NOT BY EMERGENCY ALONE

An Unending Saga of Political Repression and Content Control

Someswar Bhowmik
Abstract
In so far as the delivery and reception of the film medium in India is concerned, the
Emergency of 1975-77 can hardly be considered a watershed. There has been very little
difference in the process of political engagement between the film medium and the State or
polity during the pre-Emergency and post-Emergency periods. This engagement has been
totally dominated by the operation of film censorship.
For the film medium in India the real watershed was the Indian Cinematograph Act 1952,
which not only replaced the Indian Cinematograph Act 1918, but retained the system of film
censorship introduced by the British, with all its political agenda.
But while the film censorship machinery takes extra care in camouflaging its political agenda
during “normal” times, during the Emergency the State acted carefree.
Regarding the operation of film censorship, Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution, giving
Indian citizens Right to Freedom of Speech and Expression, is practically superseded by the
Special Powers conferred on the State by the Cinematograph Act 1952 to be manipulated at
its pleasure.
Even without any formal declaration of Emergency, the medium is constantly under a dark
shadow reminiscent of those nineteen months.
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THE PHENOMENON
Post-Independence, India has witnessed (political) emergency being declared thrice.
However, the term Emergency invariably evokes memory of the third and most controversial
of these three instances so far—between 25 June 1975 and 21 March 1977. It was imposed
during the reign of Mrs. Indira Gandhi as the Prime Minister and based on perceived
imminent threats (both internal and external) to the Indian state and polity. To ward off those
threats, the regime promptly suspended citizens’ rights under Articles 14 (Equality before the
law), 21 (Right to Life and Personal Liberty), and 22 (Rights of persons arrested or detained)
of the Constitution. This was followed by suspension of Article 19. While it guarantees
fundamental rights of free speech and expression, peaceful assembly, associations and unions,
freedom of movement, freedom to hold and dispose of property in any part of the country,
and freedom to practice any profession, occupation, or trade, it also enumerates limitations on
these freedoms, terming these as “reasonable restrictions”.
However, Emergency witnessed complete cessation of the fundamental rights on the pretext
of three major considerations: (1) economic productivity and social justice were more
important than civil liberties and freedom of expression; (2) the media and sections of people
in India were seriously hindering the State’s efforts to promote economic productivity and
social justice; and (3) a drastic contraction of civil liberties and press rights would advance
the State's ability to promote those causes.

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The worst sufferer amongst the media during Emergency was the print medium, which was
free from any measure of content control by the government after Independence. The State
promptly imposed stringent pre-censorship under the Defence and Internal Security of India
Rules (DISIR) on June 26, 1975, a day after the proclamation of the Emergency. It also scaled
up the indirect methods of manipulation, by: (1) denying allocation of government
advertising and newsprint; (2) forcible merger of news agencies; (3) threatening newspaper
publishers, journalists, and individual shareholders, both directly and indirectly; (4) detaining
and arresting Indian journalists and deporting foreign ones, (5) seizing presses, and (6)
cancelling Certificate of Registration of newspapers and periodicals and forfeiting security
deposit.
Fortunately, the phase of pre-censorship of press was short-lived. It was lifted after the
surprise declaration of snap parliamentary elections, which Mrs. Gandhi lost resoundingly. A
new coalition government restored with immediate effect the fundamental rights and civil
liberties that were curtailed during the Emergency. Within six months after coming to power
at the centre, it also published a “White Paper on the Misuse of Media during the
Emergency”1. True to its name its focussed only on some temporary aberration perpetrated by
a short-lived dispensation. This may be true of the press, but it is a false narrative, so far as
the film medium is concerned.
Generally, any cultural dissemination is a direct transaction involving the messenger
(author/creator) and receiver (reader/audience/connoisseur). However, in the realm of film
culture in India, the State foils this direct transaction by filtering and often sanitising the
message before allowing it to be placed in the public domain. This is pre-censorship of film.
Cinema in India has suffered more than a century of pre-censorship, out of which close to
eight decades have elapsed in the post-Independence era. This era has unfolded a complex
saga of the Indian State keeping the cinematic medium in chains despite granting its citizens
constitutionally protected right to free speech and expression. And its application so far has
generated a long list of serious abuses—of bureaucratic prerogative, of official position, of
constitutional leverage—for political purpose.
One has therefore to contextualise the Emergency of 1975-77 vis-à-vis the film censorship
machinery in India. Unlike in the press, neither pre-censorship of films nor political control
of cinema was an Emergency-specific phenomenon. Truth be told, political narratives have
unfolded in myriad and diverse forms on either side of the Emergency. The Emergency was
just a microcosm of the State’s political machinations with cinema.

