SMOKING causes cancer and consumption of alcohol is injurious to health. Based on scientific consensus as to the probability of harm to an individual, such warnings are required by law through acts of Parliament. Something similar seems to be happening to movies in India. Not restricted to displays against smoking and consumption of alcohol, such disclaimers each year become denser with incomprehensible legalese, displayed in larger font types, playing out for longer durations to audiences. A viewer is forced to ask, ‘When did movies become injurious to health?’ What notice is this text or video message played before films intended to convey? Do they provide advice, prevent confusion, or have they instead become a censorial compromise between the artist and any claims to offence?

A scholar of media studies may inquire beyond the construct of the disclaimer to reasons for broader censorship practices in India. For instance one of the richest modern resources on movie censorship in India is the study by Tejaswini Ganti, ‘Limits of Decency and the Decency of Limits’,¹ based on interviews with Bollywood professionals, including Aamir Khan, Shahrukh Khan, Mukesh Bhatt and B.R. Chopra. Ganti’s examination comes before and goes beyond regulation: attitudes of self-censorship, social norms, the filmmaker’s desire for respectability. However, a lawyer can only cross-examine a court record. Hence, this essay will not comment on the entire project of censorship, but will look more closely at legal devices. Is the disclaimer successful in obtaining movie certification while avoiding heavy content censorship in core elements of the movie? As such, do disclaimers serve as the first few puffs of tobacco or a drink of whisky arousing desire for even more?

The history of movie censorship is well documented in legal and the larger family of scholarly literature. It is also subject to episodic upswings in the mainstream press due to recurring movie censorship controversies. Much of this debate starts from the Supreme Court’s constitutional examination of mandatory pre-censorship for cinema exhibition in the case of K.A. Abbas v. Union of India.² It concerns a constitutional challenge to the provisions of the Cinematograph Act, 1952 which required a mandatory licensing system before the exhibition of the movie. At stake is the fundamental right to free expression and the reasonability of restrictions which can be placed on it. There is a sentiment around the courts that the result of a case only matters to the litigant; for lawyers, it is the principle which holds enduring value. Looking beyond the facts, recent works on free expression and legal censorship deftly analyse this case and demonstrate how it sets the template for the constitutional toleration of movie censorship in India.³

 

Gautam Bhatia, in his book Shock, Offend or Disturb uses this case as a framework to lay out several strands common in censorship, spotlighting elements of paternalism exercised by the Supreme Court, which views legal control not only as necessary but desirable. Rather than ruling on the principle of an individual viewer’s autonomy, the courts seem to assume the role of an appellate body, which goes into the script, dialogue and minutiae of content examination to protect a group taking into account, ‘the weakness and vulnerabilities of that constituency.’⁴ This heavy whiff of elitism (‘good for me, but not for you’), which inheres to movie censorship is the predominant outlook of the judiciary. Take for instance Abhinav Chandrachud’s account in Republic of Rhetoric which noted, ‘Chief Justice Hidayatullah wrote the judgement... candidly admitted later on the film had been specially screened for the judges... he found, "nothing obscene in it".’⁵

These commentators indicate three premises which altogether may not be wholly novel but are set forth with clarity and undergird their analysis. The first is that a movie from the point of its conceptualization till its exhibition is an act not only of creative expression but legal compliance. This is due to the inherent subjectivity of the content guidelines that vary widely according to factors of time, the personality of the censor, the political environment (which goes far beyond the content of the film). Art fears the pound of a gavel while at the same time inviting it.

The second is that this function of law is enabled by a denial of autonomy to the viewer, who is judged to be a gullible inferior, a malleable, excitable child compared to the censors and judges up to the Supreme Court of India. The third and final premise is the recognition that movies as a class of content, stand apart and receive a unique, higher degree of censorship in comparision to other forms of media such as print or audio. It is within these strands that the practice and growth of disclaimers have occurred in India.

