What makes Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla true maximalists

That’s what underscores Jani and Khosla’s design vocabulary as well. Four decades ago, when the Indian fashion industry was in its nascent stages and synthetic chiffon was all the rage, the self-taught designers, both in their 20s then, decided to elevate traditional embroideries by marrying them with pure fabrics to create “a new form of luxury". In 1986, they launched their first ever collection, crafted from silk, brocade and chiffon, at their Juhu boutique, Mata Hari, which grabbed the attention of actors and personalities like Dimple Kapadia, Jaya Bachchan and Parmeshwar Godrej. By the 1990s and 2000s, British actor Judi Dench was wearing their chikankari jackets on the red carpet.

Soon, Jani and Khosla started designing lavish homes and film costumes (they won a National award for 2002’s Devdas), launched sub-brands Asal (diffusion line, in 2016), Mard (for men, 2019) and Gulabo (pret-a-porter, 2018), and opened five stores in Delhi, Goa and Mumbai. In 2022, they joined hands with Reliance Brands Ltd (the company acquired a 51% stake in the brand). Earlier this year, when entrepreneur Isha Ambani Piramal wore a blouse embellished with jadau jewellery, it led to much chatter on social media about how much embellishment is too much. It’s about being extra “without being OTT", says Khosla.

That’s the idea the designers want to reiterate when they return to India couture week in Delhi later this month, after a gap of seven years. The 24 July show will mark the debut of Asal and Mard on the couture runway.

In an interview, the designers talk about the forthcoming show and their near-40-year journey. Edited excerpts:

 

Why were you missing from couture week for so long?

Sandeep Khosla (SK): The gap from Delhi wasn’t intentional. Fashion weeks are full of last-minute discussions about the way a show should be presented, the front row.... We are confident this time around about presenting ourselves the way we want to.

What convinced you?

Abu Jani (AJ): We are keen to launch Asal and Mard as more mainstream brands. AJSK (Abu Jani Sandeep Khosla, the main couture line) is about very fine embroidery, because of which our prices are high. We need to reach out to a bigger market, which is at a certain price level. Millennials and Gen Zers now want to spend more but they might not want something too heavy, and they want to buy off the rack, so Mard and Asal fulfil those needs.

SK: The wedding space has changed. Today, a bride won’t mind wearing a bustier. Men want to experiment with colours. It’s a whole new look.

Why did it take so long to launch Mard and Asal on the runway?

SK: We are very bad at marketing.

You launched Asal when ‘accessible’ luxury wasn’t popular. What prompted that?

AJ: Many people said, “You guys are not accessible". (AJSK lehngas started at ₹10lakh then; today, they begin at ₹15 lakh). We were also getting copied a lot. So, we thought, why not just create a label, inspired by AJSK, that costs less and is more readily available. That’s why Asal, meaning original.

SK: If embroidery on an AJSK lehnga takes three months, an Asal piece (starts around ₹1 lakh) needs 45 days. The idea is to open AJSK to everyone who celebrates maximalism like we two do.

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How did you two meet?

AJ: I grew up in a business family in Mumbai and was terrible at studies. I liked doodling village scenes, women with pots. Everything was patterned; nothing was just a rough sketch. I was dyslexic but nobody, including myself, knew.

Around the time I was finishing school, my family lost everything, and I had to find an income source. So, at 17, I started to draw basic designs on tracing paper and selling them to embroidery companies and women who had their own boutiques. In the early 1980s, ghost designing was known; many rich, bored housewives used to run boutiques. I used to get ₹10 for a sketch. I had applied thrice to Sir JJ School of Art but was rejected. Finally, I got admission at Elphinstone College. Soon, someone introduced me to a film costume designer in Pali Hill. That’s how I started designing for films (like Sagar and Jawani Diwani), advertising and theatre. And then one day, at the design studio, I met a Punjabi boy, and life changed.

SK: Our meeting was destiny. I was born to a rich family in Kapurthala (Punjab). I studied at Doon School (Dehradun) for about nine years, till one day when the whole house came crashing down. My father got cheated by his business partner. Our house was auctioned off. So I left out of Doon since we couldn’t afford the fee, changed schools and took commerce in class XI since becoming a chartered accountant was a trend those days (early 1980s). I was a bright student but school bored me. So in 1981, I did a course in making leather goods. A year later, I started making coasters for a Delhi company, but got bored again.

I had only one desire: to become famous. I knew money would follow.

