Stitching Identity, The Bandhgala, Colonial Hauntings, and the Search for a Pure Indianness

Stitching Identity, The Bandhgala, Colonial Hauntings, and the Search for a Pure Indianness

In a nation as plural, syncretic, and historically layered as India, the question of what constitutes an authentically “Indian” artifact, tradition, or symbol is fraught with political tension and philosophical complexity. The recent decision by Railway Minister Ashwini Vaishnaw to discontinue the bandhgala as a uniform for Indian Railways employees, dismissing it as a “colonial” relic, has unexpectedly thrust this sartorial staple into the center of a profound cultural debate. This move, ostensibly aimed at decolonizing Indian identity, paradoxically reveals the pitfalls of a purist, origin-obsessed nationalism. It prompts a critical examination: Is Indianness a product of pristine, autochthonous birth, or is it a dynamic, lived experience of adoption, adaptation, and reinvention? The journey of the bandhgala—from the courts of Rajputana and the Mughals, through British polo fields, to the shoulders of modern politicians and railwaymen—serves as a perfect metaphor for India itself: a tapestry where threads from across eras and empires have been woven into a distinct and recognizable whole.

The Sartorial Biography of the Bandhgala: A Journey Through Time

To label the bandhgala simply as “colonial” is to amputate its rich, hybrid history. Its story is a microcosm of India’s cultural evolution.

1. The Indigenous Roots: The garment’s earliest antecedents lie in the practical, closed-neck jackets worn by men in Rajasthan and other parts of North India. These were utilitarian garments designed for the climate and lifestyle, often made of local fabrics. The Rajput nobility refined these into more formal, embellished versions, known as angarakha or achkan, characterized by their inner tie-cords (bandh) and high collars.

2. The Mughal Synthesis: With the Mughal arrival, Persian and Central Asian influences merged with indigenous styles. The sherwani, a longer coat, evolved, influencing the shorter jacket styles. The emphasis on fine craftsmanship, intricate embroidery (zari, zardozi), and luxurious fabrics became hallmarks of courtly dress, a tradition the bandhgala inherited.

3. The Colonial Interlude & Reinvention: This is the phase that earns the bandhgala its “colonial” tag. During the British Raj, Indian nobility, seeking to navigate the new power structures, adapted their traditional attire to suit Western sartorial norms. The bandhgala, as we recognize it today—a tailored, structured, closed-neck jacket often worn with trousers—crystallized in this period. It was a sartorial compromise: distinctly Indian in its silhouette and closure, yet incorporating British tailoring techniques and intended for formal occasions within the colonial framework. It was notably adopted by Indian princes on the polo ground, a site of colonial leisure, thus entering the Anglo-Indian lexicon sometimes as the “Nehru jacket” in the West, after India’s first Prime Minister.

4. Post-Independence Reclamation: After 1947, the bandhgala was consciously adopted by the Indian political and bureaucratic elite as a symbol of swadeshi formalwear—a sophisticated, indigenous alternative to the Western suit. Jawaharlal Nehru, though giving it his international name, popularized it as a mark of dignified Indian modernity. It became the uniform for dignitaries, diplomats, and, significantly, the Indian Railways—an institution that is itself a colonial legacy but has become the lifeline of the nation.

This biography reveals a garment that is not a colonial imposition but a site of negotiation. It was not forced upon Indians by the British; rather, Indians actively reshaped their own sartorial traditions in response to new contexts, ultimately creating something new and powerfully emblematic of their modern identity.

The Flawed Logic of Purity: What Makes Something “Indian”?

Minister Vaishnaw’s decision is rooted in a nationalist ideology that seeks to purge the present of colonial “contaminants.” This logic is fundamentally flawed for several reasons:

• The Impossibility of Purity: India’s civilization has been shaped by millennia of migration, trade, invasion, and synthesis. To seek a “pure” pre-colonial cultural form is to chase a mirage. From mathematics (the concept of zero, synthesized from various influences) to language (the Sanskrit, Persian, and English layers in modern Hindi) to cuisine (the chili, a Portuguese introduction, now indispensable), Indian culture is a palimpsest. Is the samosa “Indian”? Its origins are likely Central Asian. Is chai “Indian”? The tea plant and the habit are British colonial introductions. Their Indianness is unquestionable because of the profound, transformative adoption and adaptation they have undergone.

