Bollywood, India’s Hindi film industry, has always had a complicated affair with political cinema. On one hand, filmmakers are drawn to the drama and intensity of political themes, using movies to comment on social injustices, corruption, and historical events. On the other hand, such films often invite controversy, censorship, and backlash. This love-hate relationship means that while some political films become celebrated classics or box-office hits, others face bans or fierce opposition. In recent years, the divide has only grown sharper, with audiences and authorities alternately embracing and attacking films that dare to mix reel life with real politics. In this article, we explore the evolution of political storytelling in Bollywood, from subtle allegories of earlier decades to today’s outspoken dramas, and examine how censorship, audience reception, and political pressures have shaped these films’ destinies.
Bollywood’s political films encompass a broad spectrum. Some are hard-hitting dramas exposing uncomfortable truths, while others serve as rousing patriotic sagas or even alleged propaganda pieces. Sometimes the industry collectively shies away from overt political content, preferring escapist entertainment. Yet in other moments, bold directors have stepped up to hold a mirror to society and government. This push-and-pull has defined Bollywood’s approach to political cinema across eras. Below, we trace this journey, comparing the approaches of different periods, highlighting landmark films (both acclaimed and controversial), and understanding how the audience and critical reception of political content have changed over time. We will also see how the censor board and political groups have alternately stifled and spurred Bollywood’s trysts with politics.
Contents
- Early Political Storytelling in Indian Cinema
- The Turbulent 1970s: Politics on Screen Meets Censorship
- Parallel Cinema and Voices of Dissent (1980s)
- Political Films in the Liberalization Era (1990s)
- 21st Century: Mainstream Bollywood Gets Political
- Censorship, Bans, and Political Pressures in Recent Times
- Comparing Political Films: Then and Now
- Influence of Regional Cinema on Bollywood’s Political Films
- Audience Reception: Between Applause and Backlash
- The Fine Line: Art, Propaganda, and Everything In-Between
- Reflections: Cinema as Mirror and Battleground
Early Political Storytelling in Indian Cinema
In the decades immediately following Indian independence (the 1950s and 1960s), Hindi cinema’s engagement with politics was largely indirect. The nation was in a mood of optimism and nation-building, and films of that era often reflected social themes and patriotic sentiments rather than explicit contemporary politics. Movies like Naya Daur (1957) addressed social conflicts (such as the impact of industrialization on rural life) in an allegorical way. Similarly, filmmaker Manoj Kumar became famous for nationalist dramas, for example, Upkar (1967) promoted the slogan “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” (Hail the Soldier, Hail the Farmer) and was openly encouraged by the government of the time. These films carried political messages of unity and development, but did so with the full approval, even encouragement, of the state. There was little “hate” in this relationship; Bollywood’s early political expressions were aligned with the national narrative of progress and patriotism.
However, even in those early years, some filmmakers laid the groundwork for more critical political storytelling. The Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA) and parallel cinema movement (led by auteurs like Satyajit Ray, though working outside Bollywood) showed that film could tackle class struggle, poverty, and injustice head-on. In Hindi cinema, political allegory often had to hide behind metaphor. For instance, the 1959 Hindi film Kaagaz Ke Phool subtly hinted at the darker side of society, and while not about politics per se, it signaled that mainstream filmmakers were aware of cinema’s power to critique. Still, direct confrontation with political figures or government policies was rare in the 1950s–60s. Bollywood largely chose a love approach, celebrating the nation or gently nudging social reform, rather than openly fighting the establishment.
The Turbulent 1970s: Politics on Screen Meets Censorship
The 1970s marked a turning point in Bollywood’s political engagement. India underwent major political upheavals, most notably the Emergency (1975–77) under Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, when civil liberties and free expression were curtailed. Bollywood responded by producing a few daring films that directly or allegorically critiqued those in power, and in return, faced the government’s wrath. The decade epitomized the “hate” part of the love-hate relationship, as political films were often viewed with suspicion or outright hostility by the authorities.
A landmark film of this era was Gulzar’s Aandhi (1975), a drama about a female politician, which was released just months before the Emergency. With its protagonist Aarti Devi clearly evoking Indira Gandhi’s personality and mannerisms, the film courted controversy. Aandhi actually opened to positive reception and ran for 24 weeks, indicating audiences were receptive to its political storyline. But as Indira Gandhi’s government tightened control, Aandhi was suddenly banned in July 1975 despite its initial run. Fearing it could influence public opinion during an election year, officials ordered all posters and publicity materials removed, even preventing its screening at a Moscow film festival.
The producers were pressured to make obsequious changes, for example, adding a scene where the heroine explicitly praises Indira Gandhi as her idol, and cutting shots of the character smoking and drinking (to soften her image). It was only after Indira Gandhi lost power in 1977 that the ban was lifted; the new government allowed Aandhi to be telecast on national television, and the film has since been regarded as a classic. The Aandhi saga demonstrated that a politically charged film could resonate with viewers, but it also revealed the extreme censorship Bollywood could face for straying from the official line.
Another notorious example from the Emergency is Kissa Kursi Ka (1977), a satirical film by Amrit Nahata. This movie took an even more direct aim at the excesses of Indira’s regime, so direct that it never saw the light of day during the Emergency. In an almost unbelievable turn, all prints of Kissa Kursi Ka were seized and destroyed by the Information & Broadcasting Minister, V.C. Shukla, and Indira’s influential son, Sanjay Gandhi. The film’s bold mockery of government programs (including a thinly veiled jab at Sanjay Gandhi’s auto manufacturing project) was deemed an existential threat to the Emergency government. Shukla raised 51 objections to the film, essentially ordering it sliced to ribbons.
When the producer refused, the authorities literally burned the reels, an act of censorship so extreme it later landed Sanjay Gandhi in legal trouble. After democracy was restored, a commission found Sanjay guilty of destroying the film prints, and he even spent a month in prison for it. Nahata eventually remade and released the film in 1978 under the new regime, retaining the original script and cast. But the 1975 version of Kissa Kursi Ka remains a symbol of how far the state would go to silence political dissent on screen.
