Among many of South Bombay’s unique attractions is the almost time-machinesque prevalence of shops, bazaars, and boutiques catering to proper 20th-century life; rows upon rows of shops where antiques, HAM radios, vintage posters and the like gather dust. In between these locales, it's common to find one of my personal favourite hallmarks of this era; the humble watchsmith’s shop. 

Little has changed for these places over the years. My first visit to one in my early teens—a tiny cubicle on Dadar’s LJ Road—was a curious experience. Now, about fifteen years on, I find myself in front of Dadar station with a much newer watch, in front of an even older shop. While the ancient man behind the counter quickly handled the battery change I asked for and remarked on my age, I caught a glimpse of his watch. It was a battered grey-dial HMT.  

For many Indians, the first brush with watches was through this very brand, one that has now become synonymous with nostalgia. Aditya Sambhare, an architect-turned-watchmaker with a deep love for vintage timepieces, recalls a time when HMT was the pinnacle of watch ownership in India. “I remember only HMT being in my mind space. My dad had an HMT, my mom had an HMT, my grandfather had an HMT,” he shares. HMT watches were not just timepieces; they were symbols of reliability and precision in a country that, at the time, had limited access to global products. “India has had a complex relationship with watches,” echoes fellow watchmaker, horologist, and HMT collector Vikram Narula. “In the 1970s, the government decided to protect HMT by banning all imports, which led to a lot of smuggling. Brands like Rado collaborated with Indian companies to produce watches labelled ‘India Made,’ even though they were Swiss made. This was a way to navigate the restrictions,” he shares.  

As both men point out, HMT was a product of its time—one marked by limited choices and a lack of competition. “In all their 50–60-year history, what innovation did HMT do?” questions Sambhare. They put different names on dials. Did they do anything to increase the accuracy of that movement? I have seen the earliest HMT movements, which were so beautifully built, and then the later products where there was a watering down of the quality," he explains. “Just make an HMT Aditya, make an HMT Dilip, so people will say, "If it’s my name, I'll take it." That works in a monopoly. But when you open up, bigger, faster, more agile players come in, and then you are dead in the water.” 

Sambhare’s reflections on traditional watchmaking practices offer a valuable insight into this period. A self-taught watchmaker who honed his skills through online forums during the early days of the Internet, he holds a critical view of the street-side watchmakers we’ve encountered over the years; a motley crew of remnants from the ustad-shagird traditions of Indian craftsmanship. He describes the approach to watch repair in much of India’s past as rudimentary, comparing it to a doctor who treats a headache with a quick-fix Crocin. “A good doctor will say, ‘Okay, what's wrong? Did you fall?’ He’s not just treating the symptom; he’s addressing the underlying problem. So, I used to have a negative view of that kind of repair work,” Aditya explains. This perspective shifted as he considered the broader context of the time. “When these people were around, we were a much poorer country,” he notes. The economic constraints of the period meant that customers often couldn't afford a full rebuild or comprehensive service for their watches. “Before 1991, when we opened up, we were very different; we were a closed country. There was no Internet, and we didn't have much contact with the rest of the world. So how would these traditions of repair and ownership come here?” he questions. 

Reflecting on the resilience and ingenuity of those early watchmakers, Aditya acknowledges, “Now they’re a product of their circumstances in a way... if you look at it this way, I will say they were supermen.” Despite the lack of tools and resources, these watchmakers managed to sustain their businesses and maintain the functionality of countless timepieces with minimal resources. “In those days, a watch was like a great acquisition which you took care of, right? You had to catch that train or that bus,” Aditya recalls. The importance of a reliable timepiece was paramount in an era when, as he humorously points out, “you had to catch that 10:17 from Dadar, right? You couldn't go there at 10:18.” 

As India opened its fiscal borders, stocks boomed, fortunes rose, and employment reached new echelons as 90s kids were birthed into a new era of Indian consumerism. This shift marked the beginning of a transformation in the Indian watch market, setting the stage for the arrival of new players. 

