THE SARI SPEAKS: MEGHA SINGHA & VRINDA NARANG

MEGHA SINGHA AND VRINDA NARANG ON HOW THE TRADITIONAL GARMENT COLORS THEIR WORK.

By Avani Thakkar

“The unstitched six yards”—magnanimous in its color and cultural weight—has long been the pillar of South Asian fashion, but only recently has the sari exploded into the mainstream. At the 2024 Met Gala, Bollywood actor Alia Bhatt stormed the internet in a bejeweled drape with a glamourous trail by Indian couturier Sabyasachi. And last year, London’s Design Museum paid homage to the garment in a first-of-its-kind exhibition that then traveled to Amsterdam’s Wereldmuseum, showcasing over 150 saris from across the subcontinent.

While the world finally turns its gaze to the sari, its spotlight in the homeland has rarely wavered. Instead, it has shapeshifted to account for the garment’s interesting dichotomy which is grounded in tradition, yet continually experimented with. The sari has stood the test of time and trend. It’s a familiar fixture in grandma’s closet but a blank canvas for her grand-daughter in a perpetual state of style metamorphosis.

So much has already been said about the sari, yet a world remains to be uncovered. It was this magnetic sentiment that became the driving force behind photographer Megha Singha and stylist Vrinda Narang’s latest project. Across a series of whimsical, boundary-blurring images, the Mumbai-based creatives bend and extend the narratives that shape the celebrated drape. Inspired by Indian designers and labels including Ashish Gupta, Manish Arora, Raw Mango, and Péro, they push the sari into new territory, playing with nostalgia, popular imagery, and ornate sets.

Through Singha and Narang’s layered vision, the sari is wildly playful and arrestingly elegant. It’s innately Indian, while inseparable from the modern lifestyles of women who wear the drape around the globe. Instead of painting a ‘Brown’ identity with one broad brushstroke, the photos make space for Barbie dolls and electric guitars and traditional “veenas." Below, Singha and Narang take us behind the scenes, unfolding their creative influences and explaining why it’s important to see the sari for every joyous and complex fold and pleat.

AVANI THAKKAR: What is it about the sari you’d like your audience to take from this project?

MEGHA SINGHA: I stayed away from the sari for a really long time, and one of the reasons for this is how it’s been depicted. The wearer is often portrayed with a singular narrative of grace and modesty, with her body swallowed by layers of fabric—exquisite yet confined, passive, ornamental, and distant. Our project’s aim was to portray the sari as a modern garment that transcends cultural boundaries, while appealing to both Indian and global audiences.

There is a certain way I feel when I experience films and media in which the characters navigate their worlds in traditional garments. Nobuyoshi Araki’s evocative portrayal of the kimono captures a sense of tradition, intertwined with sensuality. [In Marie Antoinette], Sofia Coppola masterfully explores the constraints of femininity and the allure of rebellion. I wonder if the sari can serve a similar function. In The Great, Elle Fanning’s Catherine the Great navigates power and femininity through her wardrobe, transforming the corset from a symbol of oppression into one of agency. Similar to the connection I felt poring over these films and photographs—and despite the garment not being a part of my history or reality—I wanted people globally to resonate with these images of the sari.

Given its cultural weight, can the sari’s depiction—depending on how its drape, folds, colors and textures are styled and photographed—portray something deeper about the woman wearing it? Can the sari embrace the contradictions and dualities of womanhood or shifting notions of gender conformity in modern India? These questions laid the foundation of the project for me.

VRINDA NARANG: As I progressed in my career, I began questioning how I could style women in a way that speaks from their perspective. I wanted to move away from fashion that reinforces hypersexualized images shaped by the male gaze. In search of inspiration, I turned to the works of Amrita Sher-Gil and Frida Kahlo—artists who made women the protagonists of their own stories. In their paintings, female figures narrate tales of identity, strength, and self-discovery. Their art, and the way they led their lives, showed me that femininity could be powerful, complex, and unapologetic. This photo series is a reflection of that vision, using the sari as a symbol of freedom and liberation. I wanted to reinterpret a garment often thought of as traditional through a contemporary lens—one that represents today’s woman: free, confident, and deeply connected to her own sense of style. The sari in this series isn’t just a piece of clothing; it’s an expression of self and a celebration of individuality.

AT: What did the creative preparation—coming up with novel ways of draping and showcasing a sari—look like? And how does that responsibility play out for a photographer versus a stylist?

MS: Before starting on this project, I wasn’t very familiar with the intricate ways of draping and styling a sari. There are over a hundred ways of draping it, depending on climate, functionality, and region. It also differs for age groups and classes of society. To ensure that my photography was supported by some research, I read Sari: Traditions and Beyond by Rta Kapur Chishti. We were able to identify the drapes we could relate with and segregate them, which informed and inspired a lot of the drapes that the girls wear in the series. Having this knowledge in place allowed me to approach photographs intuitively, while being sensitive to each drape’s history and significance.