 

Many people have some vague memory of a legal case concerning a hot cup of coffee from McDonald’s.⁶ As one of the leading instances which were cited widely for tort reform in the United States, it has over the years broken through legal lore to become a part of pop-culture. A 79-year-old customer was scalded, and suffered 3rd degree burns, skin grafting and disfigurement. After this case, there was a widespread proliferation of notices on disposable cups all over the world reading, ‘Caution: Hot Coffee’ (while doing nothing to reduce the temperature of the coffee to make it safer). This is a disclaimer. As a legal device, its aim is to to prevent a claim of liability by the consumer. The use of ‘consumer’ sets that category apart from the ordinary, natural person, since the location of a disclaimer is more appropriately found as a term and condition of commerce. It is a device to inform ‘consumers’ the directions for use or to indicate risk before the use of a product.

 

Thus, most of the research and legal analysis which flows on disclaimers focuses on its function in the fields of labelling, advertising and marketing. Think about the cure-all remedies derived from roots of exotic plants from the Amazon, that offer to stretch the spring of youth, or condense a library of wisdom by merely popping a pill. For such products, disclaimers on the packaging serve as risk-control for the manufacturer, an antidote to the otherwise deceptive and misleading advertising and implicit in the nature of the product itself. While the phrase, ‘disclaimer’ does exist in some central legislation, such as the Indian Trusts Act, 1882 and the Air Corporations Act, 1953, their widespread use as a feature of media regulation is seen primarily through the self-regulatory code of the Advertising Standards Council of India (ASCI). This code has been granted some sanctity by a culture of voluntary compliance and its official acceptance in television censorship through Cable Television Networks Rules, 1994.

The most recent version of the advertising code published on 13 October 2016 marks a distinct sub-chapter on the use of disclaimers.⁷ Titled ‘Disclaimers made in supporting, limiting or explaining claims made in Advertisements’, it is advocated as one of the instruments of ensuring compliance with the ASCI Code. It focuses on seven distinct elements of compliance. The first three relate to the content of the disclaimer where it cannot be a device to ‘contradict the material claim’ or spur further misinformation. The four which follow concentrate on the prominence, visibility and the placement of the disclaimer. In all these elements the focus is on the intended consumer receiving adequate, accurate information to allow an informed decision concerning their purchase. They seem to suggest a modicum of objectivity in the media portrayal and represent one of the most developed bodies of codes on the use of a disclaimer as a method of media censorship in India.

 

A duopoly exists in the free expression right. At one end are the rights of the speaker, and on the other end are the rights of the audience. Both have over the years been recognized as being components of the fundamental right to freedom of speech and expression. The former, the right of the speaker, is intrinsically tied to the right of the audience which receives the message, is informed by it, and thereby builds a foundation or a reaction for further speech. Hence a cyclical virtue is presumed in the sanctity of expression. However, the courts also recognize that the rights of the recipient include the right to that censorship which is necessary to prevent the harms which may occur through the various forms of misinformation. As illustrated above in instances of advertising and marketing media, this is addressed by legal requirements to clarify and provide notice. This may seem like an optional measure, a sensible method to decrease the risk of liability but when required by law, it changes its title from the more genial, ‘Disclaimer’, to a mandatory, ‘Statutory Notice’.

One of the most recognizable statutory notices in India arose from the death of Mukesh Harane in October 2009. Shortly before passing away, Mukesh’s battle with oral cancer was filmed (with a feeding pipe sticking out of his nose) at the Tata Memorial Hospital, Mumbai, where he expresses remorse. Cinema audiences across India see the stark visual of his sunken frame resting in a hospital bed, as a narrator informs the audience that he contracted the condition at the peak of his youth, just 23 years old. What compounds the tragedy is that it came from chewing a popular tobacco concoction, the Gutka. The display of this visual, its frequency, length and prominence, is a legal requirement in force through a notification issued by the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare. The conditions are onerous: any movie that depicts a smoking scene must contain ‘anti-tobacco spots of minimum 30 seconds duration each at the beginning and middle of the films’. Besides this explicit requirement of law, there is no formal legal requirement for any static text or audio-visual disclaimers. However, is it a fair claim that a legal culture independent of legislation has developed the disclaimer as a statutory requirement?

