I was 33, she was formidable. Introductions were made at suite 234 of The Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. My third round of interview for this job. The job. I was five minutes late and sternly reminded of it. Through the 90 minutes that followed, she did not let a smile escape her mouth, lest I warm up to her, or worse, she to me. Among all things fashion that were discussed, questioned and probed, it took our common love for Tom Ford’s suit that season to break the ice. I still did not get a smile, but I got a nod.

That nod, coming from one of fashion industry’s most significant purveyors and contributors said it all. I got the job and along with it I inherited her—Anna Harvey, former stylist to Princess Diana, a Condé Nast veteran and now my editorial director.

We would meet next in London a month later, for my training to become editor-ready. In what I will always remember as my Higgins-Doolittle moment, she first took me shopping to “prepare” me for my very first fashion week. Two coats and three dresses later, she introduced me to my ankles (I was a serial trouser wearer up until then), the potency of black and its place in the life of every fashion insider. If she was stunned by my ability to bombard her with a question a minute, I was amazed by her equanimity at answering each one of them.

And just like that, with no effort, it got easier to get her to smile, and maybe even laugh.

Over the next few weeks I would shadow her, see Vogue through her eyes, and embark upon the thrilling and transformative journey of launching the very first issue of Vogue India.

From there on the team, and I looked forward to her India visits and all that they came to represent—her age-defying energy, shopping trips to Amrapali and Gazdar, seafood and beer meals at Trishna, planning exciting shoots for the magazine and fighting off the sales and marketing teams to preserve the editorial sanctity of each issue. She held no prisoners and always spoke her mind with dignity and directness that was as rare as it was remarkable. For her, we were editorial and they were “the suits”. And church and state could never be one.

No wonder she was soon anointed “Mummyji”—for being the fiercest champion and cheerleader of the editorial team.

The familiarity grew into a steady friendship—whether it was my driver whose name she lovingly mis-pronounced, to our then finance director who she found terribly charming, she gained loyalists in us all. We got the best of her for over six years and for that I will always be grateful.
However, the true test of the Anna effect was felt after she left—the team and I would find reasons to keep in touch, catch up with her whenever any of us was in London. If not in person, we met frequently on Instagram; she liked all my posts and I liked all of hers. It was my way of keeping Mummyji in my life.

Mummyji passed away yesterday, losing a tough battle to a tougher illness. And I have lost a mentor and friend. My ankles and I are both grateful for all that you did for us.

RIP Anna.