From dressing Bollywood’s most unforgettable villains to crafting the signature looks of India's political elite, Madhav Agasti, 76, has spent over five decades quietly shaping the public images of some of the country's most powerful figures.
 
Now, his unusual journey is chronicled in the new memoir, ‘Stitching Stardom: For Icons, On and Offscreen’ (Penguin Enterprise), with a foreword by Devendra Fadnavis. 

Agasti takes readers on a journey through his remarkable career as a renowned men’s dress designer. From his humble beginnings in Mumbai with no formal training, his story is one of perseverance, passion, and adaptability. Known for his work in Bollywood, where he designed costumes for over 350 films—including the iconic villain Mogambo in ‘Mr India’ (1987)—and for some of India’s most influential political figures including Pranab Mukherjee,  Ram Nath Kovind and Devendra Fadnavis, Agasti’s life is a testament to the power of following one’s dreams against all odds.

Through vivid anecdotes, behind-the-scenes glimpses, and heartfelt reflections, Agasti offers a unique perspective on the hidden world of fame and power—from the tailor’s chair. 

Here is an excerpt from the book:

Of PMs and Presidents

It was a routine day at my Bandra store in the early ’90s. I was inspecting some clothes that were meant to be delivered, while my staff was attending to a few customers. Pandemonium struck out of nowhere when an Inspector arrived, asking for my whereabouts. ‘I am Madhav Agasti,’ I told the agitated inspector, who spoke sternly with me. ‘Why are you ignoring calls from the PM’s office? They have been trying to reach you for days,’ he explained. Perplexed at what I had heard, I told him I would not dare to do such a thing. The Inspector from the Bandra police station, however, insisted that I needed to return the call immediately.

It then struck me that what I thought was a bluff was indeed the reality! Only a day or two prior to the Inspector’s uninvited visit, there had been a phone call on my store’s landline number. The person on the other side had said that the PM wanted to speak with me. Since there were no mobile phones in those days, it was difficult to ascertain who was making the call. One did not even have the number flashing on the phone. I had laughed it off, thinking it was a prank. A similar call had come later as well, but I ignored that too with the assumption that someone from the film industry (I was majorly designing clothes for members of the fraternity then) was trying to take the mickey out of me. My staffers also insisted that this could not be true, and said that someone was joking with me. It was only when the Inspector questioned me about it that I took the matter seriously.

Within minutes, I called the number he had shared with me. And to my surprise and honour, it turned out to be the PM’s office. The person at the other end, Ram Khandekar, told me that P.V. Narasimha Rao wanted his clothes designed by me, and that I should fly to Delhi immediately. Rao was PM between 1991 and 1996, but I had known him way before that. He had contested the 1984 and 1991 Lok Sabha elections from Ramtek in Nagpur, where I had initially met him. Unfortunately, we had lost touch for a while. Just before he was sworn in as PM, a businessman named J.K. Malhotra (also my customer) had reminded the Congress leader about me. That’s when he had asked Khandekar, who was his personal assistant, to connect with me.

Khandekar was a friend as well, and I asked him to accompany me when I went to meet the PM. Rao was an unassuming man with simple sartorial tastes. He liked a silk dhoti–kurta combination and would complement that with a shawl. Sometimes, he would insist on silk jackets. His favourite colour was cream, and he would want his kurta in that shade to go with a white dhoti. When it came to jackets, he preferred brownish colours. Whenever he would go on his foreign visits, he would ask me to design bandhgala suits for him. He enjoyed wearing those.

Rao was an extremely intelligent person, who had knowledge of twelve languages. He was so busy every day that I would get his appointment either at 6 a.m. or at midnight. Invariably, he would be exercising on his static cycle whenever we would meet to discuss his preference for clothes. He worked with me till he breathed his last breath in 2004. In 2024, he was posthumously awarded the Bharat Ratna.

Another senior leader who was bestowed with the Bharat Ratna in 2024 was L. K. Advani. The former deputy PM of India, minister of home affairs, and leader of the Opposition was one of my most celebrated clients. Quiet, calm, sober, humble, and a man of a few words, the BJP stalwart was a studious person and a great observer. He himself did not have much of a say as far as his clothes were concerned. Those decisions were taken mostly by his daughter Pratibha and his wife Kamala.



I had given Advani a three-button jacket and that eventually became his patent style. He liked it immensely, and would want me to model everything around that pattern. He wasn’t fussy at all and would happily wear whatever his wife and daughter would select for him. The four of us would talk about family life and children, and not even veer towards politics in our conversations. In fact, Advani liked watching movies; he was a huge film buff. Advani once expressed his desire to watch Salman Khan’s mega hit ‘Maine Pyar Kiya’ that had become a rage since its release in December 1989. Since I was closely involved with the film industry, I spoke to a few people at Rajshri Productions (the distributors of the film) and got the movie screened for him in New Delhi. They had sent some reels and video cassettes to the BJP leader. Likewise, he wanted to see a movie on Sardar Patel that had Paresh Rawal in the lead role. Rawal was my friend, so I got that arranged for Advani too.

* * *

I have worked with a multitude of politicians over the years. And then I had the opportunity to design clothes for people who held some of the highest posts in the country—PMs, deputy PMs, presidents, governors. The commonality among them was that their public outfit became their regular one as well. They rarely experimented with other clothes when they were not in office. Somehow, it did not suit their personality, and they didn’t want to be seen in any ‘different’ attire either. It helped them with their image and public persona. All of them were thorough professionals, though. They were punctual, listened to what I had to say, and accepted all suggestions with utmost humility. At no point did they brag about their position or power. I had fantastic relationships with all of them; some became personal, while a few others remained professional. What was amazing about most of them was that they were particular about the food they ate, and their exercise regime. As a result, their measurements wouldn’t change. I just had to note them down once and follow the same. Rarely did I have to go back to someone.

Pranab Mukherjee did not like tight outfits; he would wear loose clothes and opted for dark shades. Sometimes, though, he would like to wear an off-white bandhgala suit. Farooq Abdullah and Sharad Pawar had introduced me to the late president.

I remember an interesting incident related to Mukherjee. When he became the president in 2012, he asked me to design a sherwani for his oath-taking ceremony. Oblivious to his knowledge, however, his son had also bought a sherwani for him from elsewhere for the occasion. When I got to know about it, I told the senior Congress statesman to opt for what his son had got. ‘I have been designing clothes for you for several years, and will continue doing that,’ I told him. He, however, refused to listen to me and said he would only wear what I had made. Mukherjee, who passed away in 2020, was in touch with me till the very end.

[The excerpt reproduced with the permission of the publishers.]