 

A rich textual resource for discovery are the orders by the appellate body for film censorship in India, the Film Certification Appellate Tribunal (FCAT).⁸ The orders published online by the website of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting of the FCAT over almost one and half year term examine the censorship practices enforced on a total of 36 films, in which over six are dismissed on technical grounds and do not constitute a substantive finding.⁹ In the remaining 30, about 14 contain directions for inserting disclaimers and making them more prominent, or through ‘voluntary’ offerings of the appellant. It is important to consider that only one of these disclaimers relates to smoking, and another two relate to scrolling notices to state the harmful effects of drugs. Even this statistic may be an under-representation as many pre-existing movies, such as, An Insignificant Man had pre-existing disclaimers placed by the filmmakers which are not mentioned in the orders of the FCAT.¹⁰ But beyond statistics what can these cases tell us?

 

Let us first examine the fabric before we look at the scissors and the cut. The FCAT is ordinarily the last expert body and hears the appeal within the censorship framework of the Cinematograph Act. Its subjects are dissatisfied filmmakers who have already been through a painful process being disappointed by the examining committee and then a revising committee. Many of them, having invested money and time, are anxious to see their work released. Such averments are frequently found in the submissions of filmmakers appealing for urgency in hearing and a grant in certification. For instance the producer of Lipstick Under My Burqa states to the FCAT that they have, ‘invested five crore rupees in the film’, and 1946 Calcutta Killings contends, ‘financial and business hardship.’

Even though many of the orders of the FCAT seem to correct the egregious errors of the committees below, a seemingly liberal result overshadows a process of coercion that is disguised as voluntary acceptance of censorship. These emotions fill up the cinema hall of the Films Division Auditorium located at Mahadev Road, where the screening of the movies is held by the FCAT on a booking paid for by the filmmakers before the hearing of the appeal. This process of censorship and the environment of the FCAT hearings is vital to understand how the orders which often record many of the excisions and insertions to the movies may be ‘voluntary’ but are not with free and full consent. Hence, the offer for the insertion of the disclaimer by the appellants in movies such as, JD, Love Sonia, Battle for Benares, Games of Ayodhya, Sameer are better characterized as peace offerings to a censorship deity.

 

The content of these disclaimers also reveals several truths about the legal censorship apparatus. They vary from standard statements that the characters depicted in the movie are fictional and veer towards verbose statements of good faith about intent and content, from the titular and insignificant characters, dialogues and visuals, to the social benefit served by the overall theme of the movie. For instance in the film, Battle for Benares, the FCAT requires the insertion of an ‘introduction’ that indicates the theme of the movie in addition to a separate, ‘disclaimer’. The ‘introduction’ is a lengthy text garnished with adjectives such as, ‘plurality’ and ‘diversity of views’ which signal virtue.

Similarly, the directed disclaimer in, Gandhi Ek Saazish, states, ‘the film represents the views of various sections of society’. Even Sex Education, which remains true to its title by focusing on a socially progressive theme within the bounds of a conservative Hindu value system, is directed to insert an express disclaimer that it will deal with the ‘taboo of sex education’. The disclaimer which is inserted at the stage of the FCAT becomes a device to disinfect controversy while serving up entertainment within established social values.

This is only a partial study in the role the FCAT plays, as the last expert body where it either through a process of implicit negotiation or specific direction obtains the insertion of a disclaimer. There are strong numerical and textual indications that it attempts to remove any ‘offensiveness’, and also to make the notice more prominent by increasing the length of the disclaimer, often even requiring voice-overs in addition to their textual presence. For instance, in Games of Ayodhya it directs a disclaimer for at least 90 seconds that states the movie is based on ‘multiple perspectives’, does not intend to ‘denigrate anyone’ even though ‘all characters are fictitious.’