Bollywood’s experiences during the Emergency established a pattern: movies that appeared to challenge powerful leaders were likely to be quashed. In 1978, satirist I. S. Johar tried to lampoon the Emergency’s forced sterilization campaign with a comedy called Nasbandi, featuring look-alikes of popular actors and songs openly ridiculing government slogans. Not surprisingly, Nasbandi was banned during the Emergency as well, and only released once the government changed. The film’s irreverent lyrics (e.g. “Emergency laga ke, nasbandi kara ke…” mocking the sterilization drive) captured public anger, but could not be heard until censorship barriers lifted.
Films about Indira Gandhi’s 1975 Emergency era have faced heavy censorship. From the classic banned drama Aandhi to satires like Kissa Kursi Ka, Bollywood learned that political commentary often came at a cost during this period.
Interestingly, not all political storytelling was entirely snuffed out in the 1970s. Some filmmakers used more creative, indirect methods to express dissent. Parallel cinema flourished as an alternative to mainstream Bollywood glitz, and directors like Shyam Benegal and Govind Nihalani tackled political and social issues with a realist approach. Benegal’s Nishant (1975) and Nihalani’s Aakrosh (1980) delved into oppression and corruption at local levels, implicitly criticizing the system without naming names.
These films earned critical acclaim and bypassed some censorship because they dealt with political themes (like class struggle, exploitation by authorities) rather than explicit political figures. In effect, the industry was learning to walk a tightrope: you could address political issues if you were subtle and metaphorical, but overt depictions of real politicians or direct critiques of government were likely to provoke the “hate” side of the relationship, official bans, and intimidation.
Parallel Cinema and Voices of Dissent (1980s)
By the 1980s, Bollywood’s commercial films largely retreated from overt politics, focusing more on romance, action, and family drama. The wounds of the Emergency possibly made mainstream producers wary of antagonizing authorities. Yet, the space for political commentary did not disappear entirely, it shifted more into the realm of art house or “parallel” cinema, and into regional films. In this era, the love-hate relationship took a different shape: the Bollywood establishment showed little love for political subjects (treating them as niche or risky), whereas a crop of alternative filmmakers embraced those subjects out of passion, even if it meant their work remained on the fringes.
Filmmakers like Govind Nihalani, Ketan Mehta, and Saeed Mirza carried the torch of socio-political cinema in the 1980s. They addressed issues like government corruption, communal tension, and social injustice in a realistic manner. For example, Nihalani’s Ardh Satya (1983) portrayed an honest policeman struggling against a corrupt system, a powerful commentary on the nexus between crime and politics. Mehta’s Mirch Masala (1987) and Holi (1984) examined gender and caste oppression. These films did not name any political party or leader, so they avoided overt censorship, but their very existence was a quiet act of defiance, highlighting what mainstream Bollywood was reluctant to show.
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Critically lauded and featuring stellar actors like Naseeruddin Shah and Smita Patil, such movies proved that Indian cinema could be politically engaged and artistically excellent at once. However, they typically found limited audiences (urban centers, film festivals) and weren’t the big money-spinners for Bollywood. In essence, the industry’s love for political films was confined to art circles; mass-oriented cinema steered mostly clear of current politics.
One noteworthy mainstream film from this period is the dark comedy Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro (1983). Though primarily remembered for its slapstick humor, it was actually a biting satire on corruption in politics, business, and media. Through farce and absurdity, the film exposed rot in the system, culminating in a famously chaotic scene lampooning both mythology and contemporary bribery. Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro was not censored, perhaps because its humor disguised the critique, but it initially failed at the box office. Only later did it achieve cult status as audiences grew to appreciate its political undercurrents. The film’s journey reiterated that audiences sometimes took time to warm up to political content, and that obvious preachiness had to be avoided. Bollywood’s big studios, seeing the lukewarm commercial response, remained hesitant to finance political satire or hard-hitting dramas in the 80s.
Meanwhile, regional cinemas (Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Bengali) in the 70s and 80s were producing bold political films that eventually would influence Bollywood. Tamil cinema in particular had a strong tradition of politics on screen, owing to the Dravidian movement, many Tamil films contained open political messages or allegories. A classic example is Tamil film Iruvar (1997) by Mani Ratnam (though 90s, its roots lie earlier): it fictionally depicted the rivalry between two Tamil political icons (modelled on M. G. Ramachandran and Karunanidhi). While Iruvar was a Tamil film, its sophisticated take on real political history garnered national attention and showed Bollywood how regional industries handle political biopics.
Mani Ratnam’s earlier film Roja (1992) (Tamil, dubbed in Hindi) brought the Kashmir militancy issue to the big screen, balancing romance with a political backdrop of terrorism; Roja was a hit and made filmmakers realize that audiences would accept political conflict if wrapped in compelling personal stories. Similarly, his Bombay (1995), about an interfaith couple amidst the 1992 Mumbai riots, was made in Tamil but viewed widely in Hindi; it courted controversy (sparking protests by extremists) yet succeeded commercially and is remembered for courageously addressing Hindu-Muslim riots. The influence of these regional films was twofold: they provided source material for Hindi remakes (e.g., the Tamil vigilante film Mudhalvan (1999) was remade as Nayak in Bollywood in 2001) and they emboldened Hindi filmmakers to believe that political themes could be both artistically rewarding and commercially viable if done right.
Political Films in the Liberalization Era (1990s)
The 1990s brought new socio-political challenges to India, economic liberalization, the rise of coalition politics, insurgencies in Punjab and Kashmir, and seismic events like the Babri Masjid demolition (1992) and Bombay riots (1993). Bollywood in the 90s was undergoing its own transformation, with the advent of the diaspora market and a shift toward glossy musical romances. Yet, amidst the song-and-dance extravaganzas, a few filmmakers in the 90s did engage with political content, often weaving it into personal or historical narratives. The approach was usually to blend politics with human drama, so that the films wouldn’t seem like dry discourse. This period can be seen as a cautious re-entry of politics into the Bollywood mainstream, not as blunt propaganda or direct critique, but as a backdrop for emotional stories.
One of the notable films was Maachis (1996), directed by Gulzar. It dealt with the radicalization of youth in the Punjab insurgency during the 1980s. Maachis was a gritty take on how police brutality and injustice pushed ordinary people towards extremism. Despite its sensitive topic, the film was handled poetically and had strong music, helping it connect to audiences. It performed moderately well and earned critical acclaim, showing Bollywood that politically themed stories could strike a chord if presented empathetically. Around the same time, Mani Ratnam’s Hindi film Dil Se (1998) used a love story between a journalist and a Northeast insurgent to explore alienation and militancy in Assam, again marrying a political issue with mainstream cinematic elements (A. R. Rahman’s music, Shah Rukh Khan’s stardom). Dil Se didn’t fare great commercially, but won praise for bravery in storytelling.