STATE SURVEILLANCE OF FILMS BEFORE EMERGENCY

The most intriguing feature of film censorship in India is that it has straddled both the
colonial era and the post-colonial one without break.
Film censorship was introduced in 1920 under the aegis of Indian Cinematograph Act 1918.
The then British rulers were determined that cinema should serve, unflinchingly, their
colonial interests.
The philosophy of film censorship in pre-independence India evinced three basic parameters:

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 (a) to deny the Indian audience any access to communist or socialist ideals reflected in
the Soviet cinema;
(b) to ensure that the spirit of freedom and independence did not reach the audience of a
colonized country regularly through the American films; and
(c) to prevent the crystallization of nationalist paradigm in the Indian cinema.
It is however significant that the British rulers chose to foreground “the safety of the audience
and the prevention of degrading or moral performances” to camouflage their real, that is
political, intentions. The Regional Censor Boards that were set up were largely autonomous.
Rulers of independent India surprised everybody by choosing to carry forward the system of
film censorship in the post-colonial era, but in a different guise. There was no reversal in the
official negative perception about the film medium, on moral and ethical grounds. It was
rather reinforced by the enunciation of a post-colonial ‘political’ perception, different from
the one that emerged in the colonial era. Rhetoric about scientific temperament, rationality,
freedom, justice, right, modernism, progress and development flaunted by the national(ist)
leaders did not affect the film censorship machinery. Cinema remained equally vulnerable to
administrative pressures and susceptible to the politicians’ malice in the new era. By 1952,
this post-colonial infrastructure for film censorship was firmly in place.
In 1951 film censorship was brought under the unified command of a Central Board of Film
Censors (henceforth CBFC). Such centralization was a direct affront to the spirit of
federalism enshrined in the Indian Constitution of 1950. But this was an indication that the
leaders of independent India were more committed to building a unitary State structure than
creating a genuinely federal system. It was moreover a fulfilment of their political agenda
regarding cinema. Like their colonialist predecessors, they were also keen that cinema should
serve their broad political objectives, which involved projects for democracy, citizenship and
nationalism. But, unlike the colonial administration, they preferred a uniform code of control
to be formulated by the central bureaucracy and exercised by the CBFC. The reconstituted
Regional Censor Boards, subordinate to the CBFC and with considerably reduced power,
were but an insignificant concession to the concept of federalism. The Cinematograph
(Censorship) Rules 1951 were consequently framed, setting out the modus operandi of the
centralised Board.
Still, there were strong apprehensions in the government quarters that the Supreme Court
would strike down the film censorship provisions contained in the Cinematograph Act 1918,
which was still in force. In fact, the Supreme Court at that point was striking down censorship
provisions relating to the other media not restricted to grounds specified in Article 19(2). In a
prompt reaction, the government enacted the Constitution (First Amendment) Act 1951, in
June. It fundamentally altered the spirit and scope of the original Article 19(2). The amended
Article 19(2) now provided for “reasonable restrictions” on the exercise of rights conferred
by Article 19(1), including right to freedom of speech and expression [Article 19(1)(a)]. This
First Amendment saved the Cinematograph Act 1918 containing pre-censorship provision.
In July 1952 a more elaborate Indian Cinematograph Act 1952 came into effect, repealing the
Indian Cinematograph Act 1918. It also revalidated the Cinematograph (Censorship) Rules of
1951 for these to continue to govern the operations of the CBFC. Also, a four-page document
was prepared and published. Titled “Directive to Examining Committees regarding the

3
principles to be observed in determining whether a film is or is not suitable for public
exhibition”, it contained a detailed list of objectionable matters in films. The nomenclature of
this ‘Directive’ was eventually changed to “Guidelines”. This paved the way for a three-
pronged strategy under the umbrella document of the Cinematograph Act 1952.
It is significant that the basic framework for this machinery was finalized even before
parliamentary democracy started functioning properly in independent India. The First
General Elections, based on universal adult franchise, were held between October 1951 and
February 1952. The first session of the newly constituted Indian Parliament was convened on
17 April 1952. By then, the Indian Cinematograph Act 1952 had already received
Presidential assent on March 21, 1952.
Remarkably, not only did the citizenry not resent the continuation of film censorship in a
post-colonial democratic India, but they also felt secure in this arrangement. The society by
and large accepted the State-projection of this arrangement as the best method for
neutralizing the pulls and pressures that the post-colonial Indian cinema was being subjected
to. Perhaps we can even suggest that the censorship regime offered them a mechanism by
which to defend themselves against cinema’s supposed attack on their moral and ethical
universe. Different interest groups discovered elements of merit or virtue within the
censorship machinery for their respective constituencies. The State, on its part, started acting
as an arbiter, and also a manipulator, of popular perception about cinema.
This was a paradigm shift. Film censorship in the colonial era represented a unidirectional act
of coercion devised by the State. Post-independence it was quite perceptibly transformed into
a more diversified, and multilateral, power-relation. It began to revolve round an antagonism
between the limits of freedom of expression aspired by a technological medium driven by
modernism and the exercise of power defined by class, sector or group perceptions and
interests. Seen from the perspective of the State, this exercise of power started manifesting a
particular brand of teleology couched in legal and administrative jargon. The citizenry on the
other hand participated in this exercise of power armed with a different brand of teleology
full of value-loaded moral or ethical terms.
Film censorship regime in post-colonial India thus turned out to be not quite an arrangement
through which the State imposed repression overriding popular dissent. It rather came to
reflect certain ideological compromises reached between social forces in an epoch of
transition. It was indicative of the relative power and authority of different segments of the
society, including elements of the State machinery. More importantly, it gave rise to a terrain
for power-play that would start creating and recreating rules, evolving parameters of debate,
categories, and subjects. Thus, it inaugurated a discourse of censorship, reconciling its
apparently incongruous cohabitation with the constitutionally sanctioned right to freedom of
speech and expression by teleological arguments.
This reconciliation was given the stamp of constitutionality in 1959. In the most significant
amendment to the Cinematograph Act 1952 to date, the State incorporated certain guiding
principles for the certification of films. It read:
A film shall not be certified for public exhibition if, in the opinion of the
authority competent to grant the certificate, the film or any part of it is against the
interests of the security of the State, friendly relations with foreign States, public order,

