does it feel like sponge?” Kids are shamed because they’re dark. Makes me want to throw up.

Hmm. 

Kids can be very nasty without knowing it. In school a certain boy and a certain girl work. I remember this kid who’d put pencils in my hair. My hair was so thick I wouldn’t understand it. I hit him with a Milton steel water bottle (Laughs).

Masabi, what advice would you give to the kids of today and tomorrow?

I’d encourage them to be kind. Because it’s underrated. Because it lifts humanity. We are severely connected, but yet somehow disconnected from who we are. It bothers me that so many people are depressed, and over-powered by addiction. Why would you want to wreck yourself? I’d tell the kids to get a job. Work shapes you. It teaches you the principles of life. It helped me with my temper. I used to have one. But now my team is bigger. I can’t afford it anymore. I got rid of it. Work taught me that. I’d tell the kids to not go by number of likes, or followers. To not have a sense of entitlement. Not to binge mindlessly. It’s a struggle. My phone dies and those three minutes for it to charge, drives me nuts. We are so lonely.

It’s a lonely world.

It is.

Who are your friends in this lonely world? Tell me about one or two.

Sonam and Rhea.

The Kapoor sisters.

Yes. We've gone through phases, from being very close to losing touch for a while. But each time we come back, it feels its easy to pick up from where we left off. They are very well brought up girls. Rhea and I have a different equation, we jam a lot. She's someone I speak to a lot more. She styles us, yes. We're constantly exchanging notes. I take a lot of approvals from her. I know this pastry chef: Pooja Dhingra. Every time I’m around these girls, I end up learning a thing or two. They're the friends you pick up from. You come out feeling inspired, wanting to do more with your life. You come back feeling empowered as a woman. They know I’m honest, and emotional. We’re all constantly learning from each other. We introduce each other to things. I’ve grown with them. Sonam and I met at Kathak class when we were ten. She's the big sister, she has that energy. She's almost your inner voice. She’s rare; she’s managed to keep it real. She’s very feminine. And so beautiful. Now the people mistake her as stupid but she’s not. She’s…

(Interrupting) … a complete antithesis of a Bollywood bimbette.

Yes. She’s so well read, and she’s so emotional. Very high EQ. Thing is: we make different type of friends. There are these four girls from college, and some from school. You can pick up from where you left off, you know? You don't have to say much. They're keepers, so you make them stick. They deserve to be forgiven, when things go South. You look after them. You then have people you meet later in life, but they grow on to become your family and extended family. My husband's friends for instance; there are 5-6 of them that I love. They're like brothers, my go-to people. They change the way you think about friendship. Like boys do make better friends. I have another special friend in Goa: Anjana. She's about 50 now. She's like a second-mother. I turn to her for advice about greater things.

Are Aditi (Rao-Hydari) and you close?

Not in the traditional sense. But whenever I see her, I feel very warm. Because she's so positive and has a big heart. I mostly see her socially, or at Christmas during Maria's house. When you're so beautiful, and almost, perfect, people see you as untouchable. But she's so warm, approachable, welcoming. She's not a touch-me-not. She's intelligent. She wears my clothes really well. She's a cheerleader. And she stands up for her friends, lending her voice when its needed. Which is great. 

Masabi, what’s your favourite card?

Ace of Spades.

You made my day. Highway to hell or Stairway to Heaven?

Stairway.

Favourite Beatle?

Wasn’t into The Beatles.

Kill me now. Favorite Turtle?

(Laughs) I don’t even remember. 

Stephen Hawking passed away the other day. He was my Elvis. I got into astronomy when I was very young. Used to spend my Saturday nights outside the city, starring at the stars, asking the big questions. Friends they called me an idiot. Dad bought me a copy of "A Brief History of Time" and Stephen Hawking became my touchstone. He gave more hope to the broken toys, loners, lovers, geeks, goths, nerds, freaks, fags, fattys, shys, misfits, rockers, fed-up, bullied, and the very-smart. Who’s your Elvis?

The woman who works in our house. She’s my Elvis. Actually, she’s my Oprah. You know, she’s 66 now and even now she’ll take those hour long walks on a beach. She was never involved with a man in her life. She never needed a man. She moved with me when I got married. She runs my house. She knows everything, about everything. She’s on a diet herself (laughs). All through life she kept getting hit. She’s never fully put her trust in us. But she has faith in herself. She has friends, high society rich friends. She’s smart, well drawn, high EQ. She lives for herself. How many people live for themselves? She’s Oprah. We never look back in our home.

Another phone-call that ended. Safe to say: I can finally sum up my relationship with her; begin like fairy-tales often do, with “Once upon a time”.  She knows things that one, she knows that conscience is like a twin, and that smiles come from grin;  she’s taken one on the chin regardless of the sin.

     This skirt flying, heel wearing, air kissing, coffee sipping, phone lifting, just smirking, pie biting, crunch dwelling, girl next door. That’s all she is; the girl next door. But aren’t they the best ones?
Worst part is they always go.
And you can’t do a dammed thing about it.
     So I’m trying to do a damn thing. Maybe give her a call next week and make time over coffee. And buy her shoes. Girls deserve shoes. They deserve pampering, lipstick, records, tickets to Bon Jovi concerts, trips to zoos, a Bonsai plant, torn blue jeans, magazines, massages, foot rubs, bath towels, candy, dandy, and access to your heart if you want to take theirs. That’s the deal.
It’s a crushing weight. You’ll watch it lift from your chest to their breasts.
But things have to change now.
     Something tells me Masaba felt the icy hands of loneliness; they must’ve been blue. Picture the blueness of a swimming pool, picture a swimmer lose his stroke and drown. We're waged and compensated in this difficult world – to kiss ass, to get a job to get a wife and 2 + 2 is always 5. Somewhere in this miscarriage bet she lost herself. And now she sees detachments; she sees full automatics with high cyclic rates, a garden full of fireflies is now full of kraits.
     She’s doing all she can to keep the flowers in bloom. She has to go for now. But she’ll come back just in time to catch Polaris in the act when the flooring has cracked, something is stuck in its digestive tract. Dismantling things for now: advertisements, satellites, communication, swimsuits, pop-charts, products, ducts, tapes, and watches. She’s uninstalling the software.
This isnt self-pity, its absorption.
     She’s excited to be a part of a generation that’s saying yes to living: to love and great sex, to song, to the misfits, neurotics, punks, poets, anti-establishment rockers, standup comics, chess players, mechanics, bartenders, a hitman, spider-hunters, truckers, pilots, and inventors of remote controls.