Another significant Hindi film was Bombay (1995) (Hindi dubbed version), touching on the Mumbai riots and inter-religious strife. It faced protests from extremist groups for depicting a Hindu-Muslim marriage during the riots, yet became a hit, suggesting that audiences were willing to confront real political/religious issues on screen when presented in a heartfelt narrative. Likewise, Sarfarosh (1999), an action drama about an Indian police officer fighting cross-border terrorism, indirectly commented on the politics of Pakistan’s support to insurgents. It was a box-office success, indicating that patriotic themes with a political tinge were commercially attractive in the late 90s.
The 90s saw Bollywood gingerly testing the waters of political filmmaking in the mainstream. The industry’s sentiment towards political content was evolving: there was love for patriotic or historically based politics (such as freedom-fighter biopics and war dramas which increased in this period), but still some aversion to directly portraying contemporary politicians or contentious current events unless buffered by other story elements. Importantly, censorship in the 90s was less draconian than the Emergency era; India’s censor board still cut scenes and demanded tweaks, but full bans were rarer.
One exception was the delayed release of the film Black Friday, based on the 1993 Bombay bomb blasts. It was ready by 2004, but a court injunction (due to ongoing trials) pushed its release to 2007. This highlighted that legal and political sensitivities (ensuring a fair trial, in this case) could still keep a film out of the public eye. Yet, when Black Friday eventually released, its unflinching, documentary-style portrayal of events was widely praised. The critical success of such films in the 90s and early 2000s set the stage for a more confident wave of political films in the new millennium.
21st Century: Mainstream Bollywood Gets Political
The 2000s and 2010s brought a noticeable resurgence of political themes in Bollywood, this time more squarely in the mainstream. Several factors contributed to this: a younger generation of filmmakers willing to take risks, a multiplex audience open to experimental subjects, and the influence of global cinema and news media making political discussion more common. Also, the success of certain early-2000s films proved that politics could sell tickets. The love-hate dynamic intensified in this era; some films were lauded and almost treated as catalysts for social debate, while others generated extreme controversy and even calls for boycotts. It became clear that political films in Bollywood were no longer niche; they were moving to center stage, for better or worse.
A watershed moment was the release of Rang De Basanti (2006). This ensemble drama by Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra cleverly paralleled contemporary youth disillusionment with the stories of Indian freedom fighters. It depicted a group of college friends awakening to political corruption in present-day India and taking drastic action, intercut with episodes of them portraying real historical revolutionaries (Bhagat Singh and others) in a documentary. Rang De Basanti struck a nerve with India’s urban youth. The film was a critical and commercial blockbuster, and more significantly, it had a tangible social impact; it inspired viewers to speak out against injustices.
After its release, there were real-life candlelight protests (for example, demanding justice in a high-profile murder case), which many credited to the influence of RDB. This was Bollywood’s political cinema at its most loved: embraced by audiences, praised by critics, and even commended by leaders for energizing young citizens. Importantly, the film faced no censorship issues; the CBFC and government were comfortable with its message of anti-corruption and patriotism, which aligned broadly with societal values (it didn’t target any particular party in power). The triumph of Rang De Basanti gave filmmakers the courage to tackle political content more openly, knowing that if done smartly, such films could become generational touchstones rather than lightning rods.
Following this, the late 2000s saw a flurry of political dramas. Prakash Jha, a director known for socially conscious cinema, made Raajneeti (2010), which transported the epic narrative of the Mahabharata into the world of contemporary Indian politics. With an all-star cast and an absorbing storyline about power struggles in a political family, Raajneeti proved that gritty political sagas could be major box office draws. The film earned nearly ₹94 crores in India (a blockbuster by 2010 standards), and audiences were gripped by its mix of betrayal, election intrigue, and family drama. However, Raajneeti also exemplified the “hate” side in how it nearly got stymied by censorship: the censor board initially denied it a certificate, suspecting that a lead character (played by Katrina Kaif) was a portrayal of Congress leader Sonia Gandhi.
Prakash Jha insisted the film was fictional and not about any specific politician, and eventually it was allowed to release with a U/A certificate, but only after significant interference. In an unprecedented move, Raajneeti was shown in a special pre-censor screening to three Congress Party representatives before approval. These political observers demanded multiple cuts: some spicy dialogues were altered (they objected to terms like “vidhwa” or widow in a line about electoral sympathy, seeing it as a possible allusion to Sonia Gandhi, and it was changed to “beti” meaning daughter), a scene of party members exchanging favors for election tickets was removed, and even innocuous words like “qaum” (community) in a critical context were asked to be bleeped.
The Congress representatives also lobbied for an “A” (adults only) certificate to limit the audience, but Jha appealed, and the tribunal granted a U/A, overruling the political pressure. This episode showed that even in 2010, a ruling party could unofficially act as a “first censor” for a film it found inconvenient. Nevertheless, once Raajneeti hit theaters (with the demanded changes), it was widely watched and discussed. Its success confirmed Bollywood’s growing appetite for full-blown political dramas, as long as filmmakers were prepared to navigate the minefield of censorship and political sensibilities.
Another prominent film in the 2010s was Haider (2014), directed by Vishal Bhardwaj. Haider daringly adapted Shakespeare’s Hamlet to the militancy-hit Kashmir of the 1990s. This was perhaps one of the boldest takes on the Kashmir conflict seen in mainstream Hindi cinema. The film didn’t shy away from depicting the Indian Army’s counterinsurgency operations, enforced disappearances, and the atmosphere of paranoia in the valley. It touched on contentious issues like the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA), secret detentions, and Kashmiri half-widows awaiting lost husbands, topics that had been mostly absent from Bollywood’s glossy depictions of Kashmir as a mere paradise for romance.
Critics praised Haider for its artistry and courage, it completed Bhardwaj’s trilogy of Shakespeare adaptations with a potent political edge. The film won several National Awards, and many observers saw its very existence as a sign of a maturing film industry willing to confront untold historical truths. However, the hate side manifested in the backlash from certain quarters: some nationalist groups accused Haider of being anti-Indian and unfair to the army. A hashtag calling for a boycott of the film trended on social media around its release, garnering tens of thousands of tweets. Despite that, an opposing hashtag (#HaiderTrueCinema) also trended, with viewers defending the film’s integrity and bravery.