This sort of disclaimer, rather than benefiting audiences, restricts imagination and straight-jackets interpretation to the hazard of social creativity and discourse. Such harms to the viewing experience of the audience which are visible onscreen mask an unspoken latent concern: the pacification of the mob and the broad constituency of the offended. This becomes evident as we progress to the last legal arena for the contest of creative expression, the final directors of the film, the writ courts, namely the High Courts and the Supreme Court of India.

 

The burgeoning presence of disclaimers has not gone unnoticed in our courts. These arise in principally three categories of cases. The first is a filmmaker aggrieved by the censorship apparatus approaching them for remedy; the second is a litigant who is a public personality or their relatives; the third is a person not holding any direct interest in the movie but deriving a claim based on group identity. The disclaimer plays an important role here in negotiating a truce between the filmmaker and the offended. Many of these trends are also noticed in the FCAT decisions, but they become more apparent as the judicial contest takes place with higher transparency if not verbosity in reasoning.

 

The first clear trend is the willingness of filmmakers for ‘voluntary’ disclaimers. This practice has been in place for some time. In William Mazzarella’s path-breaking scholarship on South Asian cinema, Censorium, he notes a telling instance: elaborate disclaimers at the beginning and end were required for the grant of certification for Shyam Benegal’s Nishant in October 1975. This included ‘as the movie is a work of fiction’ and, ‘the scenes depicted in this film relate to a period when India was not independent. Citizens of India today enjoy equal rights and status, and working together are moving ever forward’. This had to be inserted during the peak of the emergency which saw a suspension of fundamental rights in India. To the filmmaker, this was dark irony, accepted with a chuckle.¹¹ While it does play an important role in obtaining certification, after its receipt the disclaimer continues to serve as a method of risk management by filmmakers and provides an insurance device in courtrooms across India.

Such disclaimers may even be found in Hollywood movies which can cause offence to a group, most noticeably in the litigations around the Indian release of the Da Vinci Code based on a Dan Brown novel, which intermixed claims of the Christian faith within a web of occult drama. The cinema exhibition of foreign movies requires content certification equally to their local counterparts; here it was only permitted after the Government ‘organized a special screening for the objecting and other Christian organizations’.¹²

 

The outcome of this meeting was a decision that ‘the producers should add a disclaimer both before and after the film that it is a work of fiction’. More than the contents of the movie, this disclaimer is highlighted by the High Courts of Andhra Pradesh¹³ and Kerala¹⁴ as being a significant factor in the sanctity of the certification. In doing so, they repel challenges by offended parties seeking a restraint on its screening. The reliance on the disclaimer as a labelling device that the movie, ‘is a work of fiction’, averts broader legal complications. This is a trend evidenced by further case precedent. As much of cinema continues to seek inspiration from historical narratives and contemporary debates, it continues to proclaim loudly but insincerely otherwise through the disclaimer.

Three more cases demonstrate the extent to which courts recognize the central role of the disclaimer as a device to a proper appreciation of the certification. In a challenge to the certification to the movie Indu Sarkaar, which evoked the memory and style of former prime minister Indira Gandhi, a distant relative challenged the exhibition of the movie when it was under the process of certification. The Bombay High Court notes and extracts the disclaimer which again indicates that the movie is a work of fiction stating, ‘all characters and incidents portrayed and used in the film are fictitious…’.

Even when it notices an admission by the producer in the course of the litigation that, ‘The statement that the film is based upon 30% facts and 70% of fiction cannot be overlooked…’, it disregards it by stating, ‘To conclude, we are inclined to note the disclaimer in the present film/case’. The penultimate paragraph notes ‘[t]his disclaimer is sufficient to protect the sentiments and the interest of Petitioner if any.’¹⁵ These findings are confirmed in an independent challenge to the exhibition of the movie in the High Court of Delhi¹⁶ in a different case, and the dismissal appeal from the decision of Bombay High Court to the Supreme Court¹⁷ where the primacy of the disclaimer is maintained by the courts in siding with the filmmaker.

