Only a magician can sit in Milan and decide what will work here. I try to be one, but I am not!

Is that a shocking pink?” I ask, rather defensively and add quickly, “or what do you call it?” (With artists and designers – more so in the award-winning category – you are never too sure how deep your ignorance can sink.) All around me (in the office and workshop) lie reams and reams of silk, in a shade that our mothers called shocking pink! (That pink is her favourite colour, I discover much later.)

“It’s pink with orange,” she says, casually. “Your recommendation for ‘colour of the season’?” I ask, this time smug in the knowledge that I have dropped a hallowed phrase of the fashion frat. “This entire forecast business eludes me,” she states, shaking her head sideways. “It is obviously a business strategy that helps the industry to gear itself – and surely it makes sense for trade. As for me, at the beginning of a collection, I do plan four to five colours I want to use but that’s about it. When designers predict colours of the season for you and me to wear….” she trails off with a smile, her eyes twinkling. “One of the reasons that this happens, I guess, is to gain control. I mean, only a magician can sit in Milan and decide what will work here. I try to be one but, I am not,” concludes the young designer.

That is Anshu Arora Sen for you – nonconformist, in your face, matter of fact, with a subtly wicked sense of humour. You just have to like her. And, just then, the phone rings for the millionth time in 15 minutes. A curt conversation later, she walks across to the chair and confesses, “I am trying not to lose my temper. Every morning I decide that and then something happens!” The ‘something’ makes her scream and shout and want to kill but her team – which has been with her ever since she started her label, A Small Shop – knows better; they know her well enough to understand that this mood too shall pass. And they remain with her.

At a time when most designers emblazon their attitude on their sleeve (so what if spaghetti straps are in) she wears it in a jute string which doubles up as an anklet, her waist-length matted hair and a hot-chocolate-with-a-dash-of-cinnamon smile. A slightly crumpled white shirt over a red vest and striped pink pyjamas – no labels on or around her and most importantly – no antiseptic elegance, what-you-see-is-what-you-get, all the way.

“I am not much of a shopper,” she wrinkles her nose as she owns up. “I shop at Sarojini (rasta shopping in ‘Dilli’) or take home leftovers from here. At times, I go for a party without even changing into my lenses. But now that I intend to look good, I intend to shop!” (Incidentally, in the past, plans of arriving to work in business suits did not get implemented. And even if they did, would it not take away from this 30-year-old, I-am-my-own-person, person?)

A bit of Sen ostensibly spills over into her craft. Everything from A Small Shop speaks a language of its own. Indian fabrics – tussar, crinkled cottons, georgettes – in equally Indian tones of turquoise, parrot green, purple and, of course, shocking pink, make their appearance in straightforward western silhouettes. No frills, no flounces – the clothes are infused with youthful energy and are simple and functional, yet striking and definitive.

Is that her style? “When I started, I was on my own trip, completely unaware of the business side. Things have changed since and it is now more of clothes for clothes sake.” But still the underlying principal is crystal clear: “It is definitely about craft and design with a purpose,” she says slowly and goes on to elucidate it with an example. “See these curtains here, the gizmo that hangs in the curtain becomes the design.” She points to the transparent cotton curtains which have only dainty tassels punctuated with mini rhinestone pearl beads tying them to the pelmet. “Design as function and vice versa.” she smiles. Interestingly, not only these drapes but also all of this ex-NIFTian’s designs are devoid of traditional zippers, hooks and buttons. Things like baubles are buttons. Get the drift?

“I am more conscious than ever of the look that my brand is carrying. I am going to get lost if my label doesn’t meet the criterion. If you can’t recognise A Small Shop garment anywhere in the world, then I have mucked up very badly,” she cries, horrified at the thought. Perhaps it is this passion for her craft, her label, that fetched her the Images Most Admired Young Designer of the Year award and led Kavita (Ogaan) Bhartia to comment that Sen was ‘The toast of the buyers at Lakme India Fashion Week, 2002’.

“Definitely, Fashion Week plays a very important role for people like us (up and coming designers). You get to display your designs and to interact with buyers from all over. That’s where I got my Selfridges order,” she explains. The Selfridges people had seen Sen’s stuff at Ogaan and liked it. And then when they met at the Fashion Week, the deal was closed, opening many avenues for her.

For someone who wasn’t sure about where to go, post her graduation in literature from St Stephen’s, Delhi, Sen has come a long way. “Even as I was filling in my NIFT form, I was thinking of doing my MA,” she recalls. At the same time, she was extremely paranoid of becoming a fossil. “You know those people who hang around North Campus and who’d be lost if you pulled them out of there?” She winces. So, NIFT it was. Anything to do with her mom (a strong influence in her life) running a tailoring shop? No, she sighs.

After St. Stephen’s, the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT) was a different galaxy. Most of the students were straight out of school and here was this slightly older classmate. “In six months, I settled in and went out to the disco and other fun places with them.” Along with her rock around the clock projects and deadlines, Sen, who wanted to pack it all in, dabbled in theatre as well. “I did costumes for the ShakeSoc (Shakespeare Society at St Stephen’s, for the uninitiated) and some work with (theatre personality) Lillete Dubey. “It earned me my pocket money,” she reveals.

Then, something interesting happened: Sen got married; she missed her placement and found herself at a loose end. With her musician husband’s encouragement, she followed her dream. And A Small Shop was born.

“I painted the walls myself – pink on the outside with blue latches, some yellow thrown in and an orange arch, which I side lit,” she remembers. “All of us friends were together and just this one tailor.” It was here that a group of Japanese delegates walked in. One of the ladies who was wearing an Issey Miyake shirt paired it up with A Small Shop shirt. “My jaw dropped when I saw that,” Sen adds, as she relives the moment.

Back to the present, Sen is busy preparing for this year’s LIFW. “I haven’t decided exactly what it is that I want to do, other than the fact that this time it will be diffusion unlike what I normally do – prêt,” she elaborates. And beyond that? “Right now, I am too driven by this clothes design business,” she points out. “But, as I grow older, I want to spend time by the sea, cook, take up photography….”

Till such time, Sen slips back into the realm of reams of orange pink and all the hues that make up her own little rainbow.