Over the past 24 hours, my social media feeds have been flooded with the name ‘Ranveer Allahbadia’ and the controversy surrounding an inappropriate question he posed on India’s Got Latent. The backlash has been swift, with a litany of FIRs filed and hate comments trending on social media. Though undeniably well-founded – his remark was distasteful, juvenile and unfit for any remotely public platform – this response raises important questions. Why is Allahbadia being singled out when vulgarity in Indian comedy is far from novel? Why has this specific incident drawn widespread scrutiny while other, arguably more severe, cases have been overlooked?
To preface, this is not a defence of Allahbadia’s statement nor a critique of those who spoke out against him. Rather, it is an inquiry into the inconsistent standards of public outrage, particularly regarding content creators and comedians. If vulgarity is truly the issue, why have countless instances of inappropriate humour been brushed aside in the past? And if this truly isn’t about vulgarity, what makes Allahbadia’s case unique?
Indian comedians have long courted controversy, typically for political, religious or “anti-national” remarks rather than vulgarity. Kunal Kamra faced legal trouble for jokes about the judiciary. Munawar Faruqui was jailed pre-emptively for a joke he didn’t even tell, based on the assumption that it would offend religious sentiments. Agrima Joshua received rape and death threats over a joke about the proposed Shivaji statue. Outrage in India is inextricably tied to political and religious sensitivities, often driven by faith and stoked by identity groups.
Along with not engaging in inflammatory rhetoric that typically sparks such rampant outrage, Allahbadia is also far from the first content creator to engage in crude humour. His India’s Got Latent co-host, Samay Raina, has previously faced criticism for misogynistic remarks disguised as comedy (notably in 2022). Yet, in this instance, he is scrutinised as an “accomplice,” while most of the outrage is directed at Allahbadia. Similarly, comedians like Tanmay Bhat and the group All India Bakchod have made jokes bordering on vulgarity. AIB’s 2015 Roast of Ranveer Singh and Arjun Kapoor featured crude, sexually explicit humour but primarily faced backlash from right-wing groups over perceived moral concerns rather than a critique of inappropriate content in public spaces. A quick Google search for “dark and dirty Indian stand-up” yields countless videos containing jokes equally deserving of outrage – as per the standards that Allahabadia’s jokes were measured by – yet they thrive online with thousands of views. If vulgarity is the problem, why is Allahbadia facing such an extreme reaction while others escape unscathed?
Perhaps the explanation lies in Allahbadia’s influence. Unlike stand-up comedians, he is not just an entertainer – he is one of India’s leading podcasters, reaching millions. His brand centres on self-improvement, entrepreneurship and philosophy, attracting a young, impressionable audience that treat him as a mentor. In the past, he has interviewed important members of the Bharatiya Janata Party. This amplifies the perceived impact of his words compared to a comedian performing in a club. Could the backlash stem from concerns about the influence he wields?
In today’s digital age, content creators serve as de-facto information sources that are, more often than not, considered extremely reliable alternatives to news channels. Allahbadia’s rapid rise has, as in the case of several influencers, shifted attention from state-controlled media to independent platforms. This controversy hence raises a deeper question: is Allahbadia facing scrutiny for his words, or because his influence threatens traditional power structures? The Indian media landscape is increasingly polarised, with independent voices challenging mainstream narratives. Allahbadia’s ability to command an audience beyond legacy media makes him a unique case – and perhaps a convenient target.
This incident also exposes another glaring inconsistency: outrage over vulgar jokes often eclipses outrage over real issues of misogyny and sexual violence. If the whims of public sentiment are truly so deeply susceptible to inappropriate conduct, why do perpetrators of sexual harassment and assault frequently escape similar scrutiny? Bollywood’s #MeToo movement saw multiple allegations, yet many powerful figures emerged unharmed. Anu Malik, accused of predatory behaviour by multiple women, continues to work in the industry. Sajid Khan, accused of sexual misconduct, was welcomed back onto reality TV. Meanwhile, Allahbadia’s comment has led to the All India Cine Workers Association calling for a ban on him and his co-hosts from the Indian film industry. This disparity suggests that outrage isn’t just about what the fault is but about who committed said fault, and how their downfall benefits existing structures. Is Allahbadia an easier target because, despite his influence, he lacks the institutional backing to protect his career?
None of this absolves Allahbadia of accountability – his remark was indefensible. But if society is committed to policing vulgarity and inappropriate behaviour, the outrage must be consistent. Why do comedians escape scrutiny for equally or more offensive remarks, while Allahbadia is vilified? Why is an off-colour joke met with more fury than systemic issues of gender-based violence and institutional hypocrisy? Do policing bodies and the judicial system truly believe that filing an FIR against a distasteful joke is a better use of evidently limited resources than tackling the behemoth that is sexual abuse and assault in India?
The backlash against Allahbadia may appear to be a case of holding public figures accountable, but in reality, it exposes the deeper biases shaping India’s outrage culture. Until we apply the same standards across all cases – whether comedians, podcasters, politicians or celebrities – selective outrage will continue to dictate which controversies gain traction and which are conveniently ignored. If we genuinely care about the content shaping young minds, the focus should extend beyond one poor joke to the broader cultural and media landscape that lets far graver issues slide by unnoticed. Allahbadia made a mistake, but the bigger question remains: is everyone who makes a mistake in India made to pay the same price for it?
Mansi Anil Kumar is from Bangalore and is currently a sophomore studying economics at Yale University.