For instance, in one of the images, Alimpiya wears a drape that is distinctly representative of Northeast India—specifically the Dhokna Jalpaiguri, traditionally worn by the Mech community in Assam, Nagaland, and Bengal. This choice felt particularly relevant as we were shooting in Assam; it represents one of the few unique drapes from the region I encountered in my research. In another, my sister Vaarsha wears a drape inspired by the Boggili Posi Kattukovadam drape—the “sari with pockets”—while dramatically standing in the Tribhanga posture, evidently seen in classical Indian dance forms and sculptures. A milder version of it is seen in Michaelangelo’s David. This choice was crucial, as we aimed for a functional drape that afforded her lower-limb mobility.

Photographing part of this story in my hometown, with my mother’s saris, further transformed the project from something purely aesthetic into an archive of family history. The printed chiffon Garden Vareli sari worn by Alimpiya in the living room was gifted by my father to my mother when I was born. The georgette sari that we photographed on Ananya, next to the Barbie dolls, was purchased by my mother for one of her early performances when she had just started learning Kathak. We could have strictly worked with designers, but [this way] we were able to not only look at the sari as fashion; it also became a medium for a dialogue about memory and love.

VR: My philosophy in design and style is to synthesize the personality of the wearer with their clothing. When people came in for fittings, I studied their interests to get a sense of who they were beyond appearances. Often, they would surprise me by choosing pieces I hadn’t expected—selections that felt authentic to them. This process was both intuitive and collaborative, and the human touch made it so engaging.

Since the sari is something our generation doesn’t wear daily, I started wearing it more myself. I asked myself, “How does a woman feel when she wears a sari? What kinds of drapes make her powerful, graceful, or grounded?” This led me to consider modern Indian femininity in a deeper way. Each drape tells a different story, carrying elements of folklore, cultural history, and personal memory. For example, the Nauvari drape from Maharashtra symbolizes the fierce warrior spirit of Maratha women, allowing freedom of movement for battle and daily life. In contrast, Kerala’s Mundum Neriyathum, with its simple white-and-gold design, embodies grace and elegance, perfectly suited to the state’s tropical climate.

I also experimented with freestyle drapes to reflect each person’s individuality. In Manvi’s image, for instance, the sari is wrapped like a mini skirt, taking cues from Gen Z. [It gave] her look a youthful and modern edge. In Vanessa’s image, where she holds a guitar, I styled the sari in a languid, flowing drape to capture her sensuality and free-spirited nature. I also think back to my grandmother, who would tie her sari each morning with ritualistic care, pleating the fabric with precision before beginning her day. Her sari was more than just clothing; it was a part of her identity, worn with a sense of purpose and continuity. I wanted to capture that same depth of connection between the wearer and the garment, honoring tradition while leaving room for modern interpretation. Working on this series with Megha—as two female creatives—allowed us to delve into our shared experiences. While her approach was rooted in research and structure, mine was driven by spontaneity. Together, we painted a multifaceted portrait of the modern Indian woman—one who defies conventional beauty standards and celebrates individuality.

AT: I’m specifically drawn to the objects surrounding the model in each photo; the set is a mishmash of Indian and Western influences.

MS: Being an Indian creative, there is an unspoken expectation to spoon-feed my Brown identity to the viewer. I wanted this story to be an authentic representation of what it is like growing up in urban India—reflecting our interests, aspirations, and the influence of global culture. India is evolving, and our identities are complex. By infusing these elements, I wanted to normalize our varied interests, and bring out a relatability with the West. None of the elements in the photos—be it the Barbie dolls or electric guitar—are for the sake of superficially appropriating Western trends. But it reflects the identity of so many young people in India. My sisters are part of a generation fascinated by K-pop, which mirrors my own experiences growing up with Avril Lavigne and Hannah Montana. Even with fashion, there’s an unspoken rule that mandates marigold garlands. Reflecting on it, even the sari itself is a stereotype. We ended up working with this stereotype, but our intention was to portray it on our own terms.

VN: I think one of the most fascinating aspects of this generation’s experience is the ease with which they can embrace both Indian and global influences. Growing up, I had to seek out Western music, movies, and dance styles, but today—thanks to platforms like Instagram and TikTok—teenagers are naturally immersed in a blend of cultural references. They can wear a sari while listening to BTS, or be a fan of Ronaldo and take pride in their Indian heritage. Films like Bend It Like Beckham resonated with me because they portrayed strong, individualistic South Asian women—characters who didn’t have to choose between cultures, who could embrace both. It was one of the first Western films that allowed young girls like me to see ourselves as leading ladies, both on screen and in real life. This idea of being able to thrive between two cultures has stayed with me, influencing how I approach my work. Today’s Indian woman doesn’t have to choose between tradition and modernity. She can carry both with grace, honoring her heritage while embracing the world around her.