 

Other cases also follow a similar template in their legal reasoning. In a legal challenge to the movie Hawaizaada, which allegedly failed in its fidelity to the depiction of Pandit Shivkar Bapuji Talpade, a historical figure in Maharashtra, the Bombay High Court reasons, ‘It is further submitted that it has a disclaimer which forms a part of the film. It is clearly stated that the motion picture is in its entirety a work of fiction.’

A much more recent controversy stems from the movie Padmaavat, supposedly based on a historical Rajput queen Padmaavati. The first signs of worry emerged during the filming itself where violence, threats and protests were made against the actors and filmmakers. This gradually intensified into organized vigilante violence as the movie neared completion, which resulted in a turbulent process of certification in which portions of the film were exorcized, beginning with the name which changed from Padmaavati to Padmaavat.

Even after that concerns remained, with credible threats of violence that constrained the producers to approach the Supreme Court against state-level bans and ensuring the safety of local cinemas. The Supreme Court by order on 18 January 2018, permitted the exhibition noticing the grant of the certification – but also again providing vast portions of its reasoning on the presence of two conspicuous disclaimers which were inserted on the directions of the CBFC.¹⁸ The first disclaimer adopted the boilerplate language that it was a, ‘a work of fiction’ which did not intend to, ‘disrespect, impair or disparage the beliefs, feelings, sentiments of any person(s), community(ies) and their culture(s), custom(s), practice(s).’ The second disclaimer noted, ‘This Film does not intend to encourage or support "Sati" or such other practices.’

 

Despite the Supreme Court granting such protection, noted social reformer Swami Agnivesh approached the High Court of Delhi, without watching the movie but reading two articles which criticized it for encouraging misogyny.¹⁹ One of the key planks of his claim to restrain the exhibition of the film was that it glorified the evil custom of sati in which widows were ‘expected’ to leap into their husband’s funeral pyre out of love and devotion. A coerced suicide is a murder, and legislative wisdom recognized this practice as a form of structural violence against women by the enactment of the Commission of Sati (Prevention) Act, 1987 which provided for punishment for, ‘supporting, justifying or propagating the practice of sati in any manner.’ Here again, the High Court of Delhi notes, the disclaimer, ‘unequivocally declared the film does not intend to encourage or support "sati" or such practices’ in rejecting the petition.

The disclaimer at these points seems to be a friend to the filmmaker. But can we call it one, if it demands an overbearing companionship? When does the disclaimer go from being a voluntary, risk mitigation measure, someone you take with you for protection when things go wrong, and instead becomes a demanding chaperon? Such a metamorphosis from disclaimer into statutory notice is evident from another strain of case law by which courts not only approve but direct the insertion of the disclaimer.

 

The most noticeable example of this is the legal challenge to the exhibition of the movie Mangal Pandey.²⁰ The High Court of Delhi after deftly noticing the precedent which leans against the interference by courts after a film has been given certification by the authorities under the Cinematograph Act, undertakes an examination of the minutiae of the movie. It delves into each specific grievance of the petitioners against the film, then reasons them away from the historical record adopting a theory of, ‘permissive dramatization’. Despite a pre-existing disclaimer, that ‘certain characters have been changed or fictionalized for dramatic purpose and certain characters may be composites or entirely fictions’, the court demands more. It becomes concerned with the celibacy of Mangal Pandey and his fictionalized nuptials with a former prostitute named Heera. It directs a further disclaimer to be inserted that, ‘The character of Heera is fictionalized. There was no such Heera in the life of Mangal Pandey. Mangal Pandey died a bachelor.’

