‘Ghooskhor Pandat’ row: The heckler’s veto and test of India’s democracy

Produced by Neeraj Pandey’s Friday Story Tellers LLP and featuring Manoj Bajpayee, the film is a one-night thriller centred on a corrupt police officer, Ajay Dikshit, who carries the nickname “Pandat”.

Heart of the dispute

The dispute arises from the juxtaposition of “ghooskhor”, a Hindi term connoting bribery, with “Pandat”, a colloquial form of “Pandit,” a term culturally associated with the Brahmin community. Critics argue that this association imputes moral corruption to a social group, while the filmmakers maintain that the character is fictional and individualised, bearing no representational claim about a caste or community.

Legal consequences followed swiftly. A First Information Report lodged in Lucknow invokes provisions of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita that penalise acts promoting enmity and conduct alleged to outrage religious feelings. Parallel litigation before the Delhi High Court seeks to restrain the film’s release, invoking equality, dignity, and religious freedom under the Constitution, while acknowledging that freedom of expression is subject to reasonable limits.

At the heart of the dispute lies a familiar constitutional dilemma: how far the state may go in regulating expression that offends or unsettles, without undermining the democratic commitment to free speech.

Principle that guides courts

Indian constitutional law has long recognised that expression cannot be curtailed merely because it provokes discomfort or opposition. Courts have consistently insisted that restrictions must be justified by a clear and proximate threat to public order, rather than speculative or subjective offence. In Shreya Singhal v. Union of India (2015), the Supreme Court underscored that speech restrictions must be narrowly tailored, a principle that continues to guide courts confronting conflicts between robust discourse and communal offence.

Also read: Ghooskhor Pandat: Why row over Neeraj Pandey-backed Manoj Bajpayee cop drama is a non-issue

This principle has particular force in cases where artistic works are challenged on the basis of anticipated reactions. Judicial precedent has rejected the notion that speech should be suppressed to pre-empt hostile responses, emphasising instead the obligation of the state to maintain order while safeguarding expression. The standard that emerges from this jurisprudence is not that of the most easily offended observer, but of a reasonable and resilient member of society capable of engaging with provocative ideas.

The Ghooskhor Pandat controversy also foregrounds the unresolved question of group defamation.

Whether the dispute is resolved through judicial clarification, voluntary modification, or eventual clearance, its significance will extend far beyond this single production. It will shape how filmmakers assess creative risk, how platforms calibrate compliance, and how courts define the boundary between liberty and restraint.

Indian law does not readily recognise defamation claims on behalf of large, indeterminate classes. The difficulty lies in establishing how a fictional portrayal of an individual character can be said to tarnish the reputation of an entire community, absent explicit generalisation or malicious intent.

Treating offence as synonymous with injury risks converting subjective hurt into a veto over creative expression.

Situation with streaming platforms

The regulatory context adds another layer of complexity. Unlike theatrical releases, which undergo prior certification, streaming content is governed by the Information Technology Rules, 2021. These rules rely on post-publication grievance redress rather than pre-release scrutiny.

Critics describe this as insufficiently responsive to social sensitivities, while defenders argue that introducing prior restraint into the digital sphere would fundamentally alter the creative ecosystem that streaming platforms have enabled.

Past controversies illustrate the uneven application of constitutional protections in this space. Some productions have been shielded by judicial insistence on free expression, while others have been altered or withdrawn following legal pressure and public backlash. Outcomes have often turned less on consistent legal standards than on the surrounding political climate and the willingness of courts to resist expansive interpretations of offence-based restrictions.

Uneven approach

Earlier controversies illustrate the judiciary’s uneven approach. The Supreme Court protected the release of Padmaavat, stressing that states must maintain law and order rather than suppress certified films. Tandav, by contrast, led to apologies and edits after criminal complaints, while the Allahabad High Court quashed proceedings against Mirzapur, finding no deliberate intent to outrage religious feelings.

Outcomes have often depended on judicial willingness to defend Article 19(1)(a) against claims grounded in Article 19(2). The “ordinary viewer” standard remains central to preserving pluralism by preventing the most sensitive voices from defining the limits of public discourse.

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Beyond the immediate dispute, Ghooskhor Pandat raises questions with long-term implications for digital media. If courts were to hold platforms accountable for the symbolic interpretations of titles or character names, streaming services might be compelled to adopt extensive pre-emptive review mechanisms tailored to local sensibilities.

Such a shift would mark a departure from globally uniform programming and could incentivise self-censorship as a risk-management strategy.

Heckler's veto

The case also invites reflection on the concept of the “heckler’s veto,” where the threat of protest or unrest becomes a basis for silencing expression.

Constitutional democracies have historically resisted this logic, recognising that yielding to it rewards intolerance and erodes the rule of law. The task of the judiciary, therefore, is not to weigh the intensity of public anger, but to assess whether the contested expression poses a genuine and imminent danger that justifies restriction.

The true test of constitutional commitment lies not in protecting agreeable expression, but in defending speech that unsettles prevailing sensibilities

In S. Rangarajan v P. Jagjivan Ram (1989), the Madras High Court revoked the grant of a ‘U’ Certificate to a film on caste-based reservations. The Supreme Court, however, restored it, saying freedom of expression cannot be suppressed on account of threat of demonstration and violence and directed the State to maintain law and order.

The Supreme Court has since clarified that speech must be evaluated from the perspective of a reasonable and firm individual rather than one who is insecure. The apex court followed its ruling in S. Rangarajan while ensuring the safe release of Kamal Haasan’s Thug Life in Karnataka recently. (The distributors decided not to release the film in Karnataka subsequently.)

Also read: Janaki title row: Malayalam film industry holds protest in front of CBFC

For now, Netflix has withdrawn promotional material while the film’s release remains uncertain. Whether the dispute is resolved through judicial clarification, voluntary modification, or eventual clearance, its significance will extend far beyond this single production. It will shape how filmmakers assess creative risk, how platforms calibrate compliance, and how courts define the boundary between liberty and restraint.

Ultimately, the episode reflects an ongoing recalibration within Indian free-speech jurisprudence. The true test of constitutional commitment lies not in protecting agreeable expression, but in defending speech that unsettles prevailing sensibilities.

If applied with consistency and restraint, the legal framework should reaffirm a foundational principle: in a constitutional republic, access to expression cannot be dictated by the loudest or most aggrieved voices, but by law, reason, and a shared tolerance for dissent.