I first met Rohit Bal when he had just got out of the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT), the newest, trendiest design school that was creating maestros back then. A fine student of history who went to the Alma Mater of geniuses, St. Stephens College, Rohit had undertaken a short course in design and was at that moment assisting his elder brother in his export business. A designer with a billion stories to tell, he was also getting noticed for his drop-dead good looks and his sense of style.
Rohit and the Bal clan lived in Jor Bagh after being displaced from terror-ridden Kashmir. Landowners and leading businessmen in the valley, left a large empire in Srinagar to rush to Delhi, in search of safety. Three brothers and a truly elegant mother (who continued to inspire Rohit till the end), made a home for themselves on the first floor of a rented bungalow. Whilst the family lived together on the first floor, Gudda occupied a swanky barsati above where his four-poster bed heralded the era of decadent Indian design inspired by the Maharaja era. The leader of the Jorbagh gang, tales of his themed birthday parties were changing the flavour of fun in a stiff upper-lipped Delhi.
It was a time of struggle for the family and he and his elder brother Rajiv, in a quest to set up a fashion export business, visited all the buying houses looking for business. They got their big break from a classic white shirt, Rohit designed and Rajiv got orders in bulk from stores in the US. That one white shirt launched the largest export house and as they say, there was no looking back. White became a liet motif in Gudda’s design story as he created history by hosting an all-white show with legends like Shyamoli Varma, Anna Bredemeyer, Mehr Jesia, and Nayanika Chatterji scorching the ramp.
The couture scenario then was not a case of plenty. There were just a few designers who could be counted on your fingertips. And they were skilfully creating a niche for themselves amongst a market ruled by custom tailors, overseas shopping sprees and the embroidery ateliers of Chandni Chowk. Ramp shows were few and far between. Yes, this was the pre-FDCI era when assembly line shows were not even born. Instead what emerged on stage were classic fables well thought out to the last dot and T. With Gudda breaking the bastion of creativity each year. My most memorable one was a show he hosted at the Taj where his collection was chinar leaf-inspired, taking the audience back to his driveway in Kashmir lined with Chinar trees. To add the Gudda magic he designed headgear inspired by a Kashmiri Samovar, created beaded shoes to match and served Kahwa and salted biscuits to guests as they watched the show that wintry evening.
In fact, he was the only designer who, every year, got me back to my rusted pen, the night of the show itself. Gudda’s classic silhouettes, embellished to perfection and laced with his signature chutzpah and near-raunchy humour, have me clapping all through. Like a child with a sweet tooth lost in a candy shop.
I interacted most with him in the 90s when fashion was my beat and design my addiction. The retail scenario then was restricted and exclusive and Rohit only retailed from Carma, the store created by Lekha Poddar on the premise of an erstwhile horse stable. Now the space for the couture geniuses like Rohit, Suneet Varma, Abu Jani-Sandeep Khosla, and Rina Dhaka amongst others was managed by the sultry Sardarni Gurleen Mehta, who could sell a fridge to a Eskimo. And, Rohit’s initial success can be attributed directly to her exceptional skill set in selling clothes to the many rich women who loved to live their Gudda and his creation. It was the fashion adda where scribes, critics, buyers and designers sat together sharing their views on the world of fashion over steaming hot cups of tea.
He was the only Indian designer to my mind who understood Indian design sensibility in its true sense, Rohit Bal combined celebration with restraint, colour with monochrome and form with flow. Personifying the ethereal lotuses that emerged as the central motif to his design sensibility Rohit kept the essence of the craft intact, adding his little touches to give every garment an edginess that was so Rohit.
In his hands past and present blended together like a jugalbandi. He created forms for the anorexic new bods sans sacrificing his obsession with layers. His cuts were razor sharp yet there was such a lyricism in their fall. So to a pinched and perky corset, he would add a many-layered skirt. To a frock-like peplum, he would add a pencil pant.
Time and again Gudda did Kashmir proud with his exquisite gold and thread tapestry art, adding new age nuances of the crystal or the bead as the proverbial cherry on a picture perfect.
Yet in essence, he kept to the status quo of design. Keeping the sensual charm of a shimmering chiffon intact. Ensuring his velvets looked straight out of Grand Mama’s heirloom trunk and his cotton pieces were crafted for the modern-day mogul. In his men’s wear too he kept the reverence of his achkan alive. His Aabha kurtas and angarkhas were straight out of the costume closet.
His recent love for roses and his mastery over combining a large, digitally printed flame-red rose with a deep black velvet surface, interspersed with baroque motifs, created a storyline that was so uniquely flamboyant that it created the final signature story for this genius designer.
A true friend to friends, a devil-may-care man, and an Indophile who loved to fill his home with bronze sculptures and Indian tuberoses, Rohit Bal was a brain that could espouse originality by the minute. More than a great guy, a successful designer and a skilled creator what will be missed is an erudite mind that never ceased to imagine, dream and bring his dreams alive. Live on Rohit Bal, live on in our hearts. For you will never ever be forgotten.
