THE FASHION CROWD OF THE NEW century may have embraced Hindi cinema whole-heartedly, all the way from painting vintage posters on t-shirts and hawking it as kitsch, to inviting their B-town friends to be showstoppers on Fashion Week ramps. Like God, sometimes Bollywood gives, and sometimes it takes away, from the nation’s sense of fashion. It brought Manish Malhotra to the masses in the late 1990s, and hasn’t stopped yet by some accounts – if the trend for sequins-on-silk stops this wedding season, let us know. The clothing trends that emerge on screen from time to time become a public record of what moviegoers are wearing between blockbusters, and like so many things about Hindi cinema, these are cyclical. As our mothers wore churidars in the time of Sharmila Tagore, so did we in the Rani Mukerji era. As our fathers wore safari suits – oh, no, wait. Thank God (and Manish Malhotra).

But in the museum of Bollywood design history, there will be a limit to the yards of chiffon drapage and tight churidars they can showcase. Bollywood has continually redefined our sense of self with accessories that stand apart in the history of costume design: the shoes, the jewellery, and sometimes the bags. Future generations may even find these important signifiers of our mental health. What could explain how large numbers of Indians suddenly began to sport baseball caps in 1989 – oncoming economic liberalisation? No, it was Maine Pyar Kiya: the machine-stitched word ‘FRIEND’ was a must on these symbols of a nation’s affection for Salman Khan (who, ironically, did not need caps to cover his hairline in 1989) and Bhagyashree. Some fans may have gone ahead to acquire messenger pigeons, too.

Only love can bring this out in us. Men, in particular, become fashion victims in a way that women rarely do. Madhuri Dixit’s ultra-violet backless choli in Hum Aapke Hain Koun...! sent shockwaves through the sisterhood of blouse-wearers through India, but as a work of fashion it stood on its own (the heavy gold embroidery may have helped with that). Kajol reclaiming that frump-magnet, the lycra hairband, in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, sparked off a mini-revolution among teenage girls in 1997. But only the boys could have fallen hard for the other astonishing accessory from this landmark film: the shiny, pendant ‘COOL’ necklace, meant to signify supreme stud status for Shah Rukh Khan. It didn’t work, but who was going to tell the men that?

Of course, succeeding years have indeed conflated this love with economic liberalisation, capitalising on our Bollywood fads with the introduction of merchandising for Bollywood films. Those caps, chains and love-bracelets aren’t hawked at street corners and in ‘novelty stores’ anymore, but packaged and dissimilated through the gigantic market of the multiplex, part of the assembly line of Bollywood enterprise. Will they ever attain immortality? Probably not. Not every accessory can be a black umbrella with a soaking-wet Raj Kapoor and Nargis under it. Sometimes, a ‘FRIEND’ isn’t forever.

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