The vanishing point

The famed designer embodies the complexity of the Calcutta I grew up in — a city in contradiction of itself. He notes the Bengal School of Art as one of his primary inspirations. As someone who is often hailed as the finest example of Indian design, this comes as quite a surprise. This movement, born in the early 20th century, sought to express India’s identity beyond its colonial past — characterised by washes of watercolours, lotus-laden compositions and ethereal figures caught in eternal sighs. The Bengal School was both a rebellion and an homage, pushing back against colonial academic realism while idealising an ancient, untouched Indian glory. The irony isn’t lost: in rejecting the West, with support from Ernest Binfield Havell, a teacher at the Calcutta Art School, the artists looked further back in history, drawing on Mughal art — a version of history rewritten. Where does this leave the identity of Indian art? Sabyasachi responds, “There is no Indian art, only an artist of Indian origin. Art can only take its roots in history and geography, but it’s ultimately an individualistic endeavour. If art has to endure, it must rise above everything.”

Upstairs, led by a modest staircase, is the space dedicated to Nilaya by Asian Paints, which contains the majestic world of Sabyasachi that we are all too familiar with. A faux taxidermy Bengal tiger, a resplendent spread of curios, and a celebration of abundance, not excess. Designed by Pavitra Rajaram and Rooshad Shroff, the sensorial quality is a sharp detour from the restraint of the lower floor.

The opposing aesthetic expressions, Sabya claims, are inspired by his grandmothers — the maximalist and the minimalist. But the spatial tectonics demand a reading beyond what meets the eye. Strewn across the space are titles from all walks of life — Trump: Think Big and Kick Ass sits right next to The Challenge of Organizational Change. Unlikely company. So, what does Sabyasachi Mukherjee, one of the most recognisable figures in the creative landscape, believe in? “As you age you learn to be kinder to yourself,” he muses. “What you see today is a more honest expression of what the brand should be.” Too often we ask art to answer in the definites of black and white, but I wonder if it is an unfair demand when Indianness itself is a strange moniker to bestow. (The nationalist Bengal School was also influenced by the Japanese.)

Every artistic endeavour is a palimpsest — even in our deference, we are tethered to our past. “Anything that you do which is going to be Indian art is going to be a reproduction of past history,” says Sabyasachi, gesturing to the surroundings. “What really is modern? I think the old is modern more than the new because it has never faded away. Listen to this beautiful music by Salil Chowdhury. This will live forever.” In light of the much-celebrated 25th anniversary of his label, the paradox of legacy is hard to look past. When asked, beyond the numbers and the red dots, how does the designer measure the success of the foundation, he smiles, “Success for me is that the artist is visible, and we remain invisible.”

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