When the heritage-laden Kolhapuri chappal—a symbol of India’s artisanal pride—met with the polished branding of global fashion house Prada, the clash was not just of cultures but of the very concept of intellectual ownership. Yet, in the hallowed halls of the Bombay High Court, the matter seemed less about right and wrong and more about the locus of who could cry foul.
In what may appear to the layperson as a textbook David versus Goliath scenario, the Kolhapuri chappal, awarded a Geographical Indication (GI) tag in 2019, found itself allegedly replicated by Prada in the luxury label’s new men’s line of sandals, marketed with the panache expected of a global fashion brand but without any acknowledgement of its ethnic source.
At first blush, it may seem far-fetched—a European luxury house like Prada being pitted against the rustic, handcrafted Kolhapuri chappal, steeped in the cultural soil of Maharashtra and Karnataka. But beneath the patent leather sheen of global fashion lies a simmering tussle, as indigenous heritage grapples with the branding juggernaut of high fashion.
The matter, rooted in a growing unease over the unbridled commodification of India’s cultural assets, culminated in legal scrutiny when a Public Interest Litigation was filed before the Bombay High Court. The PIL levelled serious allegations against Italian luxury fashion house Prada S.p.A, asserting that the brand had commercially exploited the term ‘Kolhapuri’—a Geographical Indication (GI) protected term—by launching an identical range of leather sandals. The petition argued that such usage by a foreign corporate entity, devoid of any connection to the historical or artisanal lineage of the Kolhapuri chappal, constituted a blatant infringement of the GI status conferred on the product under Indian law.
The petitioner contended that Prada’s use of the term was not just misleading to global consumers unfamiliar with the origin of the term but also posed a grave threat to the identity, distinctiveness and market share of the authentic Kolhapuri chappals handcrafted by traditional artisans in Maharashtra and Karnataka. The concern wasn’t just about appropriation—it was about erosion. Erosion of identity. Of legacy. Of livelihood. The unchecked commodification of a traditional Indian craft by a multinational luxury giant, the petitioner argued, diluted the value of the GI itself and laid the groundwork for a global precedent where similar violations could be normalised.
However, the Bombay High Court, while not questioning the legitimacy of the concern, dismissed the petition on purely procedural grounds. The Court observed that the petitioner was neither a registered proprietor nor a recognised beneficiary under the provisions of the Geographical Indications of Goods (Registration and Protection) Act, 1999. Lacking any demonstrable personal injury or representative capacity on behalf of an aggrieved party, the petitioner, the Court held, lacked locus standi to maintain the action.
Now, while the dismissal may appear to be a technical formality to the uninitiated, in the domain of cultural intellectual property law, it signals a far deeper malaise. The ruling underscores the Achilles’ heel in India’s IP enforcement regime: procedural access. Here, even a clearly visible cultural infringement, bordering on exploitative appropriation, may remain unaddressed unless the complainant ticks a stringent set of statutory boxes. Ironically, while the GI Act was framed to protect community-held cultural products from misappropriation, the same legal regime restricts the very community from approaching the judiciary unless they are individually registered or authorised.
The Court’s stance, although legally sound, exposes a chasm in implementation—where the spirit of the law falls short of its application. The judgement highlights an urgent need for legal reform that allows public-spirited citizens or advocacy groups to act as custodians of community-owned intellectual property, especially in instances where traditional stakeholders lack the resources or the institutional support to pursue litigation. Until such progressive reforms are undertaken, cultural artefacts—no matter how significant—will remain vulnerable to corporate poaching, and the courts, though sympathetic, will remain bound by the shackles of procedural law.
The Kolhapuri chappal was registered under Application No. 169 in Class 25 (Footwear) and accorded GI status on May 4, 2009. The registered proprietors—Sant Rohidas Leather Industries and Charmakar Development Corporation Ltd. (LIDCOM) of Maharashtra and Karnataka State Leather Industries Development Corporation (LIDKAR)—hold the legal baton.
However, the GI Act is explicit: Only registered proprietors or authorised users have the standing to initiate legal action under Section 21. Any PIL, however well-meaning, must come from a legally-vested interest-holder. The High Court, in striking down the petition, underscored the sanctity of that rule—thereby reinforcing the procedural rigour expected of GI custodians.