The divide in audience response was stark, reflecting India’s own polarized politics. From a censorship standpoint, Haider managed to release, but only after 41 cuts were imposed by the censor board to secure a U/A certificate. Some of these cuts likely toned down the more brutal or politically sensitive scenes, and possibly even influenced the ending of the film. Interestingly, Haider was banned in neighboring Pakistan (which often screens Indian films) because its subject, militancy and a separatist movement, was too close to home, albeit from an Indian perspective.
In India, however, Haider’s release without any official ban was hailed by some analysts as a sign that Indian democracy could handle sensitive subjects on film. The director Vishal Bhardwaj defended himself by stating that highlighting humanitarian issues doesn’t make one anti-national: “What is anti-human, I will definitely comment on”, he said, underlining that his intention was to raise questions about rights and justice. Haider thus became a touchstone, loved passionately by critics and a section of the audience, hated by others who felt uncomfortable with its critique of state actions.
As Bollywood moved into the late 2010s, even more filmmakers jumped into politically charged topics. Anubhav Sinha’s Article 15 (2019) tackled the deeply entrenched caste discrimination in India, something Hindi cinema had seldom addressed so directly. Starring Ayushmann Khurrana as a principled police officer, the film was inspired by real incidents of caste-based atrocities. Article 15 was both a critical triumph and a commercial success (grossing around ₹65 crore, excellent for a mid-budget issue-based film). It was lauded for making audiences uncomfortable in a necessary way, shining a light on India’s ongoing injustice against Dalits. Yet, predictably, it also faced heat: certain upper-caste groups protested that the film showed Brahmins in a bad light and attempted to get it banned before release.
In fact, a petition reached the Supreme Court of India seeking a ban on Article 15, but the court refused to intervene in the film’s release. The film came out on schedule, and viewers across the country engaged with its powerful message. The controversy actually highlighted Article 15’s point, that acknowledging caste realities is still taboo for some. By bringing caste discourse into multiplexes, the film broke new ground (it was noted as perhaps the first mainstream Hindi film to directly confront caste violence). Audience reception was largely positive, though the uncomfortable truth it presented made some squirm. Internationally, too, it drew attention; for instance, Britain’s The Independent ran a story on how some in India’s upper castes tried to prevent the film’s screening, which only underscored the film’s importance. Article 15 showed Bollywood’s love for political content at its best, using cinema as a tool for social reflection, and also the inevitable hate from those who prefer the status quo unchallenged.
In the same year, 2019, another kind of political film made waves of a very different nature: Uri: The Surgical Strike (2019). This movie dramatized a 2016 Indian military operation against militant camps in Pakistan-administered territory, a retaliatory strike after a terrorist attack. Unlike the critical tone of Haider or Article 15, Uri took a jingoistic, rallying approach, emphasizing valor and vengeance. It clicked massively with audiences, becoming one of the highest-grossing films of the year. Viewers cheered its patriotic one-liners and combat sequences. The now-famous catchphrase “How’s the josh?” (a rousing call for high morale in the film) was even echoed by India’s Prime Minister in real-life events, and entered everyday vocabulary.
The success of Uri signaled that Bollywood was also willing to produce, and the public willing to consume, films that align closely with the government’s national security narrative. Critics gave mixed reviews: some appreciated the slick production and confident storytelling, while others felt it bordered on propaganda by glorifying military action without nuance. From a political standpoint, Uri was embraced by the establishment; it faced no hurdles from censors or politicians (in contrast, some claimed the censor board under a more conservative chief in 2016 had been harsh on films like Udta Punjab, but with Uri, there was clearly no objection).
In fact, its release timing just ahead of an election and its chest-thumping dialogue led opposition parties to accuse the ruling party of indirectly benefiting from the film’s nationalist fervor. Regardless, Uri showed that Bollywood’s political films don’t always have to challenge power; they can also celebrate or reinforce a governmental stance, and in doing so, find official favor. The love-hate relationship here is inverted: the government and many viewers loved the film’s message, while a section of liberal critics hated what they saw as simplistic militarism.
Censorship, Bans, and Political Pressures in Recent Times
While the censorship battles of the 1970s are legendary, political pressures on Bollywood have by no means vanished in the 21st century. Filmmakers must still navigate a complex web of regulatory censorship (the CBFC and other authorities) and extra-legal pressures (political groups, social media campaigns, and state governments). In some ways, the tools of suppression have shifted: rather than outright nationwide bans by the central government (which are now rarer), we more often see targeted state-level bans, court cases, and orchestrated boycott campaigns. Nonetheless, the underlying reality remains that a politically provocative film can expect headwinds. Below are some of the common forms of pressures and notable examples of each:
Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) Cuts: India’s censor board has the power to demand cuts or changes as a condition of certification. This has affected everything from dialogue to entire scenes in political films. For instance, the CBFC under Chief Pahlaj Nihalani (2015–2017) made headlines for a conservative approach. It famously ordered 89 cuts for the drug-crime drama Udta Punjab (2016) and even wanted to remove all mentions of “Punjab”, effectively denying the core setting of the film, allegedly due to political sensitivities before a Punjab state election. The filmmakers went to court, and the Bombay High Court eventually intervened, allowing the film to be released with just a single cut and a disclaimer. The court’s rebuke was a victory for creative freedom, but the episode showed that political pressure (in this case, presumably from Punjab state leaders who feared the film would make them look bad) could influence censorship decisions.
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Nihalani himself was unabashed about his stance; known as a vocal supporter of the ruling party, he often seemed to err on the side of protecting the image of those in power. Similarly, Indu Sarkar (2017), a film about the Emergency, was asked by CBFC to chop off references to real politicians and newspapers of the 1975 era, including names like Atal Bihari Vajpayee and L.K. Advani (who were opposition leaders during Emergency) and even words like “RSS” and “Communist”. The CBFC feared that even historically accurate references could ignite controversy. The director complied with 14 cuts to get clearance. These examples illustrate that formal censorship is alive and well, and often keenly attuned to current rulers’ comfort levels. Filmmakers frequently have to negotiate and dilute content to pass the CBFC, walking that fine line between telling the truth and getting the film released.