I came to Jalandhar, worked as an intern at a sports goods factory for a monthly salary of ₹1,000, and started saving money. Six months later, I went to Shankar Market (Delhi), bought fabrics like cotton and silk, started designing clothes like salwars with big wings on the side, kurtas with one big dot in the middle, and tried selling them in Jalandhar. Not a single piece was sold.

How did you get these ideas?

SK: Nowhere. Indian fashion history didn’t exist. We had only Ritu Kumar then. I’m a very fantasy person. Abu and my biggest fights have been over ideas I dreamt of. It’s all a fantasy fashion theatre here.

One of the things that opened my eyes was my first trip to London in 1984 with two friends. Their mother had started some textiles-related work there and I decided to join them. That one month there exposed me to international fashion. Then I moved to Delhi and started a store, with a ₹15,000 loan from an uncle. The idea was to make feminine clothes that were a little oversized (fitted clothes were popular then) and get famous through the clothing. It didn’t work. I moved to Mumbai. A friend then suggested to meet a costume designer, who turned out to be the guy Abu was working for. On 15 August 1985, when we met for the first time in that studio, he told me if I joined the place, I wouldn’t get anywhere. During a cab ride home together, we decided to start a brand.

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What was the idea behind the brand?

AJ: When we were growing up, there was only one kind of circular ghagra with bootis (motifs). We wanted to rid heritage embroideries of the past, since we knew the karigars behind them were active.

SK: In the early 1990s, for example, chikankari was used mostly on terry cotton; just in front, the back was always empty. We went with pure chiffon, crepe and organza to a printer, who had old, Mughal blocks that nobody had used for years. We requested two girls (karigars) to do chikan work in chiffon, but they refused, saying it can’t be done. After two years, we finally created a collection with chikankari using chiffon and layered it with zardozi, pearls, beads and sequins. We also did garments full of real mirrors, and Kutch work with zardozi and gold. This was early 1990s, nobody had done it then. Soon, our clothes were in London, and Judi Dench was buying them. This was before social media and designer placements were even a thing.

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AJ: But in the first 10 years, we had no master samples because we had to sell every garment to recover the money. We started turning profit only 10 years ago. Our business sense was lacking.

That’s why the Reliance partnership?

AJ: We have worked for 40 years. And we want our label to go on after us. At present, we are expanding ourselves by getting into jewellery, shoes, bags, perfumes, candles. We are also opening a flagship store in a heritage building in Mumbai next year, and eventually a store abroad. We want to become India’s first international brand.

You two have been working together for long. Does it ever get too much?

SK: All our work stems from Abu’s first sketch of embroidery. It can be any kind of embroidery. He draws the khakha (outline) that you draw your design on. Then it is printed on the fabric.

AJ: That’s when Sandeep gives his suggestion. He will ask me to add a feather somewhere, and I will say no. At the end, there will be some change but it won’t be what he wants (laughs). I just work at the factory level and the drawing level. Sandeep deals with everything else. I’m more of a pessimist. He’s an enabler. But we are both true maximalists.

What inspires you?

AJ: Books. Film costumes. My nani used to take me to cinema halls every week. I didn’t understand Hindi much then, but I loved looking at the costumes.

SK: I’m a huge Bollywood fan. Every weekend, my father would book us tickets and we would go to see movies.

Designers are trying to make couture less dramatic. Will you ever do that?

SK: No. Also, wedding is a big money spinner, so no.

Does it ever get boring?

AJ: I would like people to remember me as the person who enjoyed what he did every single day. Same applies to Sandeep.

SK: Yes, and who ended up being famous (laughs). We are the originals, if I can say so myself. We brought in jewelled blouses, shisha (mirror), crushed bandhani, chikan, pearl collar, three-pallu sari, concept sari, into mainstream fashion. We are very impatient people. We can’t sit with one thought. We designed Shweta Bachchan and Nikhil Nanda’s wedding, that’s how we got into wedding design. Then few years later, we did interiors. We’re now going to get into art and installations.

What do you want your legacy to be?

AJ: What’s most satisfying is that we’ve dressed three or four generations of a family. Young brides-to-be come to us with the wedding outfit their mothers brought from us, to get them tweaked. For a creative person, that’s one of the most satisfying things.

SK: There were many instances when we thought we have to shut the business. Once in 1991, our factory burnt down; we lost everything. But as they say, when you are at your lowest, the only way is up. We will survive whatever life throws at us. We had that power at 20, we have it at 60 and we will have it at 80.

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