Sarees in Switzerland and what we can learn from them

Somewhere along the two-hour ride on the Swiss Golden Pass Railway from Lucerne to Interlaken, the sun disappeared behind the clouds and raindrops began pelting the windows. They complemented the crash of the waterfalls surrounding us as my dad insisted that Lonavala during the monsoon season looked exactly like Switzerland. 

My mother, peering out through the window, yearned for the samosa-chai comfort meal of Mumbai rains (I say my mother, but rest assured I was thinking it too) and lo and behold, it was almost like she spoke it into existence: engulfed by the crisp chill of the mountainous air as we deboarded the train, the first thing within eyesight was an advertisement written in Hinglish, for a certain Sharma ji’s samosas, sold at the train station. So good, apparently, that eating them would make you orgasm (their words, not mine). 

Sharma-ji’s samosas — something that would be an uninteresting and commonplace sighting in India — made for a certainly unusual first sight in Switzerland, and perhaps serves as a testament to the sheer degree of influence the Hindi film industry exerts worldwide. The blend of cultures is an interesting thing to observe, but even more so in the typically homogenous places you wouldn’t expect to observe this syncretism. 

The Swiss scene is actually a universal hallmark of traditional Bollywood cinema. Something about a heroine twirling around in a striking monochrome saree amidst the backdrop of the Alps is a cultural stronghold that united generations of South Asians — be it Kajol expressing her love in a state of inebriation to Shah Rukh Khan in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, or Sridevi falling in love with Rishi Kapoor in Chandni. Bollywood Swiss scenes are guided only by a vague template; aside from a heroine frolicking in the lush greenery (or snow), no other detail must strictly repeat through different films (aside from being in Switzerland, of course). Oftentimes, however, these scenes are dance sequences that don’t particularly make chronological or geographic sense to the film they’re in, but they serve as a brief Eden-like escape from the norm and thus are intrinsic to popular cinema culture in India. And so, if you ask almost any South Asian, they’ll be able to tell you that the color of Kajol’s dress in this song is red and that Sridevi’s iconic chiffon saree is a sunshine shade of yellow — outfits that both heroines don in Gstaad, Lake Lauenen and Jungfraujoch, the iconic alpine towns of Switzerland. 

Hindi cinema has such a strong hold on Indian tourists that thousands flock to Switzerland’s Mount Titlis to recreate their own Raj and Simran moment from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge while sipping garam masala chai with vada pav to sustain their extensive photo-ops amidst the mountainous chill, and in response to their enthusiasm, the city Interlaken awarded filmmaker Yash Chopra with a statue along with the title of Ambassador. A symbiotic relationship, then, that cannot be mistaken for otherwise. 

Aside from the beauty of this cultural diffusion, the Swiss scene holds several lessons we can apply in our own lives — especially those of us gearing up for a Chicago winter. Just hear me out. 

For the target audience of these films, the sudden shift in atmosphere can be chalked up to a director’s decision to create a fascination with the foreign; to glamorize all that’s not quotidian in an effort to allow viewers to escape their reality of monsoons, humidity, and egregiously hot temperatures. For members of the Western diaspora (or anyone living in the West, really) who are far more accustomed to beds of snow and ice lurking in the shadows, the magic of these musical sequences is juxtaposed with what is often considered as “bad” weather is representative of a grass-is-greener syndrome that must be consciously challenged. Both parties fall victim to it; just as India has a fascination with the cold and fair, there’s a Western draw to warmth and tans. 

But, viewing the Swiss sequence as a member of the non-target audience can serve as a reminder to find the beauty in what we are quick to write off. Wherein several Western audience members see desolation in snow and frigid temperatures, South Asian audience members perceive allure, entranced by the beauty of the unfamiliar environment. Especially now, as midwesterners prepare for the notorious Chicago winter, it’s almost a constant struggle to balance warmth and aesthetics (of course it come back to wardrobe — this is a fashion magazine after all), and I find myself unable to shirk the unease at surrendering style for an unlikeable forecast. Shattering this mentality is crucial. 

The simplicity of these outfits adds a deeper layer to this lesson. Oftentimes, the chiffon sarees (or dresses) these actresses don are just one color with a simple blouse — no patterning or adventurous, decollete necklines. The energy that exudes from the garment is highlighted through this simplicity — think of the joy that accompanies a sunny winter’s day. It doesn’t take much to romanticize what you’re not currently experiencing — hence our desperate calls for the summer heat (albeit just as excruciating) amidst sub-zero temperatures, or vice versa. The simplicity of these outfits speaks to how little it takes for us to glamorize what we don’t experience. So why can’t we draw inspiration from Yash Chopra films and create our very own personal dream sequence? The monochrome sarees and simple blouses should inspire our own simple endeavors to foster optimism during dreary periods; it doesn’t need to be elaborate or flamboyant. 

Now, I refuse to say that blah days aren’t inevitable (I’ve donned sweatpants far more times than I’m willing to admit — this is a quarter system school after all), but a conscious effort to bring out the cheerier pieces infuses an energy that often ceases to exist amidst the perceived dreariness of our surroundings.