This man is honouring his late wife with an exhibition of her incredible designer wardrobe

Mina and I got married on the day I turned 21 because that’s when it was legal for me. She was a few months older than me; we’d been dating since our first year at Elphinstone College. She was a force — once she decided that was it, that was it. I think her parents knew that so they didn’t put up too much of a fight. And we were just too dumb to know any better. The only thing we decided was, there’s no way we could afford to have more than one child. 

I’ve often thought of what would happen if our daughter Ayesha came and said, “I am getting married at 21.” We’d first strangle her, then we’d shoot ourselves. But in my generation, everything was done earlier. I’m so grateful because a year and a half into our marriage, Ayesha was born, so we’ve had the opportunity to have a full life. When she grew up and left home, Mina and I had another life together.

Mina decided that for the first few years, she would be a full-time mom. Then at 35, she decided she wanted to work. If you’ve left college without any work experience, it’s very hard to break in. She knew a conventional job wouldn’t suit her, and I used to tease her that she was born only to be a CEO. I was proven right when a US-based training organisation wanted to come to India. Somebody we knew asked Mina to help set it up, and she gamely took it on. Overnight, she became the manager for India. She was a brilliant success, took off like a rocket.

Then she manifested something she always wanted to do: photography. We were poor as church mice, so I had to borrow money from my Provident Fund to buy a camera. She began to get published, though with pictures you didn’t really earn money.

In those days, I was working in advertising. Mina got an assignment to do a story featuring Vijay Mallya. She was shooting him, talking about how our daughter loved sportscars — just conversation. He said, “If Ayesha likes all these cars then Krish better change his job, right? Because you don’t get those on a salary.” Mina always looked back at that as the moment she decided to start a business. 

Neither of us had any background in business. But when we got the chance to start direct sales of World Book Encyclopaedias in India, Mina jumped in with both feet. She’d read these books growing up, and felt she could learn how to sell them. We begged, borrowed, didn’t quite steal to get Rs 2 lakhs of startup funds. She read every book she could find on direct sales and motivating teams. 

Early on in this venture, we were out to lunch with a close friend who said, “Mina, what’s the big deal? This is just a two-bit company you’ve started, you’re nobody. So how do you think people are going to come to work for you, especially since you’re not offering a rupee of salary?” The sales team was to work entirely on commission.

She looked at him and said, “Listen, I am representing the world’s largest educational company in India, I am World Book in India. People are not coming to work for Mina Krishnan. I am going to show them how to be successful and that whatever salary I could offer them will be nothing compared to what they can earn. So fuck off!” And she threw a napkin in his face and walked out. 

I never forgot that. Mina’s mission came from seeing herself in the women she brought onboard to sell the books. She saw how direct sales could empower women like her, who got married, had kids, and weren’t on a career track. Whenever they wanted to do a job, they had too many constraints.

In the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, for so many women, this was like a godsend. I remember one young bride who had made her first sale of a set of Childcraft books. When her cheque came in for Rs. 300, she went home and showed her father-in-law. She told Mina she felt like she was contributing to the family for the first time. The beautiful thing was that her entire family applauded her. 

For the most part, nobody is really encouraging, especially for women who are starting something new. There’s a sneer that your husband isn’t doing well, that’s why you have to go to work. So Mina decided to call them not just salespeople, but educational consultants, and World Book adopted this terminology worldwide.

We had a salesforce of about 10,000 people around the country and we had trained over 150,000 over the years. About 90% were women and for virtually all of them, it was transformational, even if they didn’t achieve great sales or make big bucks. Just that experience getting out of the home, learning to sell and talk to people… nothing could hold them back after that. They were never going to be in their shells again.

Mina was always unapologetic about success and eventually, the money that followed. Her outlook was that since she’d made her money honestly, she could spend it however she liked without seeking approval from other people. 

When we met with international business partners, Mina didn’t want them to withhold respect because we were Indians; this was before liberalisation. She encouraged me to buy my first designer suit. For her own power wardrobe, she eventually settled on Issey Miyake. Joyful colours, strong silhouettes, elegant and refined yet incredibly practical — Miyake fit Mina like a glove. As he famously said, design is not for philosophy, it’s for life. Few people lived life as fully as Mina.

She wasn’t trying to show off or please anybody else, what she valued above all was harmony. In Japanese, the term is “wa”. Her entire life was in pursuit of that, and she achieved it by throwing herself into things. She didn’t have interests, she had fascinations — with textiles, and how the fabric in the iconic Pleats Please collection was constructed. Each and every piece, she took time to speak with the salesperson and understand it thoroughly. Each and every one, she loved.

I enjoyed being a collaborator in her love of fashion. I ended up with a lot of nice clothes too, but it was the sheer joy of watching her go through the process of discovering the clothes, and then wearing them over the decades. Anything made well is made to last. Mina felt so comfortable in these Miyake pieces that she would wear them even around the house. Up until the end, these were her chosen outfits.

A cancer diagnosis is devastating on one hand, but also a trigger to go into problem-solving mode. I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2007 and I had surgery. We’d caught it early. When Mina was diagnosed, the first surgery went brilliantly. I thought it was divine providence. But it came up again. Mina attacked it with her characteristic commitment to life.

Without a doubt, the most important conviction I ever had was to be with her. I could have done 56 more years in a heartbeat.

After she passed, I asked my daughter Ayesha, what do you want to do with all these clothes? A lifetime’s worth of Miyake clothes in pristine condition — pieces of incredible value, both material and sentimental, that she’d handpicked over the years. Ayesha suggested we organise an exhibit and give the proceeds to CRY, which was the organisation that Mina had contributed to with her first big paycheque. 

I hope people will come to see the exhibition, as Miyake doesn’t have a retail presence in India. It’s a chance to see his designs, and a collection that spans decades; many of these pieces aren’t available anymore. And it would give Mina great contentment to know that people are helping CRY. 

Two days after Mina’s passing, Issey Miyake died. My granddaughter said, “Mimi went up and didn’t like the clothes. She went down and called Miyake up.” I wouldn’t be at all surprised.

“Clothes that changed the world: Mina Krishnan’s collection of Issey Miyake” will be exhibited at 47-A Khotachiwadi, Mumbai, from February 25th to March 26th. All proceeds will go to CRY (Child Rights and You). The 70 exhibits on display have already been sold.