Mishra’s starting point was sculpture, but his method was the reverse of carving. Where a sculptor removes material to reveal a form, his couture accumulated it painstakingly, thread upon thread, bead upon bead. Zardozi, dabka, crystals, stones and bugle beads recreated the depth and patina of sandstone, basalt, soapstone and bronze, producing garments that appeared chiselled rather than sewn.
The illusion was strongest in a charcoal-grey minidress whose raised embroidery resembled weathered architectural relief. Its exaggerated hood framed the model like the entrance to a shrine, while a delicate veil crossed the face. Paint-like traces of silver across the skin made the body appear partially transformed into stone. The effect was not nostalgic. Mishra treated antiquity as a living surface, one capable of becoming sharp, sensual and distinctly contemporary.
That tension between monumentality and exposure ran throughout the show. A sheer black column was encircled by an enormous embroidered halo, its scrolling patterns expanding around the head and shoulders like wrought iron or temple tracery. Elsewhere, bodysuits were layered with chains of embroidery and sculptural ornaments, turning jewellery into clothing, an idea drawn from ancient representations in which adornment carried identity, status and symbolism.
Mishra’s goddesses were rarely passive. They stood with hands firmly placed at their hips, advanced in severe platform shoes and wore headpieces that enlarged their presence beyond the limits of the body. One of the collection’s most arresting looks placed three sculpted heads around a model’s own, evoking a multi-faced deity capable of looking in several directions at once. The image was uncanny, but also strangely serene.
The show’s softer passages revealed another dimension of the designer’s hand. A smoke-toned chiffon gown fell from a heavily embellished, necklace-like bodice, its draped panels moving with the ease of fabric caught in a temple breeze. Against the collection’s rigid sculptural forms, it offered a fleeting sense of vulnerability.
Metallic colour gradually warmed the procession. A strapless column moved from gold at the bodice into oxidised silver across its embroidered skirt, as though a gilded statue had acquired a darker patina over time. Later, a gold ensemble with a pleated, sari-like skirt and an orbit of embroidered flowers transformed the model into a radiant celestial figure. The brilliance was ceremonial rather than merely decorative.
The headpieces deepened that dialogue between craft traditions. Traditional clay artisan Sumant Kumar created crowns inspired by ancient sculpture, while Stephen Jones contributed veils and additional millinery. The accompanying score by Jayant Luthra incorporated temple drums, singing bowls and other instruments recorded inside the Ajanta Caves, extending the collection’s atmosphere beyond the visual.
High jewellery, co-designed with Tanishq Natural Diamonds, was integrated into the clothes rather than added afterward. Necklaces became necklines; chains traced the torso; gems echoed the embroidery beneath them. This continuity made the collection’s central argument persuasive: in Mishra’s world, couture and jewellery are not separate disciplines, but parallel expressions of time, precision and handwork.
Devi was at its strongest when it resisted easy divisions between garment and sculpture, body and monument, past and present. Mishra did not simply reproduce historical references. He asked what first compelled an artisan to return repeatedly to the same divine figure, and how an object made from stone could still suggest softness, movement and soul.