Muzaffar Ali The Maker of Umrao Jaan Visits Calcutta
A lyrical adaptation of an article originally published in Anandabazar Patrika, this piece explores the artistic philosophy of Muzaffar Ali—filmmaker, poet, and creator of the House of Kotwara—during his visit to Kolkata for the Sufi music festival Jahan-e-Khusrau.
If you thought art lived in museums or hung from sterile gallery walls with price tags larger than your rent, think again. For Muzaffar Ali—filmmaker, poet, painter, fashion designer and full-time romantic—the real stuff of art lies in whatever one sees, carries, sits across from, or chats about over tea. “Art is life,” he insists. “Nothing apart from it!” And really, coming from a man descended from the Nawabs of Lucknow, one doesn’t argue. You nod. Politely. Like one might at a mehfil while someone plays a soul-stirring thumri.
Ali, who once cast the ethereal Rekha as Umrao Jaan and gave mainstream cinema a whiff of the nineteenth-century Lucknowi mehfil (without overcooking it, mind), has since traversed quite a few artistic avenues. In fact, over the last 35 years, his brainchild—House of Kotwara—has been stitching history into haute couture, with whisper-light chikankari and regal zardozi flitting from Mexico to Maharashtra like well-heeled poetry.
Now, in the city of mishti and metaphors—Kolkata—he’s back again, this time not with a film, but with a Sufi musical festival titled Jahan-e-Khusrau, alongside his wife and fellow connoisseur of elegance, Meera Ali. And with them arrives that age-old Lucknowi grace that says little and yet means everything.
Let’s be clear: sitting down with Muzaffar Ali is not so much an interview as it is a meandering walk through fragrant lanes of thought, stopping now and then for a sip of nostalgia and a nibble of philosophy. No matter what the topic, it somehow circles back to art, like an overenthusiastic homing pigeon.
Across the glass windows of a rather posh hotel, the sepia sky stretched lazily, as if eavesdropping. Muzaffar looked at it fondly, as one might an old schoolmate who now sells property in Noida. “Wherever I go,” he mused, “I look at what’s being created locally, and also how it all fits together. That’s why Kolkata always feels special—it carries forward a rich tradition of artistic thought.”
It does, doesn’t it? Especially when someone like him notices. After all, here is a man who’s turned House of Kotwara into something akin to a living museum of Awadhi grace—lehenga here, anarkali there, and a healthy dose of nawabi nostalgia threaded through. Meera Ali, who has painstakingly preserved the ancestral Kotwara estate (last built by none other than Nawab Wajid Ali Shah himself), mentions how their designs are more relevant now than ever. “Traditional is trending!” she exclaims. “Whether it’s the ghunghat or the chunky jhumka—it’s all making a comeback. We never had to reinvent ourselves.”
Indeed, they didn’t. They simply stayed rooted while the world circled back to find them.
From intricate needlework to national awards, the couple’s creations—be it in cinema or couture—share one thing: an irresistible fragrance of the past. Asked about the making of Umrao Jaan, that filmic ode to Lucknow’s courtesan culture, Muzaffar waves away any suggestion of grand strategy. “Rekha wasn’t getting work, and neither was I. We met. And Umrao Jaan happened. She was born for the role,” he chuckles, as though describing a tea party that somehow invented the moon.
That’s the thing about Muzaffar Ali. He wears his many hats like they were all part of the same turban. Be it designing a film set, dressing a bride, or sketching in a quiet corner, it’s all part of the same artistic breath.
His return to Kolkata isn’t just about music or memories; it’s about connecting dots across time and textile. Both he and Meera are enchanted by Bengal’s muslin heritage and plan to wander into the city’s fringes to meet local weavers. “There’s still so much more to see,” he says. And if he misses something this time, not to worry—he’ll be back. Kolkata, like Lucknow, invites return.
Their daughter Sama Ali now joins the fray, extending the family legacy while empowering local women artisans. Through their collaborative work at House of Kotwara, these women have not only found economic independence but also a way to let their artistry dance on global runways. Not too shabby for a business that began by simply listening to the whispers of the past.
So was it cinema to couture, or couture to cinema? Another smile, another cryptic reply: “You’ve answered it yourself! All art forms are connected. I designed a set, created a look, it became art. Then people saw the film and changed the way they dressed. That too is art. You and I are talking—this could be the beginning of new art!”
Somewhere, Ritwik Ghatak and Satyajit Ray are surely applauding.
As the sun dipped behind colonial cornices and trams groaned through traffic, Muzaffar Ali sat quietly, a little Nawabi, a little bohemian, wholly himself. Kolkata had once again wrapped him in its old, fraying yet fabulous shawl of culture. And he, in turn, left behind a bit of Kotwara—a whisper of chikankari, a note of Sufi verse, and the stubborn belief that art and life are, in fact, the same tangled, beautiful mess.
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