There is a palpable creative depletion in our society. Every civilization goes through phases of political and ideological transformation that shape its present and future—for better or worse. We are currently in the midst of such a phase. The defining cultural pulse of any era in the past 100 years is cinema, particularly in India, where films have historically reflected the collective consciousness of the people.
While reading Note by Note by Ankur Bhardwaj and Seema Chishti—a book that chronicles independent India’s history through its music—it struck me how uninspiring the past decade has been for Hindi cinema. There are no defining songs that capture the zeitgeist of this period, no cinematic milestones that resonate deeply with the emotions of the people. Hindi cinema, once a powerhouse of compelling narratives and social commentary, has lost its voice.
Instead of forging its own path, Bollywood mistakenly tried to emulate the RRR and Baahubali formula—hyper-masculine, nationalistic spectacles that masquerade as anti-establishment rage. But the anger portrayed in these films is hollow, a misdirected echo of the real frustrations of the people. The crucial difference between the fury of a Salim-Javed protagonist and today’s manufactured cinematic outrage is stark: the former had the courage to challenge the system, to expose corruption, and to confront power directly. In contrast, the so-called “angry young man” of today’s cinema is nothing more than a caged figure, railing against the ghosts of history while avoiding any confrontation with the real forces of oppression in the present. The trend of demonizing Mughal rulers in bland, historically skewed narratives is a feeble attempt at deflection—one that does nothing to address the pressing realities of today’s governance, censorship, and institutional decline.
Whenever a majoritarian government consolidates power and controls the cultural narrative, it inevitably stifles dissent. Over the past decade, this has led to a climate of self-censorship among writers, actors, and filmmakers. With very few exceptions, most in the industry have chosen silence over resistance, toeing the line rather than challenging the status quo. This suppression of artistic freedom has crippled creativity. Actors who once flooded social media with sharp critiques of the government—on fuel hikes, infrastructural failures, or alleged scams—have now retreated into dormancy. And with that silence, their artistic expression has also withered. The irony is inescapable: figures like Samay Raina and Ranveer Allahbadia, who built their identities on tasteless, juvenile humor while pandering to right-wing sentiments by attacking “leftists” and “urban Naxals,” now find themselves at the receiving end of the same hyper-nationalist outrage machine. They played along with the establishment’s game—until the rules changed and they became the targets.
Yet, defending even these spineless opportunists when they face unjust persecution is part of upholding the broader principle of free expression. It is frustrating to stand up for individuals who, in all likelihood, would never extend the same support to others who are genuinely oppressed. But fighting for what is right is never easy.
Meanwhile, the government is already leveraging this controversy to push its next agenda—introducing amendments to digital laws that would further curtail freedom of speech and reinforce control over online discourse. This is the same government with a long history of censorship, institutional corruption, and suppression of democratic norms. It has systematically weakened agencies like the Election Commission, used electoral bonds as a money-laundering mechanism, and clamped down on independent voices. Yet, rather than confronting these issues, Bollywood has largely chosen complacency, producing films that function as mere propaganda pieces—a stark contrast to the era of a Rang De Basanti, which ironically was written by a man who swears by the current regime for positions of power.
The decay of creativity is not just an artistic crisis but a moral one. Today’s creative arts lack both a spine and a soul. If this trajectory continues, the industry will become nothing more than its current existence of a mouthpiece for the state, stripped of its ability to inspire, critique, and provoke change. It is time for those in the creative world to reclaim their voice and give a verse or two to the songs of change.
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 