4
 decency or morality, or involves defamation or contempt of court or is likely to incite
the commission of any offence.
Significantly, it replicates the “reasonable restriction” clause of the amended Article 19(2)
almost word for word to prepare the ground for the prevention of exhibition of
“objectionable” films. Once such arguments began to emerge, and be accepted, it created
opportunities for camouflaging the political essence of film censorship in post-colonial India.
The State’s position was vindicated by a landmark judgement of the Supreme Court in 1970.
Giving verdict on a petition challenging the constitutional validity of pre-censorship of films,
then Hon’ble Chief Justice M Hidayatullah on behalf of J M Shelat, G K Mitter, C A
Vaidialingam and A N Ray JJ, observed:
“(C)ensorship in India (and pre-censorship is not different in quality) has full
justification in the field of exhibition of cinema films. We need not generalize about
other forms of speech and expression here for each such fundamental right has a
different content and importance. The censorship imposed on the making and
exhibition of films is in the interests of society.”2
This judgement overlooked that the Enquiry Committee on Film Censorship (1968) had
observed in its Report that many prevalent “Censorship Guidelines” transgressed the legal
standard of “Reasonableness”.3
Despite such safeguard, the state ensured that within the polemics relating to Indian film
censorship the political undertone of film censorship was seldom brought to the foreground.
But that does not mean an absence of political narrative around film censorship. Between
November 1952 and February 1963, the films Fall of Berlin (1949, dir. Mikhail Chiaureli)
and Nine Hours to Rama (1963, dir. Mark Robson) were prevented by the Indian State from
being exhibited on political grounds, despite being cleared by the CBFC. In the case of the
former, the depiction of the role of the USSR army from an American point of view was
deemed unpalatable to the Indian government. The latter film was alleged to have shown
disrespect to Gandhi, the martyred political icon of Nehru’s India. Indian films also faced
government wrath, though not to the same extent as the foreign ones. During the same period,
the Sovereign Democratic Republic of India under Jawaharlal Nehru was trying to befriend
both the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics under Joseph Stalin/Nikita Khruschev and the
Peoples’ Republic of China under Mao Tse Tung. Although professedly this was not to be at
the expense of friendship with the United Kingdom (which was the leader of the British
Commonwealth) or the United States of America, the Indian political leaders were careful not
to appear to have even slightly encouraged any anti-Communist propaganda emanating from
these countries. Thus, many American films were purged of any critical reference to
Communist regimes. But such indulgence, at least towards the Chinese, was abandoned after
the India-China border conflict in 1962. The jingoist anti-Chinese film Haqeeqat (1964, dir.
Chetan Anand) palpably attracted state patronage for its propagation, while Neel Akasher
Nichey (1959, dir. Mrinal Sen) was slapped with a temporary ban for promoting Indo-Chinese
fraternity.
Even the torchbearers of New Wave Cinema often came into conflict with the CBFC. One
such film was Samskara (1970, dir. Pattabhi Rama Reddy, Kannada). It was a film about
Brahminical rituals and prejudices of earlier decades. But the CBFC promptly banned it for

5
being revolutionary and anti-religious. This decision evoked a strong protest from the
intelligentsia and was ultimately reversed.
Film censorship also affected documentaries or shorts produced or procured (through
purchase or donation) by the government-owned Films Division (henceforth FD), which had
an almost monopolistic control over documentary films. FD primarily dealt with films made
by In-house Producers, and Empanelled Producers; it also procured (either through purchase
or donation) films from Independent Producers. But the authorities of FD were much more
careful in their choice of subjects so as not to offend the parent ministry’s bureaucrats, which
often translated into following the writ of politicians. The sentiment has been summed up
well in the reminiscences of an ex-employee:
“In a live democracy like ours, government departments have to abide by the party in
power and its dictates.” 4
However, the Indian State has never officially acknowledged the political purpose of either
the Indian Cinematograph Act, 1952, or the resultant film censorship machinery. It has rather
foisted a false narrative foregrounding ‘moral’ and ‘ethical’ issues to justify film censorship.