Titan emerged as a formidable player during this period, forever changing the perception of watches in India. “I remember the first range was called the Acura range, and my brother went and bought two—one for me and one for himself,” continues Sambhare. “I still have them somewhere. So that just changed everything. Watches became more affordable and more reliable. Because they were more affordable, you could have more than one,” he says, echoing the mass market evolution of watches from tools to luxury goods. 

“The 1990s were a boom time for Titan. We saw double-digit growth year-on-year, with sales skyrocketing as more consumers embraced the idea of owning multiple watches for different occasions,” says Mahendra Singh Chauhan, Titan’s Head of Design. According to him, Titan’s entry into the market democratised watch ownership in India, making it accessible to the masses while also setting new standards for quality and design; at least within the formal sector, over 50 per cent of wristwatches owned in India are made by Titan. “By the mid-’90s, Titan had become a household name; owning a Titan watch was almost a status symbol,” notes Narula. This surge in popularity was not just due to the affordability of Titan watches, but also their innovative designs that resonated with the evolving tastes of Indian consumers. 

While Titan pushed the boundaries of innovation through the 2000s, a parallel movement was gaining traction—one steeped in nostalgia. The retro-revival of HMT watches, despite the brand’s technical stagnation, speaks volumes about the emotional connection many Indians still have with these timepieces. Take Narula’s story, for example. After hearing about HMT’s closure in the mid 2010s, he decided to purchase as many watches as he could, snatching up collections while on spirited motorcycle trips, eventually amassing a significant collection. “I knew someone from HMT's factory and bought around 50 or 60 watches, thinking I’d become a big collector,” Narula shares, laughing at the self-confessed naivete of his early collecting days. “Some collectors start with HMTs and move on to big Swiss brands as they become more successful. Others accumulate hundreds of [HMT] watches before realising that not all of them will hold value. There’s a lot of peer pressure, especially with social media, where influencers hype up certain watches.” 

Social media, particularly Instagram, has undeniably impacted India’s modern watchmaking landscape, influencing trends and setting the tone for what’s hot in the market. Where once those looking to sport an HMT dial would sift through crowds at Delhi’s Khan Market or Mumbai’s Bhindi Bazaar, Instagram accounts have now sprung up by the dozen, offering repainted HMT watches (as well as a few originals) in the affordable sub-3000-rupee category. It’s the bright colours, pastel shades, and retro-desi appeal that seem to draw in buyers—pieces that once languished in dusty drawers now find themselves coveted online. 

This revival isn’t just about the watches. It’s also about what they represent—a tangible link to the past. "For a generation of Indians, HMT was more than just a watch brand; it was part of our cultural fabric. The retro-revival taps into that nostalgia," says Sambhare. But he also expresses concern over the rise of so-called ‘Frankenstein’ watches, where original parts are replaced or repainted, compromising the authenticity of these timepieces. “I have a dim view of all of this. My point is that if you want to create something, put your name on it. Don’t piggyback on some other brand name. Again, I'm not judging anyone else, but I see, if I'm buying a 1955 Omega, I want a 1955 Omega. Even if the dial is patinated, I want the dial made in 1955. I don’t want someone in 2024’s interpretation of what Omega made in 1955. I’ll put it this way: you wouldn’t want to put your grandmother in a bikini, would you?” he chuckles. “I think it’s not just about owning a watch; it’s about owning a piece of history,” Narula adds. This sentiment is shared by many who are drawn to HMT, not just for its aesthetic value but for the stories each timepiece holds.” 

In recent years, the narrative around watchmaking in India has shifted from merely keeping time to telling stories. This is reflected in the growing trend of microbrands and independent watchmakers carving out niches by creating timepieces that resonate on a personal and cultural level. Indian watchmaking is a rich tapestry, woven from the threads of its past and the innovations of its present. As the industry continues to grow and evolve, it carries with it the stories of a nation—a nation that values both the precision of a perfectly crafted movement and the memories that a well-loved watch can hold. Whether it’s the cutting-edge designs of Titan or the timeless appeal of HMT, one thing is certain: the future of Indian watchmaking is bright, and its legacy is here to stay.