The Voice of Fashion
Paro, the store which reveres philosophy and beauty, marks the festival of Phulera Dooj with a confluence of experiences—culturally rich, secular and compellingly non-digital
Phulera Dooj that falls between Basant Panchami which heralds spring and Holi, the Indian festival of colours, underscores love. A day when Lord Krishna and Radha, his partner in the everlasting lore of romantic chemistry are worshipped. A day that honours just the kind of relationship that traditional culture would have never socially sanctioned in the past but continues to exalt and glorify since.
On February 20, this innocuous but intensely symbolic celebration that would definitely not pop up on our rushed, urban work-life digital calendars was celebrated by Paro at The Chanakya mall in Delhi. The ‘voice’ of the evening was a performance by Hindustani classical vocalist Shubha Mudgal. She praised the occasion for the grace it deserves in Indian philosophy, then lighted it with mesmerising devotion by mixing folk and classical songs in her rendition as only a true bhakt (disciple) can. Her opening itself, an Awadhi song, “Naval Basant Manaye Rahi” uncorked a jumble of revelations.
The fragrance of the evening was an ambrosial mix of jasmine and rose. The taste, sweet—mithais and gently roasted dry fruits warmed the welcome. The look, spoke intriguingly of what Paro stands for—handloom elegance, bejewelled sophistication—saris that had been daintily hand-worked or embroidered, dupattas that remind you why no country or craftsmanship in the world can rival Indian weavers, ornaments that brought polkis, rubies, emeralds and precious stones together in hedonistic collisions. Low buns, pulled back hair dressed with gajras and hair jewels, mismatched brocade blouses with bandhanis and ikats, diaphanous chanderis, golden nets, small bindis, silken kurtas and floral jackets on men.
It is easy to write poetic words given the beauty in the turnout and setting. But as you may already sense, that is a banal way to drive home the essence of this evening.
Described as the “soul” of luxury lifestyle store Good Earth, Paro – also a store, makes sentiments connected to Vedic wisdom, beauty rituals, meditative bliss visible in its décor and offerings. It uses Indian crafts, woven textiles, especially designed ready-to-wear, mindfully placed fresh flowers, artefacts, an apothecary that sells oils, creams and fragrances created from local, Indian knowledge to cultivate a space that is a breakaway, a respite from the whir of daily city life.
Paro makes sentiments connected to Vedic wisdom, beauty rituals, meditative bliss visible in its décor and offerings.
But to actually revel in this oasis, being a fan of poetry or philosophy or have a wardrobe full of woven saris is not enough. You need money and taste but most of all a mindful commitment towards elasticising time that ticks like a bomb on human existence.
Mudgal singing on Phulera Dooj at a luxury store in Delhi—was that elastic moment of time. Her face mirrors a consummate connect with the metaphysical through her soft smile and gentle manner. When she sings, you find yourself either in a quiet spell or wracked by hundreds of fragmented sentiments prised open by her singing. Either way, it releases you from the entrapment of your phone, dietician, beautician, therapist, assistant, boss or gym instructor.
So to take back something more from what can be hurriedly described as a “lovely evening” is why I am writing this piece. To argue for small, if fleeting moments of peace amidst the harrowing currents of present day life—the onslaughts of climate change, the defeating horror of the psychological and bodily toll from the Turkey-Syria earthquake, the deepening tragedy of the year-long Ukraine-Russia war, and the fear somewhat of losing India’s secular temperament to a narrower definition of what being Indian means today.
Mudgal’s face mirrors a consummate connect with the metaphysical through her soft smile and gentle manner.
We can lament at large. Or save a few minutes of time to find a zone that is our own. The late Eknath Easwaran, founder of the Blue Mountain Center of Meditation in the US and author of about 40 books on spiritual living described this momentary bliss—sometimes as brief as one line from the Ave Maria prayer—as meditation. A blink and you miss its experience of light that amputates the anxiety of existence and constant hustle for survival.
American writer Jamie Kreiner’s new book The Wandering Mind: What Medieval Monks Tell Us About Distraction argues how terrible we (as the human race) are at paying attention. “Long before Instagram, TikTok, smartphones, streaming services, paying attention was devilishly difficult,” writes Kreiner.
If paying attention is just what we need, at least for some fractions of each day—doing so by observing a beautiful gathering is possible, as I discovered. It underlined a community bound by cultural cohesiveness. Not raashtravaad, it was about being Hindustani—secular first.
Even before Mudgal began singing, a snap with digital addiction (looking at the phone screen in other words) had begun. I looked around telling myself why this kind of Indianness defined by how we wear our gajras, tie our saris, mix our bangles or warmly hug and wish our community is something no politics can snatch.
Once Mudgal began singing, the importance of paying attention became my song of Phulera Dooj.
