I was meant to be there. In Delhi. At the show. My ticket was booked, my seat waiting, my outfit picked with the same excitement I’ve had every time Rohit Bal, our Gudda, staged something. But work called, deadlines mounted and the unrelenting pace of life did what it does — pulled me away from where I most wanted to be. So I cancelled. And what I thought would be a night of regret turned into something else entirely. A gift, really. I ended up alone in my Bombay apartment, the lights dimmed, the room still, watching the Kash-Gul show unfold on a big screen in silence. And in that stillness, I saw something I might not have felt had I been in the noise of it all. I saw Gudda. Everywhere. In the light, in the sound, in the fabric, in the walk of the models, in the spirit of his atelier. I saw the brand not only alive but soaring. I saw the power of legacy. Not frozen in time, but moving forward, confidently, deliberately, just as he would have wanted. Kash-Gul, the latest collection from Rohit Bal Design, staged at FDCI India Couture Week, was not just a show — it was an affirmation. A moment where the entire Indian fashion industry paused, not in mourning, but in collective awe. Because what we witnessed wasn’t just a beautiful collection — it was proof. Proof that a brand, when built with soul, with camaraderie, with the tutelage of a true master, does not die with the master. It evolves. It breathes. It flourishes. How fortunate for Rohit Bal Design — and for my friend Gudda — that the brand today is led by Rajiv Bal, his brother. At the helm of design is Fraze Tasnim, an IIM Ahmedabad MBA and Gudda’s handpicked protégé, who carries forward the creative direction with integrity and innovation. Together, Rajiv and Fraze are taking the brand into its next era with precision, grace, and bold clarity. Season after season, we now see not just garments but statements — fashion that moves, evolves and honours its origin while stepping firmly into the future. The silhouettes, the spirit, the texture, the detail — each element feels like something Gudda might have dreamed, and yet, they are alive in the hands of the very people he trained. This isn’t nostalgia. This is evolution. This is what legacy, properly held, looks like. The world will watch, and it will see: Rohit Bal is not a memory. It is a living, breathing force. That’s what Kash-Gul did. It wasn’t just a homage to Kashmir, though it was that too — a celebration of the Valley’s quiet intensity, of its poetic stillness and opulent tradition. Each piece was a verse in a larger poem. Layered, textured, expressive. The palette — ivory, black, and deep wine — felt both intimate and majestic. The fabrics — Chanderi, Matka silk, velvet — spoke of restraint and richness. The embellishments — gold zardozi and delicate threadwork — shimmered like memories passed through generations. But what struck me most was how the collection didn’t just look like Gudda’s work — it felt like what Gudda would be doing now. Not a museum piece. Not a tribute show. But a living, moving, vital piece of fashion theatre. And oh, the theatre. Gudda would have been proud of that too. Because it was a production in every sense. The people who came together to create it weren’t just professionals — they were loyalists, visionaries, the keepers of the flame. Aparna Bahl and Anisha Bahl carried the emotional weight of the vision with such grace, such restraint, that you felt it in every scene change. Gautam Kalra curated each detail with that rare sensibility that goes beyond sight — it’s intuition, it’s instinct. Sumant Jayakrishnan didn’t just design a set, he built a world. A world where the story could unfold with the right grandeur and depth. Gaurav Raina and Tarana Marwah created a soundscape that wrapped itself around the garments — each beat, each note, holding the narrative. Lloyd Albuquerque lit the show like he was painting emotion with illumination — every mood perfectly sculpted. Kaajee Rai, with her signature subtlety, brought life to every model’s face, never overpowering, always enhancing. And the 70 models weren’t just walking clotheshorses. They were carriers of story. Of legacy. Of a vision greater than themselves. This was the magic Gudda created while alive. And this is the magic that will carry his name forward. Because here’s the truth: a brand built like this — on care, on love, on mentorship — is not a brand that dies. Gudda didn’t just sketch clothes. He sculpted people. He brought his team up with him. He challenged them, teased them, trusted them. He didn’t want clones. He wanted co-creators. And that’s why Rohit Bal Design feels as alive today as it did when he was with us. Fraze and his team — 400 people strong, directly and indirectly — are not “continuing” the brand. They are the brand. They are its pulse, its breath, its next step. And as I watched all of this from my apartment, alone, I didn’t feel loss. I felt joy. Not nostalgia. Not grief. Just pride. Pride in what Gudda built. Pride in what Rajiv and Fraze have created. Pride in the industry for coming together and understanding the weight of this moment — not just as a show, but as a signal. That Indian fashion can grow beyond personality cults. That our maisons can be built on more than just one pair of hands. That we can build fashion houses that live beyond the founder’s years. I met Gudda when I was 14. I’m 52 now. Our paths were different — he mentored designers, I mentored chefs but we shared a belief: that legacy is not what you leave behind, it’s what you set in motion. When I hear someone like Vikas Khanna say I was a pioneer who made space for him, I don’t take it lightly. I understand what Gudda must have felt, knowing that his protégés were coming into their own, carrying the torch with their own flare. That’s what I saw on screen. Not a man’s memory — but his movement. Not the past but the future. And when I saw Sunil Sethi dancing with both Fraze and Rajiv at the end of the show, I thought: this is what it looks like when fashion becomes family. When business becomes belief. When creativity becomes continuity. Gudda is gone. He passed in November. But the other night, he was everywhere. In the cuts, in the choreography, in the music, in the sets, in the eyes of the people he raised. And more than anything, in the vision that was Kash-Gul. He wasn’t missing. He was orchestrating the whole thing. So no, I didn’t miss the show. I had the best seat in the house. I had Gudda to myself. I had his legacy, his team, his family, his dream right there on screen. Not behind glass. Not in memoriam. But alive. Glorious. And ready for tomorrow.