POLITICAL NARRATIVE BROUGHT TO FORE

The “White Paper” is an exceptional document, being the only instance so far in which
political narratives around film censorship have been brought to the surface in a government
document.
It informs us that within two months after Emergency was declared, the Minister-in-charge,
Ministry of Information and Broadcasting (henceforth MIC, I & B) advised the journalists to
frame a code of self-regulation with the help of the Chairman of Central Board of Film
Censors and the newly installed Chief Press Censor. This was on August 14, 1975.
But the State was not prepared to leave everything to the non-State actors. On September 6,
the MIC, I & B informed the film industry that new and more rigid censorship rules would
replace an earlier set introduced in 1961.5 The Minister’s forceful assertion stemmed from an
unusual communication (dated August 18) that he had received from the then Chairman,
CBFC. In that communication, the CBFC Chairman had literally pleaded for firm support of
the government in CBFC’s fight against violence-ridden films. Significantly, he had noted
that at the meeting of August 14, the film journalists had cited two Hindi films, Dharma
(1973, dir. Chand) and Pran Jaye Par Vachan Na Jaye (1973, dir. Ali Raja), which the CBFC
had wanted to ban for showing excessive violence, but the government subsequently cleared
it with ‘A’ certificates.6 More interesting was his allusion to the film Sholay (1975, dir.
Ramesh Sippy), which the journalists felt was passed with a ‘U’ certificate despite excessive
depiction of violence, simply due to the influence of one of the stars in the film.7
However, during the entire course of Emergency, the proposed “new and more rigid
censorship rules” did not materialise. Contrarily, the government was bothered more about
reference or even allusion to political phenomena on screen than depiction of violence. And
to put a political leash on the film medium in India the existing censorship rules were
sufficient.

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The film Aandhi (1974, dir. Gulzar), which had woven into a tale of marital discord the story
of a woman’s political ambition, was one that went through much difficulty during the period
in question. The film was initially given ‘U’ certificate by the CBFC in January 1975 and was
a reasonable success. But after the imposition of Emergency, the government suspended the
film’s certificate under section 6 of the Cinematograph Act, citing similarity between the reel-
life female protagonist’s characterisation and real-life Mrs. Gandhi. After the film had
suffered two months’ compulsory hibernation, it was eligible for release once again. The
State then communicated to the producer that the film could be banned for bringing the
system of election by universal adult franchise into disrepute. While this was grossly untrue,
the government had left the producer with no other recourse than voluntarily restructure the
film. He did so and got his ‘revised’ film ‘certified’ again in March 1976.8
More bizarre was the case of Aandolan (1975, dir. Lekh Tandon). It was given ‘U’ certificate
on 27 May 1975. The CBFC also classified it as predominantly educational (PE) because it
depicted the Quit India movement of 1942. However, before the film was released
Emergency was proclaimed and the government recalled it, using its discretionary powers.
Then, after prolonged deliberations, the producer was asked to carry out several drastic cuts.
All these related to revolutionary and political activities of the Quit India movement. But the
government construed that even these anachronistic and out-of-context scenes would incite
commission of offence leading to disturbance of public order.9
The nadir of government activism involving cinema during Emergency centred on the film
Kissa Kursi Ka (1975, dir. Amrit Nahata). It satirically depicted the desperate, unscrupulous,
and corrupt practices adopted by politicians to usurp power and then cling to it. Remarkably,
the director was a parliamentarian of the ruling party, although out of sync with its prevalent
posture. The CBFC examined the film twice just before the declaration of the Emergency.
Both times, the majority decision was in favour of ‘U’ certificate subject to drastic cuts.
Ignoring these recommendations, the CBFC referred it to the government under section 25(1)
of the Cinematograph Censorship Rules, 1961 for necessary action.
Mr. Nahata promptly filed a writ petition in the Supreme Court on 12 May 1975, praying that
the apex court should direct the government to issue ‘U’ certificate to his film based on
CBFC deliberations. But the Emergency preceded any judicial order. And on 5 July 1975, the
Ministry of Information and Broadcasting (MIC) ordered that “all prints of the film be taken
possession of and kept in careful custody irrespective of the course of the Court’s
proceedings”. On July 14, the government declared the film undesirable and therefore
forfeited the print, negative, sound negative, even stills and publicity material relating to the
film, under the DISIR. Unable to get a stay on this order from the Supreme Court, Mr. Nahata
was forced to part with the material. The court however directed the government to preserve
the material in proper condition until the disposal of the writ petition.
After three months Mr. Nahata approached the apex court requesting it to see the film in
order to ascertain whether the confiscated material had been properly preserved. The
government pleaded its helplessness to show the film on account of some “mix-up”. Finally,
on 22 March 1976, the government requested the Supreme Court to decide the matter on
merit without insisting on the film’s exhibition. This was an admission that the materials
under government custody had been destroyed. Providing a further twist to the whole