Political Party Interference: As seen with Raajneeti and Indu Sarkar, political parties sometimes involve themselves directly. It’s not always through the censor board; sometimes politicians demand special screenings or no-objection certificates, which have no basis in law but can create a chilling effect. For Indu Sarkar, a Congress politician insisted on a preview to ensure nothing defamed his party. The CBFC rightly denied this extralegal request, but the very ask signaled that filmmakers treading on political history might attract the gaze of party apparatchiks. In other cases, parties have filed lawsuits or complaints against films.
For example, the Tamil Nadu government (under pressure from allies) initially stalled the release of Madras Cafe (2013), a Hindi film about the Sri Lankan civil war and an assassination plot mirroring Rajiv Gandhi’s death. Tamil political groups objected to their portrayal, causing the film to be banned in the state of Tamil Nadu (while it was released elsewhere in India). Political party pressure thus can operate at state levels; what is acceptable in one region might be blocked in another due to regional political sentiments.
State Government Bans & Theater Boycotts: Unlike the direct censorship of the 70s, nowadays we sometimes see state governments or local authorities effectively banning a film by refusing to let it screen, often citing law-and-order concerns. For instance, the film Parzania (2007), about a Parsi boy missing in the 2002 Gujarat riots, won a National Award and earned critical acclaim. Yet, in Gujarat (the state where the real events occurred), theater owners declined to screen Parzania under pressure from right-wing groups. The Bajrang Dal, a hardline outfit, warned that they would not “allow” the movie to run without their approval. As a result, Parzania had an unofficial ban in Gujarat; audiences there never got a chance to see it on the big screen.
Similarly, Aamir Khan’s Fanaa (2006), a romance with a political backdrop of Kashmir insurgency, was boycotted in Gujarat not for its content, but because the actor had voiced support for displaced villagers in a dam project, angering the ruling party in that state. No written ban existed, but distributors were too afraid to show it. And in recent times, we saw the West Bengal state government ban the Hindi film The Kerala Story (2023) (which alleged a controversial narrative of religious conversion and radicalization), citing potential communal unrest. Although the Supreme Court overturned that ban, such instances show that local politics can determine a film’s fate, fragmenting Bollywood’s “national” reach. These moves often attract criticism as being against free expression. In the Kerala Story case, the court intervened in favor of the filmmakers, but the initial damage (in terms of lost screening weeks and chilling effect on content creators) is done.
Public Protests and Fringe Group Threats: Political or religious fringe groups have frequently targeted films, sometimes unrelated to politics but often due to cultural politics. While not always about government or policy, these protests reflect how any perceived political or ideological content can spark a “hate” reaction. A notorious example is Padmaavat (2018), a period film which a Rajput caste group claimed distorted history. Even though it was set in the 14th century, the protests were violently real in the 21st century, with threats issued to actors and vandalism. Several states, bowing to pressure, temporarily banned Padmaavat until the Supreme Court forced its release.
For explicitly political films, protests can be even more direct: Aarakshan (2011), dealing with caste-based reservation in education, faced bans in some states, citing potential unrest among communities. Udta Punjab we discussed (where there were hints that Punjab’s then-ruling party didn’t want the state’s drug problem shown), and there are many other such instances. The result is that filmmakers often have to engage with these groups, give clarifications, or add disclaimers (e.g., “no animals were harmed” has extended to “this film doesn’t intend to hurt any community’s sentiments” in many credits).
Boycott Campaigns and Social Media Pressure: A relatively new form of pressure in the last decade is the rise of online boycott calls. With the growth of social media, films can be subject to mass trolling or trending hashtags, either in support or opposition. Sometimes these campaigns are politically motivated. Bollywood has been branded “anti-national” by certain online ecosystems, especially if a film’s lead actors have taken stands not aligned with the ruling ideology. The example of Laal Singh Chaddha (2022) is instructive; the film itself was an apolitical remake of Forrest Gump, but some right-wing social media users dug up old comments by star Aamir Khan about intolerance in India.
They launched a campaign to #BoycottLaalSinghChaddha, which gained enough traction to potentially dent the film’s collections. Similarly, movies like Thappad (2020) or web series like Tandav (2021) became targets of online outrage for either perceived “feminist agenda” or hurting religious sentiments, respectively. While these aren’t formal bans, the politically charged atmosphere can influence audience behavior and even creative choices for future projects. Some actors and filmmakers have publicly expressed fear that any slight misstep could bring trolling or even government attention. The atmosphere post-2020, as observed by commentators, is one where Bollywood is under siege by a culture war, with one side accusing it of being too liberal or “anti-national”, and the industry sometimes self-censoring in response.
Legal Challenges: Political films also often get entangled in court cases, defamation suits by politicians alleging they were shown in bad light, or PILs (Public Interest Litigations) claiming a movie will disturb social harmony. For example, The Accidental Prime Minister (2019), based on a memoir about former PM Manmohan Singh, faced multiple lawsuits from Congress party members for defaming their leaders. Though most cases are eventually dismissed, the legal harassment can delay releases and deter distributors. In a high-profile move, the Election Commission of India stalled the release of the biopic PM Narendra Modi (2019), deeming that releasing it during the election would unfairly influence voters. The film, clearly hagiographic of the incumbent PM, was pushed to post-elections by order of the ECI, a rare instance of an authority blocking a film not for content per se, but for timing in relation to political events.
It is evident that Bollywood’s political filmmakers must develop a thick skin and a savvy strategy: anticipate objections, engage with authorities, sometimes take the fight to court, and occasionally sacrifice some creative points to ensure the movie sees the light of day. This delicate balancing act is the price for dealing with political subjects in a vibrant democracy that is also home to many sensitive fault lines.
Yet, despite these pressures, political films continue to thrive in their own way. In the digital streaming era, some storytellers have even migrated to web series (which initially had more leeway) to tackle political themes, although now those too are coming under a form of regulation. Ultimately, the fact that contentious films like Haider, Article 15, or The Kashmir Files not only were released but sparked nationwide conversations shows that the “love” side of the relationship, an appetite for political discourse through cinema, is very much alive alongside the “hate”.
