It’s not hard to speculate where this rumour could have originated from and why people are so enthusiastically running with it. It has become deceptively easy to run PR campaigns surrounding upcoming films, using them to stir cultural discourse. Even though Cocktail 2 director Homi Adajania has said there is a good reason behind Sanon’s now-viral ‘threesome’ dialogue from the trailer, what is more interesting is what these conversations reveal about us as a film-going audience. Films like Kabir Singh and Animal, and in the more recent past, Dhurandhar and Tere Ishk Mein, have created the kind of celluloid landsce that mainly swings between masculine hero-worship and trite rom-coms. If two girls in a movie aren’t fighting for the affection of the lone male protagonist and Bollywood is still years away from perfecting genuine female friendships on-screen, the only option is for the audience to brand them as lesbians.

Despite the history of queerness in India spanning centuries, mainstream culture has rarely paid its due to non-heteronormative stories. Since the decriminalisation of Section 377 in 2018, the queer films we have gotten have been few and far between, with Badhaai Do delving into the lavender marriage between a gay cop and a lesbian PE teacher, Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga a Punjabi woman (Sonam Koor)’s coming-out story, ‘Geeli Pucchi’ from Ajeeb Daastaan following an intercaste lesbian love story, and Chandigarh Kare Aashiqui centring the romance between a cisgender man and a transwoman (minus points casting Vaani Koor in the role) being the last few attempts.

Within mainstream culture, the lesbian still exists as a caricature to titillate the male gaze, never as an autonomous individual. Recently, Accused (2026), a film about a successful gynaecologist (Konkona Sen Sharma) facing anonymous allegations of sexual misconduct, explored the fetishistic accusations that lesbians are often slammed with for living their truth and how easily they can be turned into predators when the stigma surrounding their sexuality is weonised against them. A nuanced portrayal like that could have benefitted from a wider theatrical release, but there’s a real chance that it would not have been given the CBFC greenlight for ‘defiling Indian culture’ by showing a married Indian lesbian couple. When Deepa Mehta’s Fire released in 1996, it had passed through the censor board with no cuts. Only once it reached the masses did right-wing political parties call for a ban against the “immoral and pornogrhic” film, saying it went “against Indian tradition and culture”. Theatres were vandalised, cinema-goers were threatened. Despite the fact that Fire released 30 years ago, it is still hailed as one of the most progressive portrayals of sphic love to ever come out of Indian cinema.

What makes antique temple jewellery so special?

In school, I trained in Bharatanatyam. Serious dancers often arrived adorned in gleaming oddiyanams (belts), elaborate nethi chuttis (hair ornaments) and the unmistakable sun and moon-shed hair pins that transformed young girls into celestial goddesses. I gave up dancing, but my yearning for these mythological jewellery styles continued. As a South Indian—equal parts Tamil and Malayali, raised in Karnataka—who grew up surrounded by gold shops, displays featuring antique temple designs lured my mum and I more than diamonds ever could.

Originally crafted by artisans who melted down offerings made to deities, temple jewellery carries centuries of devotion within its ornate forms. After trickling down temple idols via meticulously made replicas, these ornaments eventually found their way into the bridal wardrobes of women across South India. The Kanjeevaram sari’s jewellery counterpart. Inspired by temple architecture, the designs feature miniature sculpted deities, flora and fauna in antique-finish gold. Regal, deeply symbolic and unologetically maximalist, for me, temple jewellery will remain the first purchase of my bridal trousseau I will make…when, then.

1. The oddiyanam, the golden cinch

The oddiyanam—a waist belt— is one temple jewellery style that is passed down as inheritance in South Indian families. Also known as an vaddanam in Telegu or kamarband in Hindi, it accentuates a sari’s pleats, transforming its silhouette. These often feature sculpted motifs of Goddess Lakshmi, rows of kemp stones and intricate repoussé work.