7
incident, Mr. Nahata withdrew his petition without even asking for costs on July 13.10 One is
not sure whether he did it willingly or under duress.
The regime’s sensitivity affected foreign films also. The political thriller, All the Presidents
Men (1976, dir. Alan J Pakula), was based on the product of investigative journalism by two
Washington Post journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. The duo had unearthed the
Watergate scandal involving the re-election campaign of the Republican President Richard
Nixon in 1974, which finally led to his resignation was also frowned upon and blocked.11
Manipulation of documentary cinema was done more crudely through blatant misuse of the
Films Division and its established norms. It is needless to iterate that the In-house Producers
of the Films Division entrusted with producing ‘propagatory’ documentary films and Indian
Newsreels were simply instructed under pains of disciplinary action and dismissal from
service to focus on ‘propaganda’. Empanelled Producers were given commission to produce
‘propaganda’ films. And Independent Producers, having clout with the ruling party, had a
field day with their dealing with FD.
It is on record that for commissioned films made by Empanelled Producers, the prevalent
norms were frequently overlooked and certain filmmakers constantly patronised. One such
filmmaker was S Sukhdev. During the Nehru-era he was busy critiquing the inequities of
Indian society, still steeped in feudal values. After Nehru’s death his stance became
vociferously strident and radicalized in films like And Miles to Go… (1965), a bitter appraisal
of the state’s neglect of the poor, and India ’67, portraying the cinematic pilgrimage of a
young post-colonial nation in a stifled pursuit of its aspirations.
Sukhdev soon shifted his position by making Nine Months to Freedom (1972), during the
independence war in Bangladesh in 1971. In it, he portrayed Mrs. Gandhi as a saviour. Soon
he was seen championing her political cause during a period of anti-Indira sentiments
sweeping the country in 1974. He came out with such films as Behind the Breadlines, A Few
more Questions, Violence, What Price? Who pays? or Voice of the People thus becoming one
of her blue-eyed boys. Such was his clout that “he never followed the system and got
decisions approved directly in Delhi (where the Ministry of Information & Broadcasting is
located) … and always managed to get enough raw stock (the government imposed raw stock
quotas in those days).”12 And as a logical conclusion to this development he was
commissioned to make four films simultaneously justifying the Emergency. These films were
After the Silence, Thunder of Freedom, For what You are Voting, and Bonded Labour.
Besides these, Sukhdev persuaded the Films Division to entrust to Independent Producers a
series of documentaries praising Mrs. Gandhi’s 20-Point Economic Programme.13
The FD also succumbed to direct political pressure from Mrs. Gandhi’s party cadres or party
units in accommodating films made or sponsored by them.14
Ironically, the mood within the FD in response to such manipulation was one of
acquiescence., rather than one of fait accompli. That most insiders had learned to fall in line
with government’s directives came out vividly in the following statement:
“Fortunately, the dictates were not ‘diktats’ nor dictatorial in nature.”15
Hence as far as the Films Division is concerned, the proclamation of Internal Emergency, and
its subsequent operation, was neither an earth-shaking nor any temporary experience. The FD

8
people did not wake up in the morning of 26 May 1975, to find a paradigm shift in FD’s style
of functioning. It was business as usual at FD.
Thus, the “White Paper” quite elaborately reveals that the Emergency led to a palpable
overdrive in activism on the part of the State, especially the bureaucrats, and sometimes
personal interference from the MIC, I & B, acting as ‘Super Censor’. Under normal
circumstances they would have refrained from this. But emboldened by the extraordinary
“powers” vested in them during the Emergency, they transformed themselves into virtual
plenipotentiaries, if not full-fledged dictators.
Interestingly, there were at least three significant episodes of politically biased decisions to
control films during the same period that do not find mention in the “White Paper”.
One instance relates to the Telugu film Telugunadu (1975, dir. B R Rao). Its storyline also
had a political movement as the backdrop. However, this reference was to a more recent
happening, the violent agitation for the partition of Andhra Pradesh from 1969 through 1972.
The film was refused a certificate on 23 May 1975. The CBFC reasoned that the film could
foment social unrest or discontent to such an extent as to incite people to commit crime, and
could also promote disorder, violence, a breach of law, disaffection, or resistance to
government. Interestingly, the director himself was a Congress MP, who had lost an eye in the
violent agitation during the movement. So now he was ostensibly arguing against violence
and pleading for unity. However, he failed to make any impression on the corridors of power.
Even his offer to change the name of the film and undertake modification as per government
advice did not break the ice. The MIB thought that the film contravened public order,
decency and morality and was likely to incite the commission of an offence. One cannot
discount the possibility of the internal politics of Congress playing a significant part in this
episode. The Emergency however was a convenient camouflage. After trying in vain for
seventeen months to secure CBFC’s certificate, the producer B Narayanamurthy was forced
to seek judicial intervention for the film’s release.16
In 1975, Pattabhi Rama Reddy, who had earlier faced CBFC’s wrath after making Samskara
(1970), planned a film, Chanda Marutha (Wild West), intending to explore the prevalent
fascination of the urban youth for armed revolutionary activity. He based it on a play (Kranthi
Bantu Kranthi) by P Lankesh, one of the torchbearers of the Kannada Navya (modern)
movement. Lankesh had subtly compared the armed and violent means of revolution with the
peaceful, non-violent means. During shooting, Reddy’s wife Snehalata was arrested for
participating in anti-government demonstrations and allegedly concealing the whereabouts of
George Fernandes, an important person in such activities. An asthma patient, her condition
deteriorated dramatically while in custody for want of proper medical care. The government
was forced to release her, but she died within days thereafter. Meanwhile Emergency had also
been proclaimed. Devastated, and short of money, Reddy postponed the post-production
works. But his tribulations were not over yet. He had to suffer visits by government officials
demanding to see the “film”. With great difficulty he thwarted the prowling officers’ effort to
seize the rushes. Reddy could proceed with the post-production of his film only after the
Emergency was lifted.17
But the most significant instance involved Satyajit Ray. In 1971 he had made a
documentary Sikkim, on the life and culture of then sovereign Himalayan kingdom. But after

9
India annexed the kingdom in 1976, the film fell afoul of the official version about the new
possession and was not cleared for public exhibition till 2010.18.
The “White Paper” is indeed a useful reference, giving us an insight into the political
narratives emerging within the government system around the film medium during
Emergency. Yet, it remains at best a selective, if not a tendentious, one.

