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Indian Express
12 hours ago
- Politics
- Indian Express
From Emergency to now, how censorship became a competitive sport
When the Emergency was declared in 1975, the Hindi newspaper Vir Pratap, like most Indian media, had an editorial problem. First, they tried to leave the editorial space blank. The government said that it was not permissible. Nor were they allowed to fill it with inspirational quotes, even from icons like Mahatma Gandhi or Rabindranath Tagore. This was not a time the government wanted anyone to reiterate Tagore's 'Where the mind is without fear'. 'They said you cannot leave the editorial blank. You have to fill it up,' says Chander Mohan, who, along with his daughter Jyotsna, authored the book Pratap: A Defiant Newspaper. 'That's when my father started writing his life history.' His father, Virendra, had quite a checkered history when it came to speaking truth to power. Accused of making bombs, he had been imprisoned with Bhagat Singh. The Urdu newspaper Pratap had been launched by his father, Mahashay Krishan, in 1919 in Lahore two weeks before the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. Two days after its launch, the British shut it down for a full year. 'The paper was blunt and we were frequently shut down; the editors, my father and grandfather, were imprisoned and fines were imposed repeatedly,' recalls Mohan. As long as the British were ruling India, the narrative was straightforward: Good guy desi Davids taking on bad guy sahib Goliaths. After Independence, it got murkier. The good guys and bad guys now looked the same. The boundaries of freedom of expression felt less clear in free India. The Emergency was lifted in 1977, but the issues of censorship have morphed into a shape-shifting monster. Now, everyone competes in taking offence and banning books and films they deem offensive, the most famous example being the then Congress government's preemptive strike on Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses. That set off the 'Big Ban' Theory of everything. Satanic Verses recently returned to Indian bookstores, but that doesn't mean freedom of expression is in fine fettle. The battles, as Alice said in Wonderland, are getting 'curiouser and curiouser'. For example, the Central Board of Film Certification stalled the Malayalam film Janaki vs State of Kerala because it feels a woman who has been assaulted should not be given the name of someone revered as a Goddess. The irony is that Sita from the Ramayana is also a survivor, someone who was kidnapped and endured an Agnipariksha to boot. Instead of acknowledging the parallels the CBFC wants to draw a Lakshmanrekha as if to seal off all possible names of Sita, and one presumes, every other God and Goddess in the pantheon, from possible fictional contamination. That's a slippery slope. Can an out-and-out villain never be named Ram or Lakshmi henceforth? Would a modern-day CBFC take filmmaker Satyajit Ray and novelist Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay to task because Durga in Pather Panchali steals a necklace? And how could a Durga be shown dying anyway? Sometimes names are chosen to make a point. Salman Rushdie deliberately named a bad-tempered bulldog in The Moor's Last Sigh as Jaw-Jaw after Jawaharlal. It upset the Congress, but little came of it. All of this harkens back to an old controversy about Deepa Mehta's 1996 film Fire, where angry protesters felt she had deliberately named the lesbian characters Radha and Sita in order to take an unsubtle dig at Hinduism. Now, taking offence and demanding censorship has become a competitive sport across the political spectrum. Most people protesting books have never read them. It's just a shortcut to political fame. And it does not require a state of Emergency because it's always open season, whether it's for a stand-up comic like Kunal Kamra or an Instagram influencer like Sharmishta Panoli. Even an apology and a deleted post are not remorseful enough. The issue is not really what they said. It is the political dividends to be gained by making an example of them. On the other hand, everyone knows that in an age of e-books and VPNs, a ban is hardly a hurdle for a book from reaching readers. And more Indians are now aware of a Malayalam film called Janaki v State of Kerala than ever before, thanks to the CBFC controversy. Meanwhile, the censorship story has an odd new avatar. According to media reports, the CBFC directed the makers of the new film Sitaare Zameen Par to include an inspirational quote from the Prime Minister in its opening disclaimer. 'Let us all build a society where no dream or goal is impossible,' says the Prime Minister. 'Only then will we be able to build a truly inclusive and developed India.' It's a fine sentiment and a laudable aspiration. It's just that at one time, censorship was about what one could or could not say. The new twist is that the censor board can now also tell one what one must say. Roy is a novelist and the author of Don't Let Him Know
Hindustan Times
22-04-2025
- Politics
- Hindustan Times
The paper that roared: Book by Chander Mohan, daughter Jyotsna chronicles the legacy of ‘Pratap'
A compelling specimen of journalism as resistance, Pratap: A Defiant Newspaper traces the tumultuous journey of one of India's most fearless publications. Co-authored by father-daughter journalist duo Chander Mohan and Jyotsna Mohan, the book turns the spotlight on the pivotal role of Urdu newspaper 'Pratap' and its Hindi counterpart 'Vir Pratap', which had a long and eventful history. Launched by Mahashay Krishan on March 30, 1919, and ably carried on by his son Virendra and later his grandson Chander, it was a torchbearer against the British Raj that covered all the major events during India's struggle for independence and after, until it wrapped up in 2017. In Pratap: A Defiant Newspaper, Chander and Jyotsna weave together the incidents and personal experiences of the paper's founder and editors, as well as landmark events of Indian history, from Independence to the Emergency and Operation Bluestar. 'The paper was not just reporting news; it was shaping the national conscience,' says Chander, who believes that the history of 'Pratap' and people related to it needed to be told. Asked if the authors see any parallels between the newspaper and contemporary journalism, they respond in negative. 'Not at all. Times have changed, readers have changed, and the profile of journalists has changed,' says Chander, who, along with his daughter, took more than two years to complete the book. Talking about the particular chapters that deeply resonate with him, Chander says, 'Though all chapters carry equal weight, two of them are important to me. The one that tells the story of the parcel bomb, which ripped through the Pratap's office in Jalandhar, claiming two lives in 1983, and the other one that explores the relationship between Mahatma Gandhi and Bhagat Singh.' For Jyotsna, the part of the book that delves into the period of militancy in Punjab is the one close to her heart. 'My grandfather's first-hand accounts were exceptional. And you know a good story when you hear one. It became pertinent to us to document those stories and bring them out for the people to read,' she adds. A tribute to the power of the press, Pratap: A Defiant Newspaper is available at local bookstores and Amazon.