2. Stacked necklaces that reach the waist

Nothing says South Indian bride quite like stacking temple jewellery necklaces—starting with the shortest choker and extending down to the waist. This stack can include manga (mango) or kassa (coin) malai, or a mix of all. “Is she even a bride if she does not look like a Thrissur annai,” is a joke that loosely ctures the grandiosity of a bride from Kerala, comparing her to the majestic elephants at the Trissur Pooram festival.

Madhuri Dixit Nene’s wardrobe is a case study in making Indian wear look statement. Currently on a spree, delivering one strong look after another on the promotional tour for her latest movie, the actor turned to a ubiquitous fabric for an off-kilter look. Dixit Nene chose a pre-dred sari by Delhi-based designer Mayyur Girotra made with denim and a silk tissue blouse that deserves a second look.

The metallic blouse and the pre-pleated pallu were resplendent with embroidered floral pliqué. Those with a discerning eye can spot the return of modest blouses –like the high-neck and elbow-sleeve version seen on Dixit Nene here– that are still impactful.

For accessories, stylist Sukriti Grover paired the sari look with chandbali earrings, stacked gold bangles and a temple jewellery ring from label Motifs by Surabhi Didwania. She also added a handcrafted bag by Mumbai-based accessories deisgner Meera Mahadevia. Hair and makeup artists Sheetal F Khan and Shefali Sharma styled her hair in loose waves and kept the overall makeup subtle for beauty.

From Vogue’s fashion desk:

“Trust Madhuri Dixit to make a denim sari look elegant. The embroidery on the sari and the contrast silver blouse make the denim work as a sari. If you are choosing a similar denim sari or crafting one, pair it with a simple white tank or crop top and sneakers for an easy, everyday look,” says Divya Balakrishnan, Vogue India fashion associate.

Also read:

From gharchola to co-ords, bandhani is finding a life beyond weddings and festive wear

Madhuri Dixit Nene’s sari was naturally dyed with discarded marigold flowers

5 shoe trends from the ’80s to add to your wardrobe

The evening’s jewellery partner, GoluBhai Badalia Diamond, brought its own three-generation history into the room. Known for its focus on high-quality stones and careful selection, the brand sat naturally within the evening’s wider conversation around legacy. Across the room, fine jewellery peared in sharply different combinations: gold medallions over black necklines, antique pearls with linen, solitary diamonds against paillettes and sphires worn with navy embroidered saris. Elsewhere, emerald necklaces were worn with green gowns. Across the evening, inherited and fine jewellery was no longer confined to expected weddingwear pairings. It moved through black evening looks, embroidered saris, linen separates and gowns with much greater range.

For Jaya Raheja, legacy came into focus through a piece she still wears: her grandmother’s diamond solitaire pendant, given to her at her wedding. Her answers elsewhere made clear that her own bridal instincts still tilt traditional. “For me, a wedding is always going to be red,” she said, describing her ideal look as “a traditional red lehenga or a sari.” When asked about jewellery, she was equally certain. “Emerald for me,” she said, adding that she prefers a single statement piece. Her response gave the evening one of its clearest ideas: inheritance still matters, but so does the edit each person brings to it.

That tension between recognisable bridal codes and more individual styling choices returned elsewhere in the room. Makeup artist Shradha Luthra described her bridal proach as “minimal magic”, adding that brides now want to look like themselves, just “a little more enhanced”. She also pointed to the return of red this season, a shift that echoed Raheja and suggested that older bridal references are being revisited with a different sensibility rather than simply repeated.

Other guests spoke about legacy through adtation as much as inheritance. Filmmaker Himanshu Patel described the modern Indian wedding in one word as “reinvention”, arguing for “a modern touch” to old traditions. His answer widened the conversation beyond objects. Legacy, in this version, depends not only on what is handed down, but on how people continue to use it, wear it and revise it.

By the end of the evening, Mumbai offered a view of wedding style that treated legacy as something living rather than static. It could be found in diamond pendants passed down through family, in red bridal dressing returning to favour, in heritage jewels worn with newer silhouettes and in the confidence to proach all of it with a more personal point of view.