POST-EMERGENCY CAMOUFLAGE
Post-Emergency, the government changed the nomenclature of the Central Board of Film
Censors to Central Board of Film Certification (but CBFC, both). A concomitant change was
brought about in the form of new Cinematograph (Certification) Rules. All this was in 1983.
The government offered no explanation for such a modification, let alone highlight the
qualitative difference between “censorship” and “certification”. Certification classifies a
film’s content with reference to certain parameters, such as the age of the viewer, its sexual
orientation, its violence-content, its moral or ethical implication and so on. It is more like a
piece of information relating an audience to the content of a film than anything else. It
therefore satisfies a desire on the part of an audience to be informed in advance if their act of
watching a film would end up displeasing or offending them. But in the Indian context the
change of nomenclature from censorship to certification has simply been a cosmetic one,
meant for public consumption as if to underline a more tolerant attitude of the government.
Nothing really changed within the government’s perception. The word “certification” remains
for all practical purposes a euphemism for “censorship”. While certification puts emphasis on
sensitizing the audience regarding the content of a film, the focus in censorship is on
sanitizing. The former prepares the audience for a film, and the latter prepares the film for an
audience within certain parameters of ‘public interest’. In certification therefore, the right to
receive information accentuates the right to freedom of expression, the right to freedom of
reception and the right to even refuse reception. But censorship is a different ball game, mired
in regimentation and moderation, if not curtailment, of freedom of expression/reception.
However much as the Indian State machinery wants us to believe that the CBFC carries out
certification, in truth it still indulges in censorship in the classical sense. Even as late as in
2002 a government communication to this author used the word “censorship” to indicate the
nature of the Indian government’s principal engagement with, and activity vis-à-vis, the film
medium. The very nature of film certification makes it a transparent practice primarily
because it involves dissemination of information. But film censorship in the Indian context is
more in the nature of a restrictive or prescriptive practice, and also shuns transparency by
withholding information. The replacement of ‘Censorship’ by ‘Certification’ just created
another degree of falsehood in the film censorship narrative.
Meanwhile, the political narrative continued to evolve post-Emergency in myriad ways.
The film Kissa Kursi Ka was remade with much fanfare in 1977 after the withdrawal of
Emergency. When it was submitted for examination, the CBFC, then working under a new
dispensation, again demanded many cuts. Finally, it was cleared by the MIB, with a single
cut, underlining the political game around it.19
But it was the documentary filmmakers who were made to suffer for their enthusiasm. A
classic case is the treatment meted out to Anand Patwardhan regarding his film Prisoners of

10
Conscience (1978). This B/W documentary was originally an important historical record of
the process of political victimization during the Emergency. It was for all practical purposes
an underground film, made under very trying circumstances when the Emergency was in full
swing. The rushes were hastily edited under primitive conditions and smuggled out of the
country to evade confiscation and eventual persecution for the filmmaker. Proper post-
production was done abroad, and the film shown to diverse groups to garner support for
Indian people’s fight for civil liberties and political rights. After the Janata Party government
came to power, the film was brought back to India. Patwardhan, quite naively, expected his
film to be allowed for public exhibition. But such an expectation was quickly belied.
Significantly, the Janata Party government had gone back on its poll pledge for the
unconditional release of political prisoners throughout country. Frustrated, and perhaps angry
too, Patwardhan put an epilogue to the film saying that although the Emergency had ended
and many prisoners released, political prisoners existed before it and they continued to exist
even after it was formally over. Patwardhan secured the release of his film after much
difficulty.20
Almost the same fate awaited another similar documentary Mukti Chai (1977, dir. Utpalendu
Chakrabarty). Utpalendu had been a radical political activist in the late 1960s and early
1970s, besides being a schoolteacher and short-story writer. His foray into filmmaking began
with this documentary on the tradition of ‘preventive detention’ (actually, detention on
political grounds). It was given censor certificate, but surprisingly refused permission (by the
CBFC itself) for a journey abroad, apparently without any cogent reason. It had been invited
to the Oberhausen Film Festival in (then West) Germany. The regional panel of the CBFC,
which examined the film at Calcutta, merely “found it unsuitable for any international
festival”. Interestingly, the panel took special note of the film’s “poor quality”, and the film’s
journey abroad stalled.21 Significantly, the film was also not “allowed to be shown” at the 7th
International Film Festival of India (January 1979).22
Another documentary in the vein of Prisoners of Conscience and Mukti Chai, titled An Indian
Story (1981, dir. Tapan Bose), dealt with the infamous blinding of the inmates at Bhagalpur
Jail (Bihar) in 1979. The CBFC refused the film a certificate. This decision was challenged in
the Bombay High Court (per Writ Petition no. 293 of 1982). The Court asked for a few
deletions, to which the producers acceded.23
In 1984, Anand Patwardhan’s documentary film, Bombay Hamara Shahar, was detained by
the CBFC. His fault was that he had focussed on the suffering heaped on the tenement-
dwellers in Bombay by the city corporation’s drive to beautify the metropolis. The resultant
public uproar caused the CBFC to clear it.24
In 1985, Suhasini Mulay and Tapan Bose made a documentary on the gas leak tragedy in the
Bhopal plant of Union Carbide that happened on 3 December 1984. Titled, Beyond Genocide,
it castigated both the dubious business policies of an MNC, showing utter lack of concern for
environmental question, and the lackadaisical response of the government to the tragedy,
acting hand-in-glove with the perpetrator. Much like their An Indian Story, this film was also
refused certificate by the CBFC. Once again, they nullified the CBFC’s action by moving the
Bombay High Court. However, there was no chance of the state-controlled FD patronising it
for theatrical release. Their offer to the Doordarshan to telecast it on the National Network

