The Supreme Court has granted interim bail to Ali Khan Mahmudabad, an associate professor and head of the Political Science department at Ashoka University, following his arrest over social media posts related to Operation Sindoor.
The Haryana State Commission for Women, led by chairperson Renu Bhatia—a 36-year-long BJP member who has since the controversy publicly expressed aspirations to contest elections on an MP or MLA ticket—claimed that Mahmudabad had “demeaned” women officers, notably Colonel Sofia Qureshi and Wing Commander Vyomika Singh, who had led the media briefing after the precision strikes. A second FIR was registered against him by a local leader of the BJP’s youth wing.
Mahmudabad’s post on May 8 remarked that the optics of having women officers—Colonel Qureshi and Wing Commander Singh—conducting the media briefing were “important”, but would amount to “hypocrisy” if not backed by tangible change on the ground, referring to instances of bulldozing of houses and mob lynching. This observation, part of a larger critique of performative nationalism, was twisted into an allegation that Mahmudabad had “disparaged women officers in the armed forces” and “promoted communal disharmony”.
A host of sections under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita were invoked by the Haryana Police, including the modern-day avatar of sedition, Section 152 (acts endangering the sovereignty, unity, and integrity of India).
The two FIRs are clearly absurd. Far from disparaging the armed forces, Mahmudabad’s posts were deeply thoughtful. He praised the Army’s restraint, warned against warmongering by civilians who have never experienced war, analysed the strategic shifts in geopolitics between the two countries, criticised dehumanisation, and called for moral introspection by invoking the teaching of the Gita, the Prophet, and Imam Ali (and maybe this is what has irked the complainants and fuelled their communal rage). This very measured opinion, essentially anti-war and anti-jingoism, was reinterpreted through the lens of hyper-nationalist outrage and, perhaps, communalism.
The conduct of the bench
On May 18, the 42-year-old professor was arrested by the police and a district court mechanically remanded him to two days of police custody. When the Supreme Court finally heard the matter by on May 21, the bench, headed by Justice Surya Kant and consisting of Justice N. Kotiswar Singh, criticised Mahmudabad’s “choice of words”, labelling it as “dog whistling”, asking him why he sought “cheap publicity”, but ultimately decided to release him from custody on interim bail. However, it declined to suspend the ongoing investigation.
What is important is the nature and tone of the bench that raises far more alarm than comfort. As is usual in the higher courts, especially the Supreme Court, it is the presiding judge who leads the conversation and does much of the deciding.
Rather than confronting the dubiousness of the FIRs or offering categorical relief, Justice Kant’s bench has chosen to cloak an absolutely punitive approach in the garb of liberty. It refused to stay the criminal proceedings and instead ordered Haryana’s Director General of Police to constitute a Special Investigation Team comprising senior IPS officers, who do not belong to Haryana or Delhi, to investigate and understand the true meaning of the post. To “holistically understand the complexity of the phraseology employed and for proper appreciation of some of the expressions used in the two posts”, the order stated. The bench also ordered Mahmudabad to surrender his passport and gagged him from writing or talking about the present Indo-Pak conflict and the ongoing case.
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Worse is the court’s language. By characterising Mahmudabad’s post as “dog whistling” and sternly warning academics and students supporting him—”we know how to handle them also”—Justice Kant echoed the coercive language of state power. Academics from Ashoka University have been taking turns to be with Mahmudabad in jail premises, worried about his safety and health.
Justice Kant’s tirade is not an isolated slip of the tongue. A few weeks ago, during the second hearing in the Ranveer Allahbadia case (BeerBiceps as he is famously known), the same judge had harshly criticised “people writing on free speech” as “brainless” (note: I too had written critically about Justice Kant’s conduct in the first hearing and similar draconian condition imposed by him on Allahbadia at the time) and in the same breath, warned: “we know how to handle them also”.
Such judicial language is not just unbecoming—it is weaponised rhetoric that chills freedom of speech and public discourse. It signals to every university lecturer, columnist, and concerned citizen that even the judiciary will not stand up for them if the state comes knocking. Or, it may, but the costs would be far greater, if not equal, to what is being given as “relief”.
What Justice Kant’s bench has failed to do is even more revealing. It did not interrogate the political motivations behind the complaint. It did not test the FIR against established free speech jurisprudence. It did not ask whether an academic post—no matter how critical—could legitimately trigger criminal prosecution under our constitutional standards. It did not examine the weaponisation of institutions like the Women’s Commission for vendetta politics.
