Let me begin with a few disclaimers. Yes, I was a guest on Ranveer Allahbadia’s podcast in 2022. No, I have never watched Samay Raina’s India’s Got Latent. And yes, Ranveer’s so-called “joke” on that show was not just disgusting and unfunny, but also a cringeworthy attempt to ingratiate himself with an unfamiliar audience.

But did his words incite hate or call for violence? No. Were they in poor taste? Absolutely. Then again, so are movies like Grand Masti, OTT content like Gandii Baat, TV shows like Bigg Boss, Bhojpuri songs like Chachi Tohar Bachi Sapnon Mein Aati Hai, Punjabi rap like G**nd Mein Danda, and Bollywood numbers like Bhaag DK Bose. The only way to ban all of them in the internet age would be to impose a Chinese-style firewall—an option that comes at an unacceptably high price for freedom of expression.

I have often spoken of Bharat’s civilization and the need to preserve Sanatana Dharma as the means to India’s pluralism. But we forget that Sanatana does not comprehend the concept of blasphemy. Unlike dogmatic traditions that criminalize dissent, Sanatana Dharma thrives on intellectual freedom, debate, and reinterpretation. With no single book, prophet, or authority, it embraces multiple philosophies—Dvaita, Advaita and even Nastika. Even the gods can be mocked. In fact, in the Srimad Bhagavatam, Sage Bhrigu kicks Vishnu on his chest, with no adverse consequences. The Charvaka philosophical tradition openly rejects the existence of gods and even scorns Vedic rituals. The Nasadiya Sukta from the Rigveda questions the origins of the universe, the role of a creator, and whether even the gods know the ultimate truth. Sanatana Dharma has never criminalized debate, doubt, or irreverence. The gods themselves are questioned, derided, and even cursed, yet they embrace discourse instead of punishment.

Just visit temples like Khajuraho, Konark or Modhera, and you would find a wide range of erotic imagery, including what might appear to be bestiality, group intimacy, and other unconventional acts. However, our ancestors were open enough to understand these depictions within the broader philosophical context of kama (desire) and moksha (transcendence). Tantra, which influenced many of these depictions, believed in understanding all aspects of life—including sexuality—as a means of evolution. By today’s standards, many of these sculptures would be viewed as bordering on pornography. Should we criminalise them?

The Kamasutra, composed by Vatsyayana in ancient India, is a sophisticated discourse on love, relationships, and the art of living. Rooted in a cultural ethos that once embraced desire as an essential aspect of life, the text views kama as one of the four purusharthas (goals) of human existence, alongside dharma (duty), artha (wealth), and liberation (moksha). The Kamasutra reflects an era when Indian society engaged with openness and intellect, rather than repression or shame. Ironically, modern India, often swept by waves of moral indignation, increasingly favours outrage over understanding, censorship over dialogue, and criminal punishment over social rebuke.

Writing in the fourth century BCE, Chanakya’s Arthashastra takes a pragmatic and regulatory approach to prostitution, treating ganikas (courtesans) not as social outcasts but as integral to the state’s economy, intelligence network, and governance. Far from moral condemnation, prostitution was a state-regulated profession, with taxes levied on earnings and protection provided to those in the trade. Courtesans were not only entertainers but also employed as spies to extract intelligence, test loyalty, and influence political affairs. The state even appointed a ganikadhyaksha (superintendent) to oversee their welfare and ensure fair treatment. Present-day India, despite its self-righteous moral indignation, relegates prostitution to the shadows—criminalized and stigmatized. The contrast exposes how a civilization that once approached such matters with realism and regulation has given way to a society obsessed with appearances rather than solutions.

Should there be an age limit for consuming explicit content on platforms? Absolutely. Who should enforce that age limit? Parents—a breed that has delegated parenting to schools and the state rather than providing their children with that much-needed input called time. Should there be strict penalties on platforms for violation? Sure. Should there be a certification system for content? Probably—in the form of a self-regulated industry body. Does one need to watch Samay Raina’s show? Not at all. What punishment does a YouTube sensation like Allahbadia deserve for a revolting un-joke? Probably a mob-lynching on social media, a withdrawal of corporate sponsorships, and a disgust-driven downtick in subscriber revenues. But does he deserve to be arrested? The answer is a resounding no. Because that is the beginning of a slippery slope. There is a fundamental difference between immoral and illegal. Immorality can be handled by social rebuke and community boycott; illegality demands state intervention.

The moment we start criminalizing bad jokes, crude lyrics, or tasteless cinema, we open the floodgates to an era where offense is dictated by the loudest mob. Today, it is a comedian’s ill-conceived punchline; tomorrow, it could be a filmmaker’s interpretation of a religious belief, a historian’s analysis of the past, or a journalist’s choice of words. The list of the “offended” will only grow, as will the demand for retribution. In a vibrant democracy, the right to take offense exists—but so does the right to ignore, critique, or counter with reasoned argument, just like the ancient Hindu traditions of debates between rishis, scholars, and even deities. If our ancestors could thrive on tarka (logical reasoning), swatantrata (intellectual freedom), and samvada (dialogue and debate), why do we need to turn every instance of bad taste into a criminal offense?

Evelyn Beatrice Hall, a biographer of Voltaire, paraphrased Voltaire's beliefs to summarize his philosophy: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” India is a country that enforced press censorship during the Emergency years, banned the Satanic Verses even before Islamic countries did, and prevented Kishore Kumar from singing on Akashvani for not towing the government’s line. And I wonder how many of those suggesting criminal action would be willing to publicly make available their internet browser search histories? Christ was onto something when he said, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” Do we really want to go down the road that trivializes the law while empowering the state to police thought, speech, and artistic expression? And if history has shown us anything, it is this: once such powers are normalized, they are rarely rolled back.

--- The writer is an author of several works of fiction.