11
was also spurned. This time the duo moved the Delhi High Court. After two years the court
ordered in their favour and the film was telecast on the fourth anniversary of the tragedy.25
In 1987, the duo began another probing film on the Khalistan movement to secure a separate
homeland for the Sikhs. It was completed in 1989 and called From Behind the Barricade.
This film provoked the CBFC to demand all visuals of damage wreaked on the Golden
Temple at Amritsar by the Indian Army during its Operation Bluestar. The Board felt that the
film would undermine the nation’s integrity and arouse communal passion. This time
however, the filmmakers’ appeal to the Delhi High Court did not produce the desired result.26
On 6 October 1994, a Division Bench of the High Court at Madras passed an order
prohibiting the exhibition of a Tamil feature film Kuttra Pathirikai (meaning “Chargesheet”).
It depicted the assassination of then former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. The court directed
the revocation of a censor certificate issued to the film by the CBFC because of a directive
from the Film Certification Appellate Tribunal (FCAT).27 The CBFC had twice refused to
issue a certificate to the film for two reasons. First, the film contained some very brutal
scenes. Second, its exhibition might prejudice the ongoing trial of some accused in the
specially designated court and the proceedings of various commissions of enquiry looking
into the assassination. But the FCAT overruled the CBFC and directed that the film be issued
“A” certificate after certain deletions. The CBFC had to oblige, but also filed a writ petition
in the High Court challenging the Tribunal’s directive.
After viewing the film and hearing extensive arguments from the respective counsels, the
Court held that the film not only projected but also eulogized the objectives and activities of
an outlawed outfit. The Bench held that the FCAT had failed to consider a vital question –
whether the film (or for that matter any film) could portray the activities of a banned outfit.
Rejecting the defence that the film would affect the producer’s freedom of expression, the
Bench said that no film could be permitted to project the activities and commissions of crime
by a banned outfit, and still insist on protection under Article 19(1)(a). The film was likely to
influence the public and encourage the banned outfit’s sympathisers, the Bench added. The
Bench also rejected the oral request on behalf of the producer for leave to appeal in the
Supreme Court.28
Mahesh Bhatt’s film Zakhm (1998) was refused a certificate, on grounds that it would
provoke communal disharmony. This autobiographical film was based on memories of
growing up with a Hindu father and Muslim mother. It even won the national award for the
best feature film on national integration. But to secure its public exhibition, Bhatt had to
digitally alter a scene of the 16th century Babri mosque being destroyed by Hindu extremists,
turning their saffron arm- and headbands to grey.29
In fact, throughout the 1990s the independent documentary filmmakers played a significant
role in unearthing the political narrative underlying film censorship. They subjected the
heightened activities of the Hindu extremists during this period to regular scrutiny. And, as a
result, they regularly came into conflict with the CBFC. Suma Josson's film on the Mumbai
riots of 1992-93, Bombay's Blood Yatra, took two years before it was finally cleared without
any cuts by the FCAT.30 Even a film, titled Aftershocks (dir. Rakesh Shrama) or Chords on the
Richter Scale (dir. Shyam Rajnakar), had some trouble getting censor certificate because it
suggested a bias against the minority Muslims when aid was being distributed after the

12
catastrophic Gujarat earthquake in 2001.31 The Gujarat riots (2002) generated quite a few
documentaries, the more important ones being Aakrosh (dir. Ramesh Pimple) and Final
Solution (dir. Rakesh Sharma). Both these films were stalled by the CBFC. While Pimple
won his case in the Bombay High Court,32 Sharma’s film was passed by the CBFC after
public protests.33 Anand Patwardhan had to seek judicial intervention against the CBFC for
questioning nuclear politics of both India and Pakistan, and preaching a rational, pacifist
approach in his documentary Jung aur Aman (2001)34.
Another major element in the political narrative around film censorship was pandering to
films promoting “nationalism”. This has been already evident in earlier eras with films like
Haqeeqat (1964), Hindustan Ki Kasam (1973, dir. Chetan Anand), Upkaar (1967, dir. Manoj
Kumar) and Lalkaar (1973, dir. Ramanand Sagar). But the trend acquired a new dimension in
the 1990s. A form of neo-nationalism began to weigh down Indian cinema with clockwork
regularity, conveniently enmeshing and contraposing religious patriotism/nationalism with its
“other”, namely its subversion in the name of a different religion. The country was told many
times, and in no uncertain terms, that she faced a clear and present danger from Pakistan. An
accompanying, and not-so-subtle sub-text was that the Muslims of India were part of a fifth
column. This has given rise to a series of jingoist films like Roja (1992, dir. Mani Rathnam),
Border (1997, dir. J P Dutt), Sarfarosh (1999, dir. John Mathew Mathan), Hindustan Ki
Kasam (1999, dir. Veeru Devgan), Mission Kashmir (2000, dir. Vidhu Vinod Chopra), Maa
Tujhe Salaam (2001, dir. Tinu Verma), Gadar – Ek Prem Katha (2001, dir. Anil Sharma),
Indian (2001, dir. N Maharajan), Bharat Bhagya Vidhata (2002, dir. Osho Raja) or LOC
Kargil (2003, dir. J P Dutt).