Comparing Political Films: Then and Now
How do the political films of recent years stack up against those from earlier decades? The evolution is quite fascinating when we compare themes, audience reactions, and the overall political impact. Below is a comparison of some key political films across eras, highlighting their subject matter, reception, and controversies:
| Film (Year) | Theme/Issue | Audience Reception | Critical Response | Political Impact / Controversy |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Aandhi (1975) | Politician’s personal life (Indira Gandhi allegory) | Good initial run (24 weeks) until banned mid-way; later beloved on TV re-run. | Positive, praised for bold story and performances. | Banned during the Emergency by the Indira government. The ban was lifted in 1977, a symbol of state censorship in cinema. |
| Kissa Kursi Ka (1977/1978) | Satire of authoritarian governance (Emergency spoof) | Not released in 1975; 1978 re-release saw curiosity but limited reach. | Difficult to assess the original due to the ban; later seen as a courageous political spoof. | All copies were destroyed by Sanjay Gandhi in 1975. Sanjay was jailed post-Emergency for it. The remade version highlighted Emergency excesses. |
| Rang De Basanti (2006) | Youth activism against corruption; freedom fighter parallels. | Blockbuster, especially popular with urban youth, fans held real protests inspired by the film. | Highly acclaimed, seen as a generation-defining film blending patriotism with protest. | No official controversy. Credited with sparking civic engagement among young Indians, the government praised its positive message. |
| Parzania (2007) | Communal violence in 2002 Gujarat: a child missing in riots. | Very limited, not screened in Gujarat due to theater intimidation; small art-house audience elsewhere. | Excellent, winner of National Award; praised for humane depiction of riot victims. | Unofficially banned in Gujarat. Bajrang Dal threatened exhibitors. Highlighted ongoing suppression of uncomfortable truths. |
| Raajneeti (2010) | Election power struggle in a political dynasty (modern Mahabharata). | Blockbuster (₹93+ crore), wide audience appeal across India. | Mixed-to-positive, lauded as gripping, some critics found it overly masala. | Faced heavy censorship pressure: Congress demanded cuts due to Sonia Gandhi’s similarities. Pre-release screening by politicians, lines altered. |
| Haider (2014) | Kashmir insurgency conflict (Hamlet adaptation). | Moderate success (for a serious film); strong following in multiplexes, but boycotted by some nationalists. | Universally acclaimed, considered a bold masterpiece on a thorny subject. Won 5 National Film Awards. | 41 CBFC cuts for certification. Right-wing social media backlash (#BoycottHaider). Banned in Pakistan. Sparked debate on artistic freedom vs “national interests”. |
| Indu Sarkar (2017) | The Emergency of 1975–77 (fictional story set in that era). | Flop at the box office (niche audience only). | Average reviews, noted for intent, but critiqued for screenplay weaknesses. | Congress politicians objected; CBFC insisted on 14 cuts (removing names of leaders, etc.). Some protests by Congress workers are pre-release. |
| Article 15 (2019) | Caste-based discrimination and atrocities in rural India. | Hit in urban centers (₹50+ crore); made audiences uncomfortable but drew them in. | Very positive, hailed as essential viewing, though a few debated its “savior” narrative. | Certain upper-caste groups petitioned to ban it for its “anti-Brahmin” stance. The Supreme Court refused to ban. Initiated nationwide conversations on caste injustice. |
| Uri: The Surgical Strike (2019) | Military strike against cross-border terrorism; patriotic retaliation theme. | Super-hit (₹244 crore) – mass audience in cinemas; dialogue “How’s the josh?” became pop culture. | Mixed-positive, applauded for technical craft; some critics saw it as one-dimensional war propaganda. | No censorship issues; in fact, embraced by the ruling party. PM Modi quoted the film. Used to promote nationalist sentiment during election rallies. |
| The Kashmir Files (2022) | The exodus of Kashmiri Hindus in 1990, portrayed as a genocide by Islamist militants. | Huge commercial success (~₹250 cr), drew massive crowds in the Hindi heartland; also polarised audiences (some refused to watch). | Sharply divided, supporters called it brave truth-telling, many critics panned it as communal and factually distorted. | Endorsed by PM Modi and many BJP-led state governments (tax-free screenings). Banned in Singapore for extreme content. Sparked intense debate and instances of hate speech in its wake. |
As this table shows, recent political films tend to be more direct and often more divisive than older ones. In the 1970s, a film like Aandhi had to couch its commentary in a personal story and still got banned; today a film like The Kashmir Files can unabashedly pick at communal wounds and yet be officially praised in some quarters. This points to a significant shift: political discourse itself has become highly polarized in society, and that reflects in cinema.
Older films, constrained by censorship, often used allegory (Aandhi’s Indira-like character, Haider’s Shakespearean framework to discuss Kashmir) or balanced their critique with patriotic elements. Newer films sometimes take a clearer stance, whether it’s unequivocally condemning caste oppression in Article 15 or unequivocally condemning a particular community in The Kashmir Files. The audience, correspondingly, reacts in a fragmented way. In the past, one could say there was a general consensus on films like Rang De Basanti or even Aandhi, when finally shown, they were broadly appreciated. Now, a film’s reception can depend heavily on viewers’ political leanings. Bollywood’s love-hate relationship with political films is thus not just between the industry and politics, but also being played out among the people watching these films.
Influence of Regional Cinema on Bollywood’s Political Films
Bollywood has never operated in isolation; it both influences and is influenced by cinema from other Indian languages. Many political themes tackled in Hindi films have their precursors in Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Bengali, or Marathi films, industries that sometimes have been bolder in engaging with political content.
One clear influence was from Tamil cinema, where politics and film have a uniquely intertwined history (with scriptwriters and actors often becoming politicians). In Tamil Nadu, films of the 50s and 60s like Parasakthi carried open Dravidian social messages. By the 90s, directors like Shankar made vigilante anti-corruption dramas such as Indian (1996) and Mudhalvan (1999). These high-octane entertainers punished corrupt officials on screen and were embraced by Tamil audiences. Bollywood noticed this trend: Mudhalvan, where a common man becomes Chief Minister for a day and cleans up the system, was remade in Hindi as Nayak (2001) starring Anil Kapoor.
While Nayak did not become a huge hit, it achieved cult status through TV re-runs, indicating Hindi viewers’ latent appetite for the wish-fulfillment of seeing corrupt politicians held accountable. Similarly, the vigilante theme of Indian (with Kamal Haasan as a freedom-fighter-turned-vigilante eliminating corrupt bureaucrats) resonated; its Hindi dubbed version (Hindustani) found fans and arguably paved the way for Bollywood’s own anti-corruption hero films like Gabbar Is Back (2015, which was actually a remake of a Telugu film Tagore).
