20 Years Of Rang De Basanti | An Emblem Of Dissent And Its Disquieting Afterlife

For those born around the 2000s like myself, sporadic childhood memories of televised protests remain vivid. Whether it was during the Hotel Taj terrorist attacks, the fight for justice for Nirbhaya or the Jessica Lal marches—they left a lasting impression. News to children appears little beyond haunting images of erupting crowds and violent police barricades. The young and impressionable mind doesn’t yet grasp why either side behaves the way it does. What remains instead is the image of a swelling uprising and a dysregulated authority meant to contain it. But as one grows older, the noise begins to separate into meaning—one starts to understand where each side stands, whom they fear and what they protect. 

There’s also a certain contemporary perception attached to universities like Jawaharlal Nehru University, Jamia Millia Islamia or Aligarh Muslim University that take a political stand against injustice—that protest there is impulsive, performative and even unnecessary. It’s only after one enters these spaces that they realise how protest is not about spectacle but necessity. These marches exist because people ought to demand their dignity and freedom, rather than remain useful only in their docility to those who benefit from their silence. Protest, then, becomes more than a symbolic gesture for it unfolds as a statement to authority that power cannot evade accountability.

A film like Rang De Basanti (2006) felt revolutionary in its design because it spoke to those conditioned from a young age to imagine dissent as performative or believe that candle marches or silent protests achieve little beyond inviting public disdain. The film follows seven youngsters played by Aamir Khan, Siddharth, R Madhavan, Sharman Joshi, Soha Ali Khan, Alice Patten and Kunal Kapoor, who participate in a documentary on the deeply emotive freedom struggle of Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Chandrashekhar Azad and Ashfaqullah Khan. They are mostly students, who begin from a similar place of detachment, unaware of the administrative rot festering beneath the surface of everyday life. What begins as a performative engagement with history gradually becomes an ethical confrontation with the present, as the legacy of resistance seeps into their own political consciousness.

What makes Rang De Basanti courageous is its refusal to shy away from depicting the corruption of those who benefit from general political apathy. The film holds power accountable and reminds viewers that loving one’s country does not require loving one’s government or blindly endorsing its actions. Each generation carries its own challenges and afflictions, yet an aware and collective uprising remains essential to restoring ethical and democratic order. In his interviews to the media, director Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra has often recalled a line from one of Bhagat Singh’s prison letters: “We do not want freedom from the goras only to be enslaved by ourselves.” The sentiment carries a quiet warning that liberation loses its meaning when power merely changes hands without changing its moral foundation.

In recent weeks, A.R. Rahman, who gave the film its iconic music, has been publicly branded “anti-national” for speaking about the divisive tone of films such as Chhaava (2025) and for suggesting that his Muslim identity shapes the kind of work offered to him. The irony is difficult to ignore—artists increasingly accept projects they may not fully believe in simply to survive, while an industry saturated with state-pleasing narratives raises deeper questions. A strong argument in the film’s favour lies in its democratic understanding of what performance art can achieve in expressing dissent and in how art has historically disrupted the status quo.

By weaving theatrics into its narrative, the film moves between India’s independence movement and the contemporary India of the late 1990s and early 2000s. This temporal transitioning allows it to remain both imaginative and grounded in the lived reality of a period marked by rampant corruption, bureaucratic inefficiency and growing disillusionment with the political establishment . The film remains timeless as it captures India racing towards rapid development, but still unsettled in its secular and democratic identity. 

Eventually, the film became a symbol of protests all over India, most notably during the 1999 Jessica Lal murder case. Manu Sharma, a politically connected figure who now owns a liquor empire, killed her for refusing to serve him alcohol beyond the working hours at a bar where she was employed. A month after Rang De Basanti’s release, Sharma was acquitted due to ineffective prosecution, sparking widespread civil protests and media campaigns demanding his re-arrest.

Inspired by a candlelight vigil scene in the film, where the protagonists silently gather at India Gate in New Delhi, demonstrators in real life held a similar rally to show solidarity with Jessica Lal. The film No One Killed Jessica (2011) also attempted to capture the tragedy while holding both authorities and audiences accountable. Interestingly, there is a scene depicting the support rally that references Rang De Basanti as well. Several years later, Sharma now earns millions from his liquor brand “Indri”, which continues to be widely consumed despite its owner’s history. Many of the people who witnessed the protests then, remain complacent and undisturbed now. 

In another instance, lakhs of people took to the streets of Delhi in 2012 after the Nirbhaya tragedy to express outrage over the unsafe conditions faced by women in public spaces. The protesters were met with harsh state repression, including beatings, tear gas and arrests. The demonstrations prompted the formation of the Justice JS Verma Committee and the establishment of the Nirbhaya Fund, yet questions remain about the fidelity and effectiveness of their implementation. 

Memorably, in 2011, Anna Hazare’s indefinite hunger strike against corruption at Jantar Mantar drew widespread attention and concern from the government, despite its peaceful nature. The movement, India Against Corruption (IAC) eventually led to the formation of the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) and the eventual downfall of the Congress government at the Centre. The protests echoed the ethos of Rang De Basanti, with protesters chanting slogans and performing nukkad nataks outside politicians’ residences and at India Gate.

Over the subsequent decades, however, there have been numerous instances of governance failures including electoral manipulation, financial irregularities and inadequate accountability in the management of public funds, alongside a persistent neglect of critical issues such as air quality, living standards, unemployment and access to reliable and affordable healthcare. At present, our country struggles to uphold the principles of secularism and democracy as the government in power suppresses dissent, creating an environment in which citizens are intimidated, silenced and discouraged from challenging injustice. 

Aamir Khan has continued extracting the sentiment of the film through two more projects, notably Ru Ba Ru (2011), a documentary by P.S. Bharathi on the making of Rang De Basanti and how it captured public imagination in protests. Secondly, Rubaru Roshni (2019), also produced by Aamir Khan Films and directed by Svati Chakravarty Bhatkal for Netflix, presents three interconnected political narratives through intimate interviews. The film traces Avantika, the daughter of the assassinated politician Lalit Maken, the murder of Sister Rani Maria Vattalil and an American who lost loved ones in the 26/11 terror attacks in Mumbai.

Today, the impact of public protests is increasingly constrained by the government’s ability to exploit social, religious, caste and economic divisions, narrowing the space for critical thought and the challenge of authority. In such a landscape, dissent encounters obstacles far beyond the streets, with authorities butchering school textbooks and facilitating targeted riots—revealing that the struggle for justice and accountability is woven into the very fabric of social consciousness.

A film like Rang De Basanti made today would likely face severe censorship, much like Honey Trehan’s Panjab 95 or Sandhya Suri’s Santosh (2023). The censoring of these films illustrates how the control of art and its dissemination functions as a system of public manipulation in a nation still marked by colonial legacies, corruption and social fragmentation. In this context, even twenty years later, Mehra’s film endures as a poignant and timeless reminder of the power of public outrage, the fragility of independence when taken for granted and the moral complexity of patriotism—questioning whether loving one’s country entails suppressing those who seek its welfare or exploiting the image of power for personal gain.