Flame: The Story Of My Mother Shahnaz Husain, narrated in style by Nelofer Currimbhoy, is an insider’s account of the making of one of India’s best known entrepreneurs in the beauty industry.

The mermaid designer

Flame: The Story Of My Mother Shahnaz Husain, narrated in style by Nelofer Currimbhoy, is an insider’s account of the making of one of India’s best known entrepreneurs in the beauty industry. In this exclusive excerpt, Nelofer talks about how her mother expressed her sense of style from an early age

The first glimmer of the star my mother was destined to be was seen at my father’s youngest sister’s wedding in Lucknow. The shamiana was made from what seemed like miles of sweet-smelling juhi flowers. The men were dressed in sherwanis, as is the tradition with Muslims and the ladies, some of them in purdah, were in formal saris and ghararas. Abba and Amma were receiving their guests and at any point, one of their eight children stood by their side as part of the welcoming party. In the middle of the staid and solemn nikah ceremony I suddenly saw my mother appear in a long, skin-hugging gold dress that flared out below the knees, making her look like a mermaid. A net veil draped her shoulders. Her long hair was swept into a sleek chignon. The effect was very dramatic. The dress was an adaptation of an evening gown that she had spent hours designing with her perplexed Lucknowi tailor. I remember the flurry her entrance caused; my aunts rushing up to her with shocked expressions: ‘What is this? Is that a dress you are wearing?’ they asked with unconcealed horror. ‘No,’ she replied calmly. ‘I am wearing a gharara but it’s all in one piece.’ I stood beside her, wondering if she was in trouble but with my father giving her an approving smile she had little to worry about. He was always supportive of her, to the extent of being indulgent. The years between them gave her a slight edge and he would go to great lengths to see her aspirations realised. At an age when other girls were wracked with self-doubt, Shahnaz stood, waiting to conquer the world, confident and beautiful, her signature style and unique persona shining through, even in small-town Lucknow. My mother has always had a highly personalised style of dressing and even at the age of twenty-two she had a natural flair for unrivalled individuality; her versatility was not limited to the gold gharara. The fancy dress ball in Nainital where we vacationed in the early years was an opportunity for her to experiment with her creativity. I remember one summer when she dressed up as Cleopatra. With winged eyes and an artfully created serpent on her head she looked every bit the Egyptian queen. Another year, she went as Anarkali; it was a particularly eventful night because in her excitement she had left her veil in our cottage at the top of the mountain. Little did my father know that he would have to do more than just pretend to be Salim that night. Finding no other transport, he mounted a horse and being an excellent rider, galloped up the mountain and returned with the veil just in time for the show. Anarkali was delighted and beamed with relief. Excerpted with permission from Flame: The Story Of My Mother Shahnaz Husain, published by Hachette India