Thank you, HT photographer Amlan Dutta, for capturing this photograph of Kajol arriving at the premiere of Baabul on December 6.

As the peanut gallery gossips behind her, Kajol smiles through her pain -- and calls her publicist.

"Hi, Hari. I thought you told me ponchos were still an acceptable substitute for a chic shawl. It's bloody cold, but I wanted to look sexy, and yet I hear whispers that umpteen yards of polyester strung together in a fringed chain mail is something of a faux pas. Furthermore, your advice on the bag covered in disarrayed pailletes? Crap. Finally, a waistband, ankle bands, and billowing cotton/spandex are nary a substitute for proper pants. In other words, you're fired."

Pantsless fug

Alright. I can overlook the fact that the person who wrote the headline considers these women as adorned with "a bit of glitter" -- the pink outfit, though perhaps not immediately apparent from my poor reproduction of the picture, appears to have been constructed nearly entirely from the remains of a disco ball repurposed after the dismantling of Delhi's latest passe party place. Also disturbing, but not entirely unnerving, are the hairpieces that the women have been styled in: detachable buns styled as if these dainty flowers have just disembarked from a cross-city jaunt on an Enfield or Bajaj scooter.

No, what bothers me most is the nearly nude...churidar? Footless tights? Leggings? The top is an appropriate (if more-than-slightly tacky) dress, but coupling it with some bastard stepchild of Mary Kate Olsen's skintight retro capris and the traditional Indian bottom is confounding, to say the least. Furthermore, if you're so intent on making this the next big thing, why not, at the very least, make the untoward garment the color of the darker stripe, so as to prevent our fine but perhaps more Simpsons-esque sisters the embarrassment of explaining that yes, they are indeed wearing pants?

Fugging Indian fashion

In the grand tradition of incredibly important blogs such as Go Fug Yourself and Manolo's Shoe Blog, I present a new (intermittent) series, provisionally entitled "Fugging Indian Fashion." I am not sartorially gifted. I nearly always look rumpled and occasionally, I have wardrobe malfunctions: once when I was in a high school concert as the first-chair flute, I wore a tight white shirt with only a lacy white push-up underneath, and a button failed in front of a horrified audience of about 100 well wishers. Perhaps I am not qualified to critique the fashions of others. However, India presents a unique challenge: so many beautiful people, such horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE style. Never before have I met someone who thought it appropriate to wear a bright blue T-shirt bearing the word "FUCK" -- in 200-point Helvetica, no less! -- on casual Friday at a Very Important Multinational Company. My first victim is Sarah Jane, a VJ on what I presume is an MTV imitator (though she might, indeed, work for the desi MTV). Inappropriately placed vinyl belt? Check. Jaunty, albeit ill-fitting, capris over textured tights, conspiring to make a lovely, perfectly sized girl look like an obese leprechaun? Check. White shoes after Labor Day? Check. Superfluous laces? Check. Seriously, check out her expression. Even she doesn't buy what she's wearing.