Is one of India’s most iconic garments about to be erased from history? This week, a heated debate erupted over the bandhgala jacket, a high-collared masterpiece with roots in Mughal opulence and Rajasthani royalty, now under fire for allegedly embodying a 'colonial mindset.' But here's where it gets controversial: while Indian Railways Minister Ashwini Vaishnaw has ordered its removal from staff uniforms as part of a broader push to shed colonial remnants, many argue this jacket is anything but a foreign imposition.
Vaishnaw’s declaration is part of a larger movement championed by Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government, which aims to purge India of its colonial legacy—a rule that ended in 1947 but left deep cultural scars. 'We must eliminate every trace of colonial thinking,' Modi asserted last year, framing this as a step toward a truly developed India. Yet, the bandhgala’s story is far more complex than a simple colonial relic.
The bandhgala’s origins trace back to the 16th-century courts of Mughal Emperor Akbar, where its closed neckline, tailored torso, and shaped shoulders first emerged. It later evolved in the Rajput courts of Jodhpur, Rajasthan, adapting to the region’s chilly winters and equestrian traditions. By the 19th century, the Jodhpur royal family had refined it into a practical outfit for horse riding and polo, paired with tight breeches now globally known as jodhpurs. Ironically, it was as a polo uniform that the bandhgala gained popularity in the West by the early 20th century.
When Indian Railways adopted the bandhgala in the late 19th century, it wasn’t a Western imposition but a replacement for more European-style frocks and tunics. Designer Raghavendra Rathore, a descendant of the Jodhpur royal family and a pioneer in modernizing the jacket, argues passionately: 'This jacket is India’s most refined expression of royal tailoring. It predates British arrival in Calcutta and has evolved organically over four centuries.' Rathore acknowledges some colonial influences during the Raj, such as trims and tailoring borrowed from British military uniforms, but insists, 'The jacket itself always remained Indian.'
And this is the part most people miss: after India’s independence, the bandhgala was reclaimed as a symbol of national pride, retained in the railways’ formal uniform. While Rathore admits it’s not the most practical garment for railway workers, especially in scorching summer heat, he questions what will replace it. 'There’s much curiosity about the alternative,' he notes. 'One can only hope it’s not just another Western suit.'
Is the bandhgala a colonial relic or a cherished piece of India’s sartorial heritage? As the debate rages on, one thing is clear: this jacket’s story is far from over. What do you think? Should it be preserved as a symbol of India’s rich history, or is its removal a necessary step toward decolonization? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s keep this conversation alive!
