I have been a student of Literature and a teacher all my life and then I turned into a designer as well â Moksha was born because I needed a creative outlet.
As someone who lives inside the world of words â both teaching them and learning from them â my sarees are more than just the 6 yards. They can become wearable verses, each drape a stanza, each thread a metaphor. Inspired by the flowers of literature, these designs can carry the soul of stories some of you have read, taught, or perhaps even written.
Flowers have been a timeless symbol in literature, often representing emotions, seasons, character traits, and sometimes carry deeper philosophical meanings. When used as inspiration for saree designs, literary floral motifs become both visually stunning and rich with narrative.
The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
When Petals Speak Poetry
A Collection by a Literary Designer
I have been a student of Literature and a teacher all my life and then I turned into a designer as well â Moksha was born because I needed a creative outlet.
As someone who lives inside the world of words â both teaching them and learning from them â my sarees are more than just the 6 yards. They can become wearable verses, each drape a stanza, each thread a metaphor. Inspired by the flowers of literature, these designs can carry the soul of stories some of you have read, taught, or perhaps even written.
Flowers have been a timeless symbol in literature, often representing emotions, seasons, character traits, and sometimes carry deeper philosophical meanings. When used as inspiration for saree designs, literary floral motifs become both visually stunning and rich with narrative.
āĻšāĻ āĻžā§ āĻāĻāĻ¨ āĻ¸āĻ¨ā§āĻ§ā§āĻ¯āĻžāĻŦā§āĻ˛āĻžā§
āĻ¨āĻžāĻŽāĻšāĻžāĻ°āĻž āĻĢā§āĻ˛ āĻāĻ¨ā§āĻ§ āĻāĻ˛āĻžā§,
āĻĒā§āĻ°āĻāĻžāĻ¤āĻŦā§āĻ˛āĻžā§ āĻšā§āĻ˛āĻžāĻāĻ°ā§ āĻāĻ°ā§
āĻ āĻ°ā§āĻŖāĻāĻŋāĻ°āĻŖā§ āĻ¤ā§āĻā§āĻ
āĻāĻĻā§āĻ§āĻ¤ āĻ¯āĻ¤ āĻļāĻžāĻāĻžāĻ° āĻļāĻŋāĻāĻ°ā§
āĻ°āĻĄā§āĻĄā§āĻ¨āĻĄā§āĻ°āĻ¨ āĻā§āĻā§āĻāĨ¤â
THE TULIP (SYLVIA PLATH)
The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
PALASH ( TAGORE)
āĻ°āĻžāĻāĻž āĻšāĻžāĻ¸āĻŋ āĻ°āĻžāĻļāĻŋ āĻ°āĻžāĻļāĻŋ āĻ āĻļā§āĻ āĻĒāĻ˛āĻžāĻļā§,
āĻ°āĻžāĻāĻž āĻ¨ā§āĻļāĻž āĻŽā§āĻā§ āĻŽā§āĻļāĻž āĻĒā§āĻ°āĻāĻžāĻ¤-āĻāĻāĻžāĻļā§,
āĻ¨āĻŦā§āĻ¨ āĻĒāĻžāĻ¤āĻžā§ āĻ˛āĻžāĻā§ āĻ°āĻžāĻāĻž āĻšāĻŋāĻ˛ā§āĻ˛ā§āĻ˛āĨ¤
Emily Dickinson, âNobody Knows This Little Roseâ.
Nobody knows this little Rose –
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.