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Malayalam cinema has also contributed rich political narratives that influenced Bollywood filmmakers. For example, the Malayalam film Lucifer (2019) explored power tussles in state politics with such swagger that a Hindi remake is reportedly in the works. In the past, Govind Nihalani’s Dev (2004), about communal riots and police-politician interplay, was said to be inspired by the realistic treatment common in Malayalam films. Marathi cinema gave us Sairat (2016), a hard-hitting love story across caste lines that directly addressed caste violence; Karan Johar’s Dharma Productions remade it as Dhadak (2018) in Hindi. Tellingly, the Hindi version was heavily criticized for watering down the caste angle, it turned the plot into a generic romance by almost erasing the core social issue.
This shows Bollywood’s lingering hesitance: what regional cinema might present bluntly, Hindi cinema still sometimes sugarcoats for a wider audience. However, the success of regional films via subtitles and OTT is changing that. A film like Jai Bhim (2021, Tamil), which pointedly talks about police brutality against marginalized communities, gained national viewership online. It wouldn’t be surprising if its success emboldens a Hindi filmmaker to tackle a similar subject.
Another aspect is that Bollywood often absorbs talent from other industries who bring their political sensibilities. Mani Ratnam, though primarily making films in Tamil, directed Yuva (2004) in Hindi (a story of student politics and idealism vs corruption in Kolkata). Though Yuva was only a moderate success, it’s remembered for attempting a multi-layered political narrative in a commercial format. Actors like Prakash Raj have brought intense political roles from the South to Hindi films (he portrayed powerful politician figures in multiple Hindi movies like Singham). Thus, cross-pollination has enriched Bollywood’s political cinema lexicon, whether via remakes, dubbed films, or creative personnel migrating.
Regional cinemas often served as the testing ground for bold political content, and their box office or critical successes provided a template or confidence to Bollywood. They demonstrated that audiences (at least in those linguistic regions) valued political honesty. Bollywood sometimes followed more cautiously, either remaking those hits or integrating the themes in a more mainstream package. The influence has been both in content and courage: for instance, seeing a regional film openly critique a chief minister or address communal riots can inspire Hindi filmmakers to believe they too can try it, albeit with some modifications for a national audience.
Audience Reception: Between Applause and Backlash
One striking aspect of Bollywood’s political films is how sharply audience reception can vary. Unlike a neutral comedy or a romance, which most people either like or dislike in a uniform way, a political film often becomes a Rorschach test for viewers’ beliefs. This duality is a core reason the relationship is “love-hate.” At any given time, a political film might be lauded as path-breaking by one segment and lambasted as offensive by another.
Take The Kashmir Files (2022) as a case study. This film depicted the 1990 exodus of Kashmiri Hindu Pandits from the Valley, portraying gruesome violence by Islamist militants. Upon release, it became a social phenomenon: in many North Indian towns, audiences were reportedly sobbing in cinemas, and some organized rallies supporting the film’s narrative. Many viewers, especially from the Hindu majority, praised it for “showing the truth” of a tragedy they felt was long ignored. The film swiftly entered the ₹100-crore and then ₹200-crore club, a stunning achievement for a movie with no big stars or prior hype. Yet, simultaneously, another section of the audience and almost all Muslim organizations were deeply upset by the film.
They accused it of stoking hatred, presenting a one-sided narrative that painted an entire community as villains. At some theaters, minor scuffles broke out between people chanting slogans after the show. Social media was a battleground, some hailed the film as a must-watch exposé, others condemned it as divisive propaganda. Critics, too, were polarized, with a few appreciating the performances but many pointing out factual inaccuracies and a lack of nuance, calling it “provocative and one-sided”.
The Indian government and ruling party politicians openly endorsed the film; several BJP-led states made it tax-free to encourage more viewership. In contrast, overseas, some markets reacted differently, notably, The Kashmir Files was banned in Singapore for its potential to cause communal enmity. The divergence in reception couldn’t be starker: beloved at home by a large majority audience, deemed too inflammatory abroad, and hotly debated by everyone in between.
On the other end, consider a film like Mulk (2018). It dealt with a Muslim family in India falsely accused of harboring terrorists and tried to make a case for communal harmony and not stereotyping Muslims as traitors. Mulk won a Filmfare Award for Best Story and was appreciated by critics who supported its inclusive message. But its box office was modest. More tellingly, it faced a torrent of online hate from right-wing commentators who labeled it “pro-terrorist” or “anti-Hindu” simply for showing empathy towards a Muslim family. The director Anubhav Sinha had to defend himself against trolls, even as others thanked him for making the film. Again, a split: some audience members found Mulk to be an important, humanizing film; others outright rejected its premise due to their own political biases.
What causes such polarities? In a diverse and politically charged country like India, people bring their personal and community’s historical perspectives into the theater. A film touching on caste oppression might deeply move a Dalit viewer, but could make an upper-caste viewer defensive or dismissive. A film questioning the army’s actions might be seen as necessary by those valuing human rights, but as offensive by those valuing national security above all. Confirmation bias plays a role: audiences tend to praise films that validate their viewpoints and criticize those that challenge them. In the age of social media, this is amplified, as people rapidly form camps, declaring a film “great” or “ghastly” often based as much on its perceived politics as on its cinematic quality.
It’s worth noting that many political films do still receive broad critical acclaim, even if audience reaction splits. Haider is a good example; it won awards and critics wrote reams about its craft and courage, yet a section of the public accused it of being anti-national. Conversely, a film like The Kashmir Files was largely panned by mainstream critics, but the audience turnout told a different story. This gap between critics and a segment of the audience is also a feature of the love-hate scenario. Critics, who often prioritize narrative balance, artistic subtlety, and factual accuracy, might reject a propagandistic or excessively melodramatic approach. A section of the audience, however, might be looking more for emotional validation or representation of their grievances, which those films provide in plenty.
Bollywood, taking note of this, sometimes tailors its content accordingly. We see emerging a kind of binary in political storytelling: one that caters to liberal sensibilities with nuance and critique (Article 15, Firaaq, Shanghai, etc.), and one that caters to conservative or nationalist sensibilities with more black-and-white messaging (Kashmir Files, Accidental Prime Minister, PM Narendra Modi biopic). Both types find their own “love” from their target demographics and “hate” from the opposite side.
