Is one of India’s most iconic garments about to vanish from public life? The bandhgala jacket, a high-collared masterpiece with roots in Mughal opulence and Rajasthani royalty, has sparked a fiery debate that goes beyond fashion—it’s about identity, history, and the legacy of colonialism. But here’s where it gets controversial: India’s railways minister, Ashwini Vaishnaw, has labeled this timeless piece a symbol of a “colonial mindset” and ordered its removal from the official uniform of Indian Railways staff. But is this jacket truly a relic of colonial rule, or is its story far more complex?
The bandhgala, often called the “princely jacket” for its regal origins, has been a staple in Indian wardrobes for centuries. Its journey began in the 16th-century courts of Mughal Emperor Akbar, where its closed neckline, tailored torso, and shaped shoulders first took shape. Later, it evolved in the Rajput courts of Jodhpur, Rajasthan, adapting to the region’s chilly winters and even becoming a practical outfit for horseback riding and polo. By the 19th century, it was paired with tight breeches—now globally known as jodhpurs—and popularized in the West as a polo uniform. So, how did a garment so deeply rooted in Indian history end up being labeled colonial?
Raghavendra Rathore, a renowned menswear designer and descendant of Jodhpur’s royal family, argues passionately that the bandhgala is “India’s most refined expression of royal tailoring.” He emphasizes its four-century evolution, predating British arrival in India, and its distinctly Indian essence. While he acknowledges some colonial influences during the Raj—like trims borrowed from British military uniforms—he insists, “The jacket itself always remained Indian.” But is this enough to save it from being erased in the name of decolonization?
The controversy doesn’t end there. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government has vowed to erase remnants of Britain’s 100-year colonial rule, which ended in 1947. “The goal of a developed India is to remove any trace of the colonial mindset,” Modi declared last year. Yet, the bandhgala’s story is far from straightforward. After India’s independence, it was reclaimed as a symbol of national pride and retained in the railways uniform. Rathore questions the practicality of its removal, especially in scorching summer temperatures, and wonders what will replace it. “There is much curiosity over what they will choose,” he says. “The hope is it’s not just an ordinary western suit.”
But here’s the bigger question: Can we ever truly separate history from identity? The bandhgala’s journey—from Mughal courts to polo fields, from colonial-era uniforms to modern weddings—is a testament to India’s ability to adapt, evolve, and reclaim its heritage. Is erasing it a step toward decolonization, or does it risk losing a piece of India’s rich cultural tapestry? Let’s discuss—do you think the bandhgala deserves to stay, or is its removal justified? Share your thoughts below!
