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.