• Indianness as Lived Experience, Not Genetic Origin: As the article brilliantly argues, the search for Indian-ness should be about experience, not purity of origins. The Indian Railways, undeniably a British engineering project, is now utterly Indian in its chaotic, democratic, life-sustaining essence. Rudyard Kipling, a colonial author, captured an early vision of this Indianization in Kim. Similarly, the bandhgala, regardless of the tailoring techniques used in its modern form, is experienced as Indian. It is worn at Indian weddings, by Indian leaders on Independence Day, and by lakhs of Railway employees serving the Indian public. Its meaning is derived from its contemporary use and cultural resonance, not its 19th-century tailoring details.

• The Danger of Symbolic Politics over Substantive Decolonization: Banning a jacket is a facile, performative gesture. It creates the illusion of action while leaving deeper colonial structures untouched. The article rightly points to the real colonial relics that need discarding: “an imperious state and disconnected elite.” A colonial mindset persists in bureaucratic red tape, in the VIP culture that separates rulers from the ruled, and in educational systems that still privilege certain forms of knowledge over others. Attacking these would be substantive decolonization. Attacking a garment is mere costume change.

The Bandhgala as a Symbol of Confident Syncretism

Rather than a symbol of subjugation, the modern bandhgala can be reinterpreted as a symbol of confident syncretism and adaptive agency. It represents the Indian ability to take an external form or influence and infuse it with indigenous sensibility to create something uniquely one’s own. This is a hallmark of a resilient, non-insular civilization.

This process is visible everywhere in contemporary India:

• Cuisine: Tandoori momos (Tibetan dumplings cooked in a Punjabi oven), aloo tikki burgers (street food in a Western bun), and gobi Manchurian (an Indian-Chinese fusion invention) are celebrated culinary innovations that defy purity tests.

• Arts and Literature: The novel form is Western in origin, yet it has produced masterpieces of Indian storytelling from Tagore to Desai. Modern Indian painting employs Western techniques to express profoundly Indian themes and spiritualities.

• Language: Hinglish is not a degradation of language but a dynamic, living patois that reflects the reality of modern Indian life and global connection.

In all these cases, the foreign element is not merely copied; it is digested, transformed, and made to serve an Indian context and aesthetic. The bandhgala is sartorial Hinglish.

The Political Subtext: Uniformity, Identity, and Erasure

The decision to remove the bandhgala from the Railways uniform is not happening in a vacuum. It aligns with a broader political project that seeks to define Indian identity in narrowly majoritarian and revivalist terms. This project often elevates certain regional or religiously-associated garments (like the kurta-pyjama or dhoti) as more authentically “national” than syncretic, pan-Indian ones like the bandhgala or even the sherwani.

By labeling the bandhgala “colonial,” there is a subtle attempt to delink it from its Muslim-associated history (the Mughal court) and its elite, pan-Indian, secular nationalist adoption (by Nehru and the post-independence establishment). It is an effort to simplify a complex, shared heritage into a binary of indigenous/foreign, pure/impure. This risks erasing the very pluralism that is India’s greatest strength. It makes “alien something that is quintessentially Indian,” fracturing a shared cultural symbol in the name of a purist patriotism.

Conclusion: Embracing the Hybrid Self

The debate over the bandhgala is far more than a quarrel over cloth. It is a referendum on how India understands itself. Does it see itself as a civilization that grew through conversation with the world, confident enough to adopt and adapt? Or does it see itself as a vulnerable culture that must purge external influences to protect a supposedly pure core?

True decolonization is not about rejecting every artifact that passed through the colonial period. It is about reclaiming agency over their meaning. The Railways are Indian because Indians run them, ride them, and live by them. The bandhgala is Indian because Indians wear it, design it, and see it as theirs. It has transcended its origins.

