The ongoing rumpus over comedian Kunal Kamra’s supposedly derisive song, labelling Maharashtra’s deputy chief minister Eknath Shinde a ‘gaddar‘, or traitor, reiterates a distressing reality about the entire Indian Establishment: it remains dour and depressingly humourless, demanding unquestioning public veneration, irrespective of how dictatorially, absurdly and laughably it conducts itself.
Over decades, satirising the Indian state – its politicians, civil servants, business and financial principals, allied religious leaders, senior military, intelligence and police officers, academics and particularly the judiciary – has been fraught with great legal and physical risk. This peril magnifies exponentially the higher that satirists travel up the establishment food chain in their bid to speak truth to power.
These hazards have further proliferated after the BJP assumed power in 2014, with an alarming spike in official orders demanding that social media platforms remove satirical posts, memes and videos, prosecuting bloggers, cartoonists as well as comedians and satirists, and forcing venues to cancel many of the latter’s performances. In addition to the governement censoring, banning or disrupting satirical films, books, artworks and related pursuits, the ruling party’s cadres and supporters troll, threaten and even physically assault critics.
Worse still, compliant mainstream electronic media channels amplify this state pressure, portraying satirists as anti-national or worse, anti-Hindu. Moreover, Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s image as an infallible leader remains central to the BJP’s electability and its popular appeal, so all jokes, mockery and ridicule centred on him too are portrayed as an international conspiracy to discredit India, its economic well-being, its people and, of course, Hindu culture.
Ironically, this narrow approach only degrades Modi’s grand vision of India as ‘Vishwaguru‘ or global leader in civilisational wisdom, morality and knowledge. It turns India into a fragile and insecure state, imperilled by satire and stand-up comics. The BJP and its backers also believe that such lampooning ‘endangers’ Modi’s vision of Amrit Kaal – a ‘Golden Era’ of India becoming a global financial, technological and military power by 2047.
Such brittle insecurity flouts past precedents, when three publications in Urdu, Hindi and English, modelled on Britain’s satirical Punch magazine and published from Lucknow, Indore and Bombay flourished for decades, from the late 19th century to around 1936 under a ruthless colonial administration. And though this ‘Punch Trinity’ uncompromisingly parodied the British, it also mocked local politicians and social mores like caste inequalities and ridiculed privileged natives, especially rajas and maharajas, as toadying sycophantic colonial collaborators.
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The satirical Tamil magazine Thuglak, founded by the late Cho Ramaswamy in 1970, was possibly independent India’s best-known ‘devota irreverenti’ or dedicated irreverent publication. But after Cho’s passing in 2016, RSS ideologue S Gurumurthy became its editor, expanding its presence into digital media, but aligning it more with Hindutva ideology and reducing its satirical edge in favour of advocacy. And though it continues to carry sharp political commentary, its biting, equal-opportunity satire has softened.
Historically, humour and irreverence have been valued as tools for social critique, defying authority and truth-telling. Satire, in particular, allowed societies to challenge authority, expose hypocrisy, and process difficult realities in ways that are entertaining and thought-provoking. Consequently, oppressive regimes came to fear satire because it undermined their images, without directly calling for rebellion.
Even Mahatma Gandhi had declared that if he had no sense of humour, he would long ago have committed suicide, while others noted that irreverence was essential for a free and thinking society, without which state power would remain unchecked.
George Orwell, for instance, considered humour a weapon against oppression, and a way to challenge dogma, while Mark Twain was of the view that irreverence was the champion of liberty. Author and journalist Christopher Hitchens said that ‘one of the beginnings of human emancipation was the ability to laugh at authority’ and popular British actor and humourist John Cleese is of the view that irreverence is a sign of high intellect and that nothing should be immune from satire.
Indian power elites dismiss such perspectives as Western shibboleths. Post-Independence, they reinforced colonial-era statutes to prosecute comedians like Kamra for nebulous offences like “exciting disaffection” or “lowering” the state’s status. Madhya Pradesh police demonstrated this overreach by arresting comedian Munawar Faruqui in 2021 for allegedly hurting Hindu sentiments in a joke he hadn’t even told.
French sociologist Louis Dumont attributed this unquestioning deference to authority to India’s hierarchical social structure embedded through its caste system. In his 1966 book Homo Hierarchicus, he argued that Indian society mandates blind reverence toward authority figures, unlike more individualistic and egalitarian Western societies open to criticism.
BJP politicians have capitalized on this configuration, framing laws that equate dissent, criticism, and satire as crimes against the nation and Hindu culture. Leaders position themselves as paternal or divine-like figures, making even mild mockery illegal and punishable.
Contrast this with Britain’s Private Eye – the fortnightly satirical magazine with a circulation exceeding 240,000. Since 1961, The Eye has mercilessly mocked Britain’s royal family, politicians, and institutions with a simple philosophy: if it’s mockable, mock it.
Its Oxford-educated editor Ian Hislop maintains that satire should “punch up, not down,” challenging the powerful rather than targeting the vulnerable. Under his four-decade leadership, The Eye‘s iconic covers have become legendary for their ability to distill complex issues into striking images and witty headlines, while refusing to take authority seriously.
Its cover marking Queen Elizabeth II’s passing in 2022, for instance, simply declared ‘Woman Dies’ – a dry nod to over-the-top media coverage of the monarch’s demise. Over years, many such covers have become legendary, lauded for their ability to sum up complex issues in one striking image and bubble headline, and refusal to take authority seriously.
The magazine gives Britain’s royals special treatment – dubbing King Charles III “Brian,” Queen Elizabeth “Brenda,” and Princess Diana “Cheryl.” Its brilliantly penned satire targets government officials, opposition leaders, business tycoons, and institutions like the BBC (“Biased Broadcasting Corporation”). UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer is “Sir Wooden Horse of Holborn,” Rishi Sunak is “Rishi Rich,” and Boris Johnson “BoJo the Clown.”
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World leaders receive similar treatment. Donald Trump, christened “The Tangerine Tyrant,” got special attention in January 2017 when the Eye “apologized” for previously suggesting he was “a sleazy, deranged, orange-faced man-baby” and now recognised him as “a political colossus, the voice of sanity, a champion of liberty,” adding thanks for “his kind invitation to give him 94 million pounds to attend his inauguration event.”
A footnote cheekily stated that this above statement had not been fact-checked.
The magazine’s regular columns expose media hypocrisies (“Street of Shame”), government lapses (“Rotten Boroughs”), absurd quotes from public figures (“Colemanballs”), and financial mismanagement in London’s business district (“Square Mile”). Despite countless lawsuits, Private Eye continues to stand by its investigations and satire. For many victims, being roasted by the publication has become an acknowledgment of their public standing.
Any takers for launching an Indian Eye?