There is every danger that the writ courts, which form the principal forum of the challenge to the certification of movies, become a judicial body just like the FCAT which develops a legal culture of requiring a disclaimer or increasing its prominence within a film. For instance, in a challenge concerning the use of a trademark within a song in the movie Chakravyuh, the Supreme Court noted that ‘indicating the names of certain business houses could have been avoided.’ It then directs the insertion of a disclaimer that, ‘Use of the names of the song are merely as example. No injury or disrespect is intended to any particular person or brand.’²¹

Many will apportion blame to the filmmaker for being accommodating and perhaps even inviting the development of a legal culture that requires a disclaimer. But such a simplistic analysis fails to grasp that the FCAT and the courts are forums for the litigant, not the artist. Courts view the disclaimer as a non-invasive labelling measure to inform audiences, placate offended litigants and take the attractive compromise of a middle path. It indeed comes as little surprise when the High Court of Delhi, in hearing a challenge to the decision of the FCAT directing several modifications to the movie Mohallah Asi, refuses to engage with a challenge to the direction to insert a disclaimer. It tersely states that, ‘The incorporation of the disclaimer does not warrant any interference as it does not prejudice the petitioner in any manner.’²²

 

While it is important to note that in another case the Delhi High Court when faced by a challenge of the filmmaker of Textures of Loss rejects the direction for a disclaimer recognizing the legal injury and stating that, ‘the insistence, on having a disclaimer inserted, is completely untenable.’²³ However, this victory does not stand as the CBFC appeals this decision and the Division Bench while upholding the order also records that, ‘the respondent No.1/writ petitioner has agreed to insert the same.’²⁴ The disclaimer remains. So, why do filmmakers compromise? As any litigator will advise their client, it benefits to appear reasonable: accommodate the concerns of the court by the insertion of the disclaimer with the hope that the movie will be exhibited without the expense and anxiety of further legal controversy.

 

The image of a censor is one who cuts, slices and chops. It exercises and recasts by subtraction more naturally than by addition. This visual may be one of the reasons why the disclaimer is seen as an innocent device which does not fall within a classic definition of censorship. But disclaimers are becoming ubiquitous, a statutory notice without any legislative sanction. Their increasing frequency of appearance as a risk mitigation measure by filmmakers is further encouraged by the legal incentives which surround censorship practices in India. They are becoming vague, self-contradictory, effacing, almost like a person who carries immense guilt in asking for a favour. Favour from not only the audience, but the censor which holds broad discretion, a mob which will threaten and cause violence, and the courts which provide forums for the offended producing expense and trepidation.

The primary function of a disclaimer – to provide information to audiences so they can reach informed opinions – has been eclipsed by the need to manage the sense of hurt and anger of any person who may be offended. Enabled by the law and legal culture, today the disclaimer is no longer a voluntary, optional or consensual insertion as a part of the creative process. It has transformed into a statutory notice. It seems natural to forget that disclaimers could be inventive devices for filmmakers. For instance, Rajkumar Santoshi in his movie Lajja gives an ironic twist to the boilerplate by stating ‘None of the characters or situations depicted in this film are imaginary or fictional, really speaking. They are echoes of what is happening… After all, the greatness of civilization can only be measured by the status of its women.’ But no more.

 

The disclaimer indicates the growing role of lawyers in the creative process beyond facilitating the commercial transaction to the domain of content review. A legalistic assessment of risk, which often takes the shape of a disclaimer, further signifies the inherent subjectivity and vagaries of the certification process. Not only the filmmakers but even the FCAT at times by indicating by its preference for the disclaimer, signals a choice for caution and safety. Somewhat like drinking hot coffee, an iced rum or smoking a cigarette as per the law, watching cinema can cause harm. But contrary to their rather plain notices inviting caution in consumption, the movie disclaimer is no ordinary compliance, fulfilled by an absentminded scrawl across a check-box, an empty formality satisfied by a standard boilerplate, sped through the projecter in a few seconds. The disclaimer continues to mutate in complexity, size and in prominence. Appearing in more intrusive forms such as voice-overs, for a period that extends till the static text becomes an irritant, their multiplicity and frequency is ever growing, since a single disclaimer does not satisfy the diversity of objections to a feature-length movie. But they continue to proliferate.