A MEDIUM UNDER SIEGE

The operation of film censorship in our country boils down to a delicate, and often complex,
contest between authorial rights of the communicator, and the spectatorial rights of the
receiver. This contest is mediated by the State, through CBFC, which is an “attached and
subordinate organization” of MIB. At times the judiciary also joins as arbiter, for better or for
worse. In many instances, these actions, either autonomous or concerted, are guided by
political considerations, taking film censorship beyond the popularly perceived realms of
moral and ethical universe. The Emergency has perhaps witnessed intense politically
motivated actions within a short time span. But there are numerous comparable evidences of
the Indian State’s sustained, and almost antagonistic, political engagement with the film
medium through film censorship—spread across eras and cutting across ideological leanings
of governments. Political manipulation of film censorship encompasses not simply
refusal/withholding of censor certificate to ‘objectionable’ film(s), but deliberate promotion
of ‘favourable’ films. And as we have amply demonstrated above, such actions have been
perpetrated by successive regimes irrespective of their ideological traits, to be supplemented
by popular/media support or apathy.
In 2016, the MIB constituted a committee to suggest reforms for the much-maligned film
censorship practices with the renowned filmmaker Shyam Benegal as Chairperson. Its brief
was to examine the film censorship mechanism and help evolve broad guidelines/procedure
within the ambit of the Cinematograph Act 1952 and Cinematograph (Certification) Rules
1991. Many were hopeful, if not elated, in anticipation of a set of proposals for substantial

13
change given Benegal’s well-known position regarding film censorship as practised in India.
The Benegal Committee’s exercise was supposed to supplement the efforts of an earlier
entity, Justice Mudgal Committee, which was mandated to hold a full review of Indian
Cinematograph Act 1952. The Mudgal Committee Report, submitted in September 2013, had
an appendix in the form of a draft Cinematograph Act; but it also recommended that the
central government should issue suitable directions guiding the Central Board of Film
Certification (CBFC) regarding sanctioning of films for public exhibition. Mr. Benegal and
his august compatriots were specifically asked to frame these directions.
The Benegal Committee submitted their report proposing certification of cinematic content
appropriate for different age-groups to replace mandatory pre-censorship. It recommended
pre-censorship only in some special cases where film content transgresses one or more of the
“reasonable restrictions” on the constitutionally guaranteed Right to Freedom of Speech and
Expression. It also recommended a revamping of the CBFC, proposing major reforms in its
constitution. These are prima facie positive developments indeed. But nothing has so far
come out of the Committee’s exercise.35
Actor-director Amol Palekar had filed a writ petition before Supreme Court in April 2017
submitting that certain provisions of the entire set of cinematography laws infringed on the
fundamental rights of both the artists and the audience. He particularly wanted the CBFC’s
power to carry out excisions in films be scrapped. He also asked for the implementation of
the recommendations made by the Shyam Benegal Committee. The case (Civil no. 187 of
2017) is still undecided.36
Film censorship in India remains a siege on the political rights of Indian cinephiles, on the
pretext of societal interest, even when there is no threat of external aggression or public
disorder, the constitutionally sanctioned reasons for declaring emergency. During Emergency
(1975-77), the State suspended operation of Article 19, across media. But, Emergency or no
Emergency, the Special Powers conferred on the State by the Section 5B (1) of
Cinematograph Act 1952 practically override Article 19(1)(a). The film medium is kept
under constant State surveillance and a dark shadow reminiscent of those nineteen months.

Notes:
1. New Delhi: Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Govt. of India, August 1977.
2. All India Reporter, Supreme Court section, Nagpur: All India Reporter Pvt. Ltd.
1971, p. 495.
3. Report of the Enquiry Committee on Film Censorship, New Delhi: Ministry of
Information & Broadcasting, 1969, para 8.11.
4. Jag Mohan. Documentary Films and Indian Awakening. 1990. New Delhi:
Publications Division, MIB, p. 128.
5. The censorship rules were framed by the bureaucrats through powers vested in them
by the Cinematograph Act, 1952. The Cinematograph Act was an umbrella
document, and the Censorship Rules were the means to operationalising it.
Moreover, the CBFC also formulated “Guidelines” outlining subjects that were

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