Written by Kumar Kartikeya
The Kerala High Court recently pulled up the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) for blocking the release of the film Janaki vs State of Kerala. By doing the same, it did more than merely resolve a regulatory delay; it exposed a constitutional fault line. The film had been reportedly withheld for over two months without any cogent justification. The CBFC had objected to the film’s title, asking why it used the name Janaki which is mythologically associated with the goddess Sita, when the content dealt with a woman who was assaulted and took up a legal fight against the state. The court observed that merely naming a character Janaki does not amount to denigrating a deity, and sternly reminded the CBFC that its role is not to moralise or second-guess artistic choices. The controversy surrounding Janaki vs State of Kerala is just the tip of the iceberg in a broader and deepening crisis of censorship in India’s film industry where constitutional limits are increasingly being replaced by cultural paranoia.
The Janaki vs State of Kerala case joins a growing list of instances where the CBFC appears more committed to protecting majoritarian sentiments and political optics than upholding the right to free expression for artists. Films are being evaluated not on whether they meet statutory standards, but on whether they make some people uncomfortable.
“Cinema is the mirror of society,” Satyajit Ray once said, and like all good mirrors, it is bound to reflect blemishes, contradictions, and inconvenient truths. Today, that mirror is being compulsively polished by the censor board until only a flattering, sanitised reflection remains, or worse, one that serves an image of a certain ideology. The CBFC, once imagined as a certifying body, now functions less as a certifying authority and more as an ideological and moral censor.
The CBFC draws its authority from the Cinematograph Act, 1952, which empowers it to certify films under categories like U, UA, A, and S. But in practice, this statutory role has mutated into an expansive censorship regime. The Board routinely demands edits, cuts, and modifications often based on vague standards and unwritten objections. This is a dangerous deviation from the law’s original purpose. The CBFC’s job is to classify content for viewer suitability, not to purge films of dissent, critique, or emotional complexity.
In K A Abbas vs Union of India (1970), the Supreme Court upheld the constitutionality of film censorship, but made it clear that any restriction must be reasonable, necessary, and proportionate. In Shankarappa (2001), the Court warned that once an appellate authority clears a film, the government must step aside. Yet, indirect censorship continues through delays, opaque objections, and bureaucratic silence.
If political sensitivities drive one half of censorship and moral anxieties drive the other, then cinema can never fully depict the realities of society. The CBFC routinely asks to blur, cut, or ban content based on what it vaguely deems to offend Indian culture. Films that challenge social conventions on gender, caste, sexuality, or religion often face disproportionate scrutiny. The refusal to clear Lipstick Under My Burkha in 2017 for being “lady-oriented” was not an aberration but a pattern. The Bombay High Court rightly overruled the CBFC, but the message was clear: Films that challenge existing power structures will be made to wait, or worse, whittled down until they are safe to screen. Even the internet, once imagined as a free space for expression, is now being drawn into the censorship net. Over-the-top (OTT) platforms are subject to the Information Technology Rules, 2021, which require them to comply with an undefined code of ethics and a grievance redressal framework.
But in a constitutional democracy, offence alone cannot justify suppression. Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution guarantees the right to freedom of speech and expression. While Article 19(2) allows reasonable restrictions, they must relate directly to public order, decency, morality, or the sovereignty of India not discomfort with truth or ideological deviation. Content that incites violence, promotes child abuse, or disrupts public peace can and should be regulated. But discomfort is not danger. And disagreement is not disloyalty.
The CBFC’s current approach creates a dangerous chilling effect. Filmmakers increasingly self-censor to avoid costly delays, negative publicity, or financial risk. Scripts are rewritten, themes diluted, and visuals edited — all before a single frame reaches the audience. The result is not safer cinema, but blander art. When the state decides what is acceptable, art loses its ability to challenge, provoke, or inspire. What remains is not a mirror of society but a projection of power.
The CBFC requires major reform. Its mandate must be strictly limited to preventing content that violates constitutional thresholds such as incitement to violence, child pornography, or extreme obscenity. Nothing more. Most importantly, viewers must be respected as capable citizens, not children in need of protection from adult realities.
In censoring the stories we tell, we distort the stories we live through. The CBFC’s job is not to make reality palatable, but to let cinema reflect it, honestly and completely. The more we hide from truth in art, the less we recognise ourselves in society. Discomfort, in a democracy, is not a threat. It is a necessity. And a censor board that fears the truth is not protecting culture, it is impoverishing it.
The writer is a lawyer and legal researcher based in Delhi
