It’s Kangana Ranaut’s world (of irony) and we’re all just grappling with it. Over the last few days, she has issued statements and videos defending her freedom of expression. Her latest movie, Emergency, is yet to be handed its censor certificate and therefore delayed from its scheduled release on Sept 6. Lyricist Manoj Muntashir (another link between Bollywood and right-wing forces and an obvious Ranaut sympathiser) is patronising the Sikh community, pleading with them to be large-hearted about their portrayal in her film, because… “it’s just a film.” Ranaut is attacking fact-based shows like IC 814 using selective misinformation (how it’s Hinduphobic!) to point out the unfair treatment given to her. She’s whining about the ‘hypocrisy’ that allows her peers to degrade Indian culture with nudity and violence, while clean (propaganda) films like hers are subjected to scrutiny. In a tweet, Ranaut accused her peers of being ‘opportunists’, saying their loyalty can be bought. In 2024, it’s hard not to gape at Ranaut’s audacity. What is she going to do next? Explain ‘dystopia’ to George Orwell — or call him a pessimist? 

Ranaut has not had the best 12 months. Her last film, Tejas (2023), reportedly earned Rs 5 crore on its 70-crore budget, making it her fifth consecutive flop in four years. Given an election ticket by the BJP from Mandi, her campaign was ridiculed. But she went on to win the election. Two days later, she was slapped by a female CISF official at the Chandigarh airport. Closer to the release of Emergency, Ranaut gave a series of interviews – which became fodder for even more online ridicule.  

Over the last few years, she has been an absolutist’s nightmare. A fine actor, who routinely sprays genocidal sermons, Ranaut has tested the most fair-minded folks. Cordoned off as ‘radioactive’ in a sexist, elitist industry, it won’t be undeserved to say Bollywood played a part in bringing this version of Ranaut upon itself. But despite whatever the film industry might have inflicted on her, she has given it back to the nation many times over, in an even more unhinged fashion.  

I still haven’t forgotten (or forgiven) her out-of-line behaviour before the release of Judgementall Hai Kya (2019), when she picked on a journalist during a press conference for 'bashing’ her earlier film. The journalist stood up to her saying he had done nothing like what Ranaut was describing, she refused to back down and things got ugly very quickly. Judgementall Hai Kya itself wasn't looking very promising. I was bracing myself for a trainwreck. I even had thought of a few snarky things I would say in my review, which would be a way to avenge my colleague (across the country). But Ranaut (like her co-star, Rajkummar Rao) was in such deft form that, in a rare case, walking out of the film left me conflicted about separating the art from the artist. Similarly, when Ranaut gets picked on for her flops, a part of me wants to bat for her asking: “How many of you are gutsy enough to stand up to the status-quo, and chart your course?” Ranaut is what many folks in Bengaluru would call ‘disruptive’. She did disrupt a few ancient structures, but has she acted in a manner where she has paved for the people after her? Ranaut’s career has mirrored the course of a tornado, leaving only destruction in its wake.  

When I heard about Ranaut getting slapped, initially, I rejoiced. This incident took place on the back of the many air castles she built during her Lok Sabha campaign, her vile celebrations at the Ram Mandir inauguration, and her reckless Twitter activism during the farmers’ agitation. I was certain that she deserved it. But if this became fair game for public discourse, then what precedent does it set for someone else? 

Censorship is regressive, period. And censoring any film means infantilising the audience – prescribing the dos and don’ts for the viewer. So, blocking the release of a movie will only have the opposite intended effect, as opposed to Ranaut’s last few releases that disappeared into ether, shortly after the first Friday. But also, on a fundamental level, should we stoop to a level where we celebrate the injustice being done to someone else? Probably not. 

One question haunts me – is Ranaut another hapless Indian? Is she not considerably powerful herself? Is she using that platform responsibly? Let’s be honest, she’s not (and that’s a kind way of saying it). Her contribution to the public discourse has only furthered cultural fractures during an uncertain time. After all, she was banned from Twitter after she urged the ‘honourable’ prime minister to show minorities his virat roop (‘humongous form’). Can Ranaut be trusted to extend the same courtesy to her colleagues when they’re being targeted by the censor board? She proved it by throwing filmmaker Anubhav Sinha to the wolves during the IC 814 episode, a day after the censor board denied her a certificate. 

Once a #Girlboss, who challenged Bollywood’s dynasts, Ranaut has become increasingly deranged with each passing year. Her sound bytes are so acidic and vindictive, they could dissolve every last fabric of decency. Then, does one still stand up for her liberties, like one would for any other member of civil society? There are tenets of a free and fair society, and no Ranaut’s notoriety can shake its foundations. But it can also be a scary feeling – thinking how she will get the benefit of the doubt from her peers, even as she uses it to sow seeds of hatred, xenophobia. If not, do we simply give up on the possibility of Ranaut ever acting in good faith in the future?  

Given the circumstances, it seems like an improbable conclusion. Maybe we’ll continue to show our faith in Ranaut that she’ll give up her lust for power one day and use her platform as a public figure to nurture love and care for fellow Indians. It’s the price a democratic and magnanimous society will have to pay; upholding everyone’s personal liberty. Even Ranaut, whose boot might continue stamping our faces.