It was not yesterday that India started looking westwards for style ideas. Long before the mid-eighties (when the Indian fashion industry came into its own), western styles had been influencing sartorial tastes and, in effect, design elements of Indian couture. Even way back in the 1920s, Indian women imported the chopped hairstyle from Eton, while their cholis took on the shimmering flash of Charleston dresses — long-sleeved in lace, satin, silk or cotton, says Sarosh Medhora

INDIAN designers are often accused of being short on originality and high on inspiration. International fashion glossies and catalogues published during shows at places like Milan, Paris, London and New York serve as source material for some of the most inspired creations to be paraded on Indian ramps.

But then it was not yesterday that India started looking westwards for style ideas. Long before the mid-eighties (when the Indian fashion industry came into its own), western styles had been influencing sartorial tastes and, in effect, design elements of Indian couture.

The most obvious and oft-quoted examples are the suits men switched to in the mid-thirties and forties. Indian women, unable to sport western dresses, styled their blouses (or cholis) to match the latest numbers on the European fashion circuit.

While documenting this "aping game", fashion pundits generally tend to overlook the fact that even way back in the 1920s, Indian women imported the chopped hairstyle from Eton, while their cholis took on the shimmering flash of Charleston dresses — long-sleeved in lace, satin, silk or cotton.

Makers of period films (like Satyajit Ray in Charulata) celebrated this look with three-quarter sleeved blouses and plenty of lacy frills.

With Independence in 1947, Japanese georgette, chiffon and imported silks gave way to cotton khadi (handspun) and South Indian silks. That very year, Christian Dior unveiled his "New Look" to the western world and fashion designing has never been the same since.

The effects of this revolution reached India a decade later with the most sensational discovery of all times — the mini skirt. From an inch above the knee, the hemline climbed higher and higher.

For most Indian women who could not be as daring, the kameez was a convenient alternative as it kept sneaking up above the knees. Simultaneously, synthetics were back in fashion. Nylon and terylene with their amazing crease-proof, wash ‘n’ wear qualities captured the Indian imagination.

Heavily embroidered sarees gave way to printed nylons and polyesters. During those days, the most stylish way of sporting a saree was by tying it below the navel and leaving a shortened pallu to be tossed nonchalantly over the shoulder.

The salwar-kameez also adapted to fashion changes in the West in terms of the cut, length and hemline. It was a long journey for this peasant attire from the fields of Punjab to India’s major metros.

In hairstyles, the French chignon or roll became the rage. It went well with the salwar-kameez that adopted western trends. The late sixties witnessed a dramatic comeback of the saree — draped tightly around to accentuate every curve of the body.

Before long, the choli was transformed from a stodgy, durable piece of clothing to a sleeveless blouse with a deep-cut armhole. Thereafter, in the seventies, the saree turned into a highly seductive garment with limitless possibilities for the future. Even pre-stitched or tailored sarees showed up.

By the eighties, the top half of the saree was draped twice over to flaunt the border, or else the front pleats were dispensed with. It was also worn as a dhoti and tucked in at the back to accentuate the hips. The mini saree reaching to the knees, however, failed to make a statement.

Meanwhile, salwar made way for the churidaar and when it couldn’t get any tighter, the Indian woman discovered nylon stretch pants. By then, kurtas had reached just below the hips, much like micro minis. But by and large, the basic salwar-kameez silhouette became the staple for upcoming designers.

Today, the churidaar-kurta is being turned into lungi-kurtas and on formal occasions, to a ghagra-kameez. At times, kurtas are teamed with trousers or jeans. These styles continue to co-exist with the good old saree and salwar-kameez ensembles on the one hand, and western pant suits on the other.

Just as Indian designers draw upon the West, so do westerners look at India for inspiration. While Paul Smith transforms the saree into a sarong, Dries Van Noten is designing hot orange salwars for celebrities. Gautier has produced a line on Lord Krishna, while Madonna sports bindis and the Om symbol in mehndi. (MF)