The larger question, which remains unanswered, is whether Prada’s usage of the term Kolhapuri constitutes a deceptive trade practice. While Kolhapuri may, colloquially, denote a style of open-toe leather sandal, its GI protection restricts commercial use to those products manufactured in the notified regions of Maharashtra and Karnataka using traditional processes.
Prada’s production—presumably not made in Kolhapur nor by Charmakar artisans—could potentially violate the spirit, if not the letter, of the GI Act. The Act is meant not only to protect geographic authenticity but to ensure economic benefits reach traditional artisans.
And therein lies the paradox—global recognition with local dispossession.
LIDCOM and LIDKAR—the Sant Rohidas Leather Industries & Charmakar Development Corporation Ltd. of Maharashtra and its Karnataka counterpart, the Leather Industries Development Corporation of Karnataka Ltd.—are not merely government undertakings but custodians of an age-old artisanal tradition that traces its lineage to the very grassroots of India’s marginalised cobbler communities. As designated state instrumentalities, they shoulder the legal and moral responsibility to not just promote but defend the sanctity of the Geographical Indication (GI) status accorded to the Kolhapuri chappal, a heritage product jointly held by Maharashtra and Karnataka.
However, their role in the present controversy surrounding the luxury fashion house Prada’s alleged appropriation of the Kolhapuri design betrays a deafening silence. Despite the rising public outcry and media reportage, there is no trace of any official legal intervention—be it in the form of a cease-and-desist notice, a formal infringement proceeding, or even a publicly articulated objection—initiated by either LIDCOM or LIDKAR. Their inactivity doesn’t just reflect bureaucratic inertia; it signals a failure to uphold the very mandate under which these corporations were constituted. It creates a legal and cultural vacuum, effectively encouraging international brands to lift Indian traditional designs, rebrand them with Eurocentric marketing, and retail them globally at exponential markups, free from consequence.
This failure is compounded by the conspicuous absence of intervention from the Union Ministries that are, in fact, empowered and expected to act. The Ministry of Commerce and Industry, which oversees India’s GI Registry and intellectual property framework; the Ministry of Textiles, under whose aegis India’s crafts and artisan welfare schemes operate; and the Ministry of Micro, Small and Medium Enterprises (MSME), which vocally champions the cause of indigenous industries—all remain spectators in what is clearly a legal, cultural and diplomatic affront.
Had any of these ministries adopted a proactive stance—by initiating inquiries, issuing advisories to the GI tag holders, or even liaising with the Indian embassies abroad to raise trade concerns—the narrative might have shifted. Instead, the inertia displayed at both the state and central levels has left the matter to be reduced to a public interest litigation (PIL), filed by concerned private individuals who, while well-intentioned, were ultimately dismissed by the Bombay High Court for lacking locus standi.
What emerges is a stark disconnect: On one hand, the Government of India seeks to position traditional artisans and GI products as anchors of the “Make in India” and “Vocal for Local” campaigns. On the other, its own statutory arms and ministries fail to lift a finger when these very traditions face dilution at the hands of powerful international conglomerates. In such a vacuum, luxury fashion labels like Prada feel emboldened to repackage a Kolhapuri chappal—a symbol of centuries-old Dalit craftsmanship—as mere accessories to runway glamour, stripped of their identity, origin, and dignity.
This isn’t simply a case of cultural appropriation; it’s a case of institutional apathy dressed up in silence. And that silence, from quarters that are empowered to act, is not just unbecoming—it is complicit.
The Court’s reluctance to wade into cultural protection without solid legal footing reveals a broader judicial conservatism. Indian courts, while empathetic, remain bound by statutory mandates. The law, as it stands, prioritises authorised ownership over public emotion, and tangible harm over cultural symbolism.
That underscores the need for legislative reforms—perhaps a widened scope for representative legal action under the GI Act, or at least an empowered statutory body tasked solely with GI enforcement.
As Kolhapuri chappals walk the fine line between rustic tradition and designer mimicry, the onus falls squarely on state custodians like LIDCOM and LIDKAR to assert rights. Until they do, courts will remain restrained, and artisans will remain voiceless.
The Prada imbroglio is not merely about nomenclature. It is a battle for identity—between heritage rooted in soil and luxury stitched in boardrooms. And in this battle, the sole must not be lost to the soul.
