In an exclusive chat with The Pioneer, National Award-winning textile revivalist and designer Gaurang Shah reflects on dressing Miss India Nandini Gupta for the Miss World stage, curating wedding ensembles for Sobhita Dhulipala, and his undying devotion to reviving India’s ancient weaves. With poetic precision and cultural pride, Shah doesn’t just design sarees — he resurrects forgotten looms, stitches together regional legacies, and turns cloth into memory
Tejal Sinha
tejal.sinha30@gmail.com
When Nandini Gupta walked the Miss World stage representing India, she did not just wear a couture outfit—she carried centuries of heritage in six resplendent yards. The creator of this visual symphony was none other than Gaurang Shah, the National Award-winning designer who has long been a custodian of India’s textile traditions. His work transcends fabric, threading together stories of lost weaves, folk motifs, and regional identities into timeless garments.
In an exclusive conversation, Shah opens up about the poetry behind his sarees, the philosophies that anchor his designs, and why his textiles are not just garments—but memory made visible.
For Gaurang Shah, designing Nandini Gupta’s Miss World outfit was about more than visual appeal—it was about representing the soul of India. “I wanted the world to see India—not just in the colors or motifs, but in the spirit of the fabric,” he shares.
The ensemble was a masterful jugalbandi of Jamdani weaves, crafted from hand-charkha spun khadi and layered with intricate gold leharia. But what truly captivated the audience was the ancient ‘Bangdi Mor’ motif—a symbolic depiction of four dancing peacocks encased within a bangle, woven into the border and palla of the garment. “Each element was a verse from different regions, tied together to say: This is India—diverse, timeless, and radiant,” says Shah. “On that global stage, the fabric didn’t just dress her, it carried centuries of craft.” To ensure the garment was not merely a costume but a message, Shah consciously integrated cultural and historical references from across India. “We brought together the weaving languages of Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Bengal—each with its own cultural voice,” he explains. The ‘Bangdi Mor’, a folk motif from Maharashtra, stood for grace and festivity, while the leharia-style zari paid homage to Rajasthan’s rhythmic textile traditions. The khadi itself, he adds, “spoke of Gandhi’s vision, of freedom spun thread by thread. This wasn’t just clothing; it was history wrapped in artistry.”
In a space dominated by dazzling theatrics and bold statements, Shah took a different route with Nandini’s look—one rooted in authenticity and depth. “Instead of designing louder, I designed deeper,” he says. The ivory base of the outfit exuded understated elegance, while the gold detailing and handwoven textures conveyed a quieter luxury. “I wanted people to feel the richness of Indian textiles, but also their serenity. It was a balance of heritage and harmony—India in her finest voice.”
When asked what Nandini’s saree whispered to the world, Shah’s response is lyrical: “It whispered of the strength of hands that wove it, the elegance of centuries-old craft, and the legacy of India’s soul in thread.” He believes that true luxury is not loud, but lived—woven with pride, carried with meaning.
The Jamdani weave, a cornerstone of the creation, holds special significance for Shah. “It’s one of the finest expressions of handloom artistry—where each motif is inlaid by hand, without a graph,” he explains. Reviving the rare ‘Bangdi Mor’ motif was a particularly emotional journey for him. “It felt like bringing an old folk song back into the spotlight.”
From the world stage to intimate rituals, Shah’s designs continue to find their way into life’s most sacred moments. When actress Sobhita Dhulipala approached him for her wedding trousseau, he instinctively envisioned grace—“not theatrical, but rooted.”
“I saw her as a bride who walks with silence, yet leaves an echo behind,” he reflects. That vision translated into a gold tissue Kanjeevaram sari and a fine hand-charkha khadi saree with a silk zari border—each piece a poetic embodiment of stillness, strength, and sensuality.
The white khadi saree with a red border held special symbolism. “It was a love letter to tradition,” he says. “White and red—purity and passion—are timeless in Indian weddings. But khadi gave it a different soul. I wanted it to feel like a prayer—not a performance.” The antique gold Kanjeevaram tissue saree was designed to be opulent, yet nostalgic. Shah imagined a bride who straddles tradition and modernity with quiet confidence. “She embodies all of them—the queen, the goddess, the woman who remembers,” he says. “The saree was meant for the moment she becomes timeless—when memory and magnificence meet.”
But for Shah, the highest honor is not designing for celebrities but becoming a part of someone’s personal history. “A saree becomes sacred not when it’s made, but when it’s worn—when it holds someone’s joy, their tears, their new beginnings,” he says humbly. “My job is to create the vessel; the wearer fills it with meaning.” In Shah’s world, sarees are not made for a single occasion but for a lineage. “I design with time in mind—not trends,” he asserts. Using natural fibers, classic borders, and heritage weaves, he ensures that each piece can be passed down as an heirloom. “The true test is not if it’s fashionable now, but if a granddaughter can hold her grandmother’s saree and find herself in it.”
Even after years in the industry, the saree continues to captivate him. “It’s a living canvas, a whispering river of memory, culture, and artistry,” he muses. “It doesn’t conform—it transforms. And that emotional bandwidth… is rare in any form of design.”
Though sarees can be political, spiritual, sensual, or poetic, Shah always aims to capture the latter. “I want the saree to sing softly—like a verse under your breath,” he says. Whether it’s a Jamdani flower blooming subtly or a border that echoes a forgotten temple sculpture, his intent is always to evoke, not impress. “My weaves are meant to stir something ancient inside the wearer.”
The saree, in his eyes, comes alive when weave, woman, memory, and moment align. “It awakens in the embrace of a moment, animated by the energy of the woman who wears it,” he says. “It is alive because it holds her—and everything she brings with her.”
Sensuality in a saree, Shah believes, is not in exposure but in suggestion. “I treat the saree not as fabric, but as breath. It should exhale with the wearer,” he says. Drawing inspiration from nature’s forms—the sway of palm fronds, the arch of temple sculptures—he designs borders that anchor the saree without weighing it down. “A saree should hint rather than declare, suggest rather than define. I design for that pause—that sigh—between seen and unseen.” Shah has made it his mission to revive weaves from forgotten villages and looms on the brink of extinction. What drives him is not just preservation, but resistance—against homogenization and cultural amnesia. “Once we lose a weave, we don’t just lose a textile—we lose a worldview,” he says. “Each loom holds a philosophy, a dialect of design.”
And it’s personal. “I see these weaves as elders—quietly fading unless we listen.” When a loom starts clacking again after decades of silence, he feels it’s a prayer answered. “That’s when the poetry returns—line by line, thread by thread.”
