Bollywood & Censorship
Aandhi vs. the State: Why Gulzar’s Film Would Be Banned Today
The film Aandhi, a Bollywood Classic came out in 1975, but strip away the period details and Aarti Devi’s struggles feel painfully modern. Directed by Gulzar, it is a haunting exploration of the sacrifices demanded from women in power. The film follows the lives of Aarti Devi (Suchitra Sen), a formidable politician torn between her career and her marriage to J.K. (Sanjeev Kumar), a hotel manager who loves her unconditionally but from a distance.
What makes Aandhi extraordinary is its refusal to villainize ambition or romanticize martyrdom. Aarti Devi is unapologetic about her political career, a rare portrayal of a female politician in Bollywood when women in leadership were still a rarity on screen. Even today, female politicians from Jacinda Ardern (former New Zealand’s Prime Minister), who faced global debates over balancing motherhood with governance, to Indian women politicians who are often questioned about their ‘family roles’ face double standard that their male counterparts escape. Aarti Devi’s struggle mirrors theirs: the constant negotiation between public duty and private longing.
Sanjeev Kumar’s J.K. is the film’s quiet tragedy - a man who loves deeply but is left behind, there’s a profound sense of loneliness in his character that many might relate to, the feeling of loving someone who’s constantly out of reach, consumed by larger aspirations.
Their reunion scene, years later in a hotel room is a masterclass in restrained sorrow. The scene is filled with regret, love, and unspoken words, highlighting the emotional complexities of their relationship. Their dialogues are filled with a kind of raw honesty that hits hard, they linger on roads not taken, love lost to ambition and the weight of the choices we make. Gulzar’s non-linear storytelling amplifies this ache, weaving past and present so seamlessly that their separation feels both necessary and unjust.
Beyond its emotional depth, Aandhi also serves as a critique of the political landscape. The film exposes the transactional nature of politics, where personal relationships become tools for public image-building. It was controversial upon its release, with many drawing parallels to then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, leading to film’s temporary ban during the Emergency - a move that only underscored its uncomfortable truths.
Nearly five decades later, Aandhi’s legacy is twofold: a landmark in Indian cinema and a cautionary tale about art under repression. Today films like Phule (on Jyotirao and Savitribai Phule’s anti-caste activism) and Santosh showcasing nothing but truth face censorship under the guise of “public sentiments.”
While back then, Aandhi was temporarily banned during emergency as it loosely portrayed the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s life, it still managed to exist, breathe, and eventually be seen. But today, the film might not even make it past the censorship board. Today’s censorship is more insidious - the algorithmic suppression, troll mobs and the institutions that fear backlash more than they value truth.
So, what does that say about us today? Have we become less tolerant of art that challenges us? Gulzar’s film dared to humanize a woman in power without reducing her to a saint or a villain which was seen as a threat to political power in 1975, would she not be torn apart even more ruthlessly now - both by the state and the social media mobs?
If Aandhi struggle to find space in today’s cultural imagination, the loss isn’t just cinematic. It’s a loss of a mirror held up to society, one that refuses to flinch.
I am a Political Science major and a young feminist thinker who reads like her life depends on it and writes to make sense of the world, especially when it comes to women, children and everyone society tends to overlook. I dream of working at the intersection of policy and gender justice. When I am not drafting articles or overthinking power structures, you’ll find me napping or imagining oddly specific fake scenarios—fully aware they’re fake.