Moreove, disclaimers fail to avoid controversy. If we accept that according to current practice disclaimers are contracts with the offended, they are contracts made to be broken. Even after achieving certification, with disclaimers in place, filmmakers still find themselves dragged to courtrooms across India. In many of the litigations that have been analysed in which the certification and exhibition of movies have been challenged, the petitioners term disclaimers as deficient and insufficient to cater to their perceived offence. As hoped by the FCAT or even the writ courts, disclaimers instead of brokering a compromise, settlement and predictability sow further disagreement, dispute and drama. They spur demand for additional negotiation. The docility of a filmmaker seeking to avoid litigation leads to the courts.

 

The disclaimer is one of the most visible instruments in the growing body of practices adopted by filmmakers within the hidden curriculum of censorship in India, inviting further study. There is surely more to learn about what the disclaimer indicates as to how cinema is viewed as a commercial product, or the changing place of historical representation in cinematic and wider culture. But scholarship has its limits. It remains an analysis of art that cannot substitute for the function of art itself. The real power of cinema is exactly what and why it needs protection.

I was reminded of this recently by a young director, Vishesh Bhatt, who in a free-flowing conversation, expressed the necessity of freedom from even seemingly innocent, non-censorial devices such as disclaimers. The chat ended, as should this essay, with him stating, ‘It’s essential to create a well of public opinion for a democracy. The emotional intelligence of a nation isn’t built on pure academics and speeches. It requires the arts to constantly confront all aspects of society.’

 

Footnotes:

1. Tejaswani Ganti, ‘The Limits of Decency and the Decency of Limits: Censorship and the Bomba Film Industry’, in Censorship in South Asia. Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 2009, p. 88.

2. See generally K.A. Abbas v. Union of India, 1971 SCR (2) 446.

3. Even beyond these books, the K.A. Abbas case is cited in television and even book censorship cases being evidenced by its frequency of citation in legal journals and precedent.

4. Gautam Bhatia, Shock, Offend or Disturb. Oxford University Press, Delhi, 2016, Chapter 7, ft. 9.

5. Abhinav Chandrachud, Republic of Rhetoric. Penguin India, 2017, chapter 7, ft. 140.

6. Stella Liebeck v. McDonald’s Restaurants, P.T.S., Inc., 1994 Extra LEXIS 23 (Bernalillo County, N.M. Dist. Ct. 1994). Much of the social commentary of this case arises from a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of the cup designs, lack of foreseeability and the degree of harm.

7. Advertising Standards Council of India, The Code for Self-Regulation. Available at https://www.ascionline.org/images/pdf/code_book.pdf (last visited 6 August 2018).

8. Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Film Certification Appellate Tribunal (available at https://mib.gov.in/film/film-certification-appellate-tribunal last visited 6 August 2018).

9. Analysis of FCAT Orders from 18.01.2017 to 25.06.2018. On file with author and available at https://goo.gl/afwYNB, last updated 6 August 2018.

10. Disclosure: the author served as legal counsel in the FCAT appeal.

11. William Mazarella, Censorium, 2013, p. 98.

12. Lakshmi Ganesh Films.

13. Lakshmi Ganesh Films.

14. Sony Pictures.

15. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/60573264/

16. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/199399436/

17. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/184770185/

18. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/86850376/

19. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/148409545/

20. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/1546986/

21. http://courtnic.nic.in/supremecourt/temp/sc%203299812p.txt

22. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/63302638/

23. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/137926020/

24. https://indiankanoon.org/doc/17143328/