Adeeba Jamal, TwoCircles.net
New Delhi: It all started subtly. A television screen. In 2014, a private entertainment channel – Zee Zindagi – entered India. The channel became the real catalyst. Pakistani dramas were broadcast on screen and soulful narratives layered not just with makeup, but with meaning. The woman walked into the frame and simply existed.
Over time, Indian audiences, especially women, developed a profound obsession with the language spoken in these Pakistani serials – Urdu, filled with nazakat (elegance or grace) and adab (respect or etiquette). But it does not stop at the language. Indians found themselves influenced by the entire aesthetic of Pakistani dramas. In Indian living rooms, where televisions often dazzled with exaggerated plots and high-pitched emotion, a different kind of story slipped in and quietly took hold. And with such quiet presence, a new idea of beauty emerged.
Despite the division, India and Pakistan share a kind of cultural DNA that does not fade with time. The anguish of partition and the longing for home are wounds both nations carry in silence. The similarities in language, food, rituals and clothing bind the two in a shared tapestry of history. The alleys of Lahore and the lanes of Purani Dilli whisper the same nostalgia. From the ink of Faiz to that of Manto, it is clear – no border can truly divide what was once one soul, now split into two.
It is this closeness that allows a woman in Jaipur to see herself in a character from Karachi to watch a serial set in Lahore and feel as though the story was made for her too.
In a world where news headlines deepen divisions and politics draw lines, women’s clothing choices quietly erase them. Pakistani suits have become an unspoken language of admiration in India – finding their way into wardrobes with a presence that is gentle and undeniable. These suits have transcended fashion trends to become something deeper – a silent and persuasive form of soft power.
At a time when cross-border tensions remain rigid, fashion has taken another route – threading familiarity into every stitch. From everyday streets to bridal stores, Pakistani suits now stand as an assertion of identity and comfort.
What draws Indian women to these suits is not merely the cut or the fabric, it is a shared subcontinental memory. Perhaps, it is an inherited nostalgia.
Analogously, in the bustling lanes of Lajpat Nagar and Chandni Chowk, soft pastel lawns with intricate detailing are being chosen over heavy zardozi. The embroidery is subtle and the fabric light, whispering understated elegance. And the tag reads, “100% authentic Pakistani fabric.”
That single nod of approval from a buyer echoes far beyond the changing room.
“Customers often walk in with screenshots and ask, ‘Bhaiya, aisa hi bana do (Please make it exactly like this),’” says a boutique owner from Chandni Chowk.
A shop owner from Chitli Qabar market says that women have started choosing Pakistani suits over Indian styles because of their detailed lace sleeves, daaman (hem or lower border) and full coverage.
“Indian wear has its own pehchaan (identity), but women today are more drawn to Pakistani suits – what they see on screen, they want to become. And dressing like them is how they are able to create a connection,” he says.
Television, specifically Pakistani dramas, has played a pivotal role in popularising this aesthetic. Indian serials may have long dominated the television space, often stretching stories into never-ending emotional marathons with exaggerated costumes and dramatic zoom-ins, catering to a certain escapist fantasy. In contrast, Pakistani serials offer a restrained polish.
Due to bans and diplomatic tensions, Pakistani channels were officially taken off air in India. Indian women still found ways – through YouTube, unofficial streaming sites and shared links – to access the stories they longed to watch. The shift is surprising, but it challenges old loyalties and redefines what viewers now seek from their daily storytelling.
These serials are brief, usually wrapping up in 20 to 30 episodes, focusing intensely on character development. They are poetic and emotionally grounded and portray everyday struggles. Despite the borders, the cultural resonance remains powerful.
These serials have even begun to set trends in Indian wardrobes. The classic anarkalis worn by Mahira Khan in ‘Humsafar’ sparked a wave of craze among young Indian girls. It was stitched, customised and sold everywhere from street stalls to designer boutiques.
The rich silk suits worn by Ayeza Khan in ‘Mere Paas Tum Ho’ drew attention during wedding seasons. And Iqra Aziz’s heavily embroidered lehenga ignited a bridal trend across the border.
Simply put, this fashion revival is breathing new life, and perhaps new meaning, into wardrobes across India. The trend is especially popular among urban millennial and Gen Z women who seek comfort without sacrificing aesthetic value. It is not only about what looks good. In an era of heavy zardozi and bling-laden weddings, choosing natural fabrics and unforced elegance makes a quiet statement about grace, restraint and modern femininity.
At a time when politics builds walls, sometimes it is the fall of a dupatta, a lace-edged sleeve or a screen-inspired suit that reminds us – style may be stitched in different cities, but its spirit travels freely.