To discard the bandhgala as “colonial” is to succumb to a historical insecurity. To embrace it, understanding its complex journey, is to celebrate the sophisticated, resilient, and hybrid nature of Indian identity. In a globalized world, the most vibrant cultures are not those that build walls to keep influences out, but those that possess the digestive strength to take in the world and make it their own. The bandhgala, stitched with threads from Rajputana, Delhi, and London, worn from wedding mandaps to railway platforms, is a cloth testament to that enduring Indian genius. It is not a colonial hangover; it is a flag of a syncretic republic, and its discontinuation is a loss not of a colonial relic, but of a piece of modern India’s own sartorial soul.

Q&A: The Bandhgala Debate and the Meaning of Indianness

Q1: Why is the decision to discontinue the bandhgala as an Indian Railways uniform seen as controversial?
A1: The decision is controversial because it is based on a reductive and historically flawed classification of the bandhgala as merely a “colonial” garment. Critics argue this ignores the garment’s rich, syncretic history that includes pre-colonial Rajput and Mughal influences. Furthermore, it represents a performative gesture of decolonization that targets a symbolic, culturally-embedded object while ignoring deeper, systemic colonial legacies (like bureaucratic culture or elite disconnect). It also risks erasing a shared pan-Indian sartorial symbol that has been proudly worn by national leaders and common people alike for decades.

Q2: What is the actual historical evolution of the bandhgala, as cited in the article?
A2: The bandhgala’s evolution is a multi-stage process that defies a single “origin”:

1. Indigenous Roots: Practical, closed-neck jackets worn in Rajasthan and North India.

2. Mughal Synthesis: Influenced by Persian and Central Asian styles, leading to refined garments like the achkan.

3. Colonial Adaptation: Indian nobility, under the British Raj, merged these traditional styles with Western tailoring techniques to create the structured, formal bandhgala as we know it, popularized in settings like polo grounds.

4. Post-Independence Reclamation: Adopted consciously as a swadeshi alternative to the Western suit by India’s political and bureaucratic elite, becoming a national symbol of formalwear and a uniform for institutions like the Railways.

Q3: According to the article, what is a better way to define “Indian-ness” than by purity of origin?
A3: The article proposes that Indian-ness should be defined by lived experience and transformative adoption, not by an unattainable purity of origin. Something becomes Indian through the process of being embraced, adapted, and integrated into the daily life and meaning-making of Indian people. Examples given include:

• The Indian Railways: A British-built system that is now quintessentially Indian in its function and social role.

• Cuisine: Dishes like gobi Manchurian or tandoori momos, which are hybrid inventions but undeniably part of the Indian culinary landscape.

• Cultural Forms: The Western-origin novel, which Indians have used to tell quintessentially Indian stories.

Q4: What are the real “colonial relics” that the article suggests should be discarded, in contrast to the bandhgala?
A4: The article argues that substantive decolonization should target deep-seated institutional and mental legacies, not just symbols. The real colonial relics include:

• An imperious state: A bureaucratic and governing culture that is disconnected from and paternalistic towards citizens.

• A disconnected elite: A ruling class whose attitudes and lifestyles are alienated from the masses.
  These structures perpetuate colonial-era power dynamics far more profoundly than any item of clothing.

Q5: What does the bandhgala debate reveal about the current political project of defining Indian identity?
A5: The debate reveals a political project that seeks to promote a purist, revivalist, and often majoritarian definition of Indian identity. By labeling a syncretic garment like the bandhgala “colonial,” there is an attempt to:

• Simplify complex history: Erase its Mughal and pan-Indian secular nationalist associations.

• Promote cultural purity: Elevate other garments perceived as more “indigenous” to a specific region or community.

• Engage in symbolic politics: Focus on visible, easy-to-change symbols rather than undertaking the harder task of reforming colonial mindsets and structures within institutions. It shows a preference for cultural homogeneity over acknowledging and celebrating India’s historically composite and adaptive identity.