Lastly, the role of controversies and bans in shaping reception cannot be ignored. Often, when a film is attacked or banned, it generates curiosity and sympathy that can translate into support. Udta Punjab’s case again: the attempt to censor it created a public outcry, and likely more people watched it to assert creative freedom. When Padmaavat was protested, it became a national news topic, arguably boosting interest in the film. So sometimes the “hate” can ironically fuel the “love”, opposition giving free publicity and turning a movie into a cause célèbre. Filmmakers are aware of this dynamic, too, though it’s a risky game to rely on controversy to sell a film.
The Fine Line: Art, Propaganda, and Everything In-Between
Analyzing Bollywood’s political films raises an important question: When does a film cross from being art to propaganda? And who decides that? The answer often lies in the eye of the beholder. In a democracy, one person’s truth-telling film is another person’s propaganda. Bollywood has exemplified this tension.
For example, The Kashmir Files was lauded by some officials as “bringing out the truth that was hidden for years”, while an international film festival jury head (Nadav Lapid at IFFI 2022) famously denounced it as “vulgar propaganda” in front of an Indian audience. Both views garnered support. This incident itself became political, Israel’s ambassador apologized for Lapid’s remarks, as if a diplomatic matter, showing how a film’s interpretation became an issue between nations. So, the line between art and propaganda can be blurry.
Usually, if a film is perceived as aligning too neatly with a ruling party’s narrative or an ideology without critique, it earns the “propaganda” tag (e.g., the biopics on PM Modi and on a Hindu nationalist ideologue Dharm, that came around 2019). On the other hand, if a film questions the status quo or highlights uncomfortable truths, it’s hailed as art by some but might be damned as “anti-national” propaganda by others (as happened with Haider or Water in earlier years).
Bollywood has had both films that pander to power and films that speak truth to power. Sometimes the same film can be interpreted in both ways by different viewers. What’s heartening is that despite pressures, there are filmmakers consistently aiming for the latter, to use cinema as a voice of the people, to satirize leaders, or to uncover societal wounds, continuing the legacy of those 1970s mavericks, albeit with modern methods. At the same time, an increasing number of movies do unabashedly further a certain narrative, be it nationalist, religious majoritarian, or status-quoist, revealing that Bollywood is also a terrain of ideological contest.
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Audiences, for their part, are also more ideologically segmented now than before. This means Bollywood might continue to produce both kinds of content, because each has a ready audience base. The industry’s relationship with “political films” is thus not monolithic; it oscillates depending on the broader political climate. In eras perceived as liberal or when the film fraternity felt safer (say the late 90s to mid-2000s), we saw more experimental and critical films. In the current climate, where some celebrities have faced social media vilification or tax raids after speaking up, there might be a chilling effect, hence a rise in safer, government-friendly subjects by big studios, and the more critical work being done by smaller independent filmmakers or on streaming platforms.
Reflections: Cinema as Mirror and Battleground
Bollywood’s engagement with political films over the decades is a mirror to Indian democracy itself, vibrant, argumentative, sometimes repressive, often courageous. The love-hate relationship encapsulates a core truth: cinema in India is not just entertainment; it’s inherently political. When millions flock to a movie, it can shape public discourse in a way few other media can. This is why governments fear it (hence censorship) and also why governments court it (enlisting film stars for campaigns, promoting flattering films). It’s also why people react so passionately, because they see their identities and beliefs either represented or challenged on that 70mm screen.
From the journey above, a few reflections emerge:
- Courage Comes in Waves: There have been high points where Bollywood took significant political risks, the post-Emergency truth-telling in the late 70s, the parallel cinema of the 80s, the socially conscious turn in the mid-2000s, and even the bold narratives in recent years like Article 15. These often coincide with or follow periods of turmoil, suggesting artists push back when things become too stifling. Each time censorship or backlash has hit, filmmakers have eventually found new creative ways around it.
- The Power of Subtlety vs. The Power of Noise: Some of the most effective political commentary in films has been subtle and metaphorical (like Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro’s humor or Haider’s literary framing), which slowly wins hearts and minds. Conversely, the loud, unabashed films (Kashmir Files or propaganda biopics) create immediate noise and mobilize emotions. Both have impact, but of different nature; one can gradually change perspectives, the other can harden them. Bollywood employs both modes, indicating that the filmmakers choose their weapons according to the message they want to send and the reaction they seek.
- Audience as Participants: Indian audiences have shown they are not passive. They’ll reward a Rang De Basanti with not just money but by living its message in real-life protests. They’ll also campaign against a film if they feel offended or politically provoked. In a way, the audience completes the political circuit of these films. Bollywood has to be mindful that it doesn’t just project politics onto an inert viewer; the viewer responds and sometimes quite vocally. In the era of social media, this response becomes part of the film’s legacy. Thus, a filmmaker venturing into political content almost has to anticipate being part of a larger socio-political conversation (or controversy) once the film is out.
- Resilience of Expression: Despite all the attempts to muzzle films, rarely has a political film completely vanished. Kissa Kursi Ka was destroyed but remade; Aandhi was banned but later celebrated on TV; Fire (1996) faced theater attacks but still got seen and started conversations on LGBTQ rights; Padmaavat had to change its title and jump hoops, but the story it wanted to tell did reach the audience. This resilience shows the enduring love for storytelling that exists in filmmakers and the audience alike. There is an understanding that cinema, like society, evolves through debate and dissent. Each film that survives a ban or wins a court case sets a precedent and makes it a tad easier for the next one.
In conclusion, Bollywood’s relationship with political films will likely remain an ebb and flow of bold creation and backlash. As India’s politics change, new stories will demand to be told, be it about government policies, social movements, or historical reckonings. We may see more overt political biographies or fictionalizations of recent events, and each will test how much freedom the establishment allows and how much truth the audience can tolerate. The final scene is far from written. But if history is any guide, Bollywood will continue to oscillate between periods of compliance and defiance.
The love for impactful narratives will ensure political films are made; the fear or opposition they generate will ensure those films are talked about even more. In that very tussle lies the vitality of India’s cinema. Bollywood, in reflecting the nation’s politics, inevitably becomes a political actor itself, sometimes a unifier, sometimes a divider, but never irrelevant. And perhaps that is how it should be in the world’s largest democracy, where every voice, including that of film, has a role in the grand conversation.