Instead, the court played enabler, ensuring that Mahmudabad’s life and work remain under a cloud, thus furthering the interests of those who initiated this persecution. The bench had an opportunity to send a strong message to those threatening constitutional rights.
But instead, despite not making note of any potential criminality, Justice Kant’s bench chose to police Mahmudabad’s choice of language, stating that he could have used “neutral language” that would not have “hurt sentiments”, etc.—clearly engaging in moral policing.
The Supreme Court’s Shreya Singhal judgment clearly held that mere “annoyance”, “inconvenience”, or the causing of “offence” cannot form the basis of criminalising speech. Expressions that “offend, shock or disturb” are constitutionally protected under Article 19(1)(a) and that any restriction must pass the test of reasonableness under Article 19(2). Free speech does not only include palatable or popular opinion, but also extends to speech that provokes, unsettles, or challenges. Justice Kant’s bench has drifted far away from the very ethos of this landmark ruling.
Vijay Shah vs Mahmudabad
Some may attempt to compare the court’s handling of Mahmudabad’s case to that of Madhya Pradesh BJP Minister Vijay Shah, against whom the same bench ordered the formation of an SIT for actual derogatory comments against Colonel Qureshi. But such comparisons do not hold. Shah’s remarks were not interpretative or academic—they were direct, gendered, communal insults to a serving officer, for which the court itself rejected his apology.
In contrast, Mahmudabad’s post made no personal attack—either against Colonel Qureshi or any other individual. It was a general critique of warmongering civilians. To apply the same judicial standard to both instances, without acknowledging their difference in intent and content, is not just wasteful, but a false equivalence.
Yes, Mahmudabad has been given interim bail—but at what cost? Along with all the legal proceedings greenlit by the bench and the restrictions imposed by it, there are terms and conditions yet to be determined and imposed by a chief judicial magistrate, Sonipat. They really can be anything, like a weekly signing before the local police station. The conditions imposed ensure that the brunt of the state is largely preserved and future speech is restricted or at least, self-censored.
Choking free thought
Mahmudabad’s case is a microcosm of sorts. It is a perfect example of how you make a nation of intellectually dead citizens, where critical inquiry is replaced by rote repetition and progressive voices are muzzled to make space for conformist, mediocre opinions. This is how a society dies, where the proliferation of free thought is choked, through a slow, judicially sanctioned suffocation of intellectual life.
But can one really expect a state such as ours to safeguard critical thinking when ample evidence exists to show that intellectuals and intellectualism are seen as the new enemies, as “urban naxals” within—threats to be silenced and extinguished? After all, the court, too, is part of the state.
What should equally bother us all—and I wish more of us would ask this question—is the complete silence of the accompanying judge on the bench, Justice N. Kotiswar Singh. To be a Supreme Court judge and sit mute while rights are steamrolled is not “judicial discipline”—as many may justify it to be—it is judicial betrayal. The pretence that benches are non-hierarchical is, of course, a lie. One can see the lie crumble every day in our courtrooms.
JNUTA and FEDCUTA President Surajit Mazumdar, along with educationist Prof. Anita Rampal and representatives from various teachers’ organizations, addressed the media at the Press Club of India. The event, organized by the Delhi Joint Teachers’ Organisations, condemned the alleged unlawful arrest and targeting of Dr. Ali Khan Mahmudabad by Haryana Police.
| Photo Credit:
Shrikant Singh/ANI
When the presiding judge leads the regression and the “junior” judges passively comply, the rot is systemic. That a judge can be elevated to the highest court despite showing no demonstrable courage or independent judicial thinking is itself an indictment of India’s judicial appointments process. This is not a comment on Justice Singh, but a broader reflection on a system that routinely produces judges who appear unwilling—or unable—to assert an independent opinion, especially in cases under intense public scrutiny, such as this. The result is a judiciary that sends out a signal—loud and clear—about the kind of court it has become.
Of course, one may draw some cold comfort from the fact that this kind of order will likely remain a Kant court special—and may not lead to a change in India’s free speech philosophy—it does highlight, again, what I call the “vibe jurisprudence”—where judicial outcomes are based on an individual judge’s temperament, whims, and political anxieties, rather than consistent legal principles. And it may only be a matter of time before such vibe-based orders establish a new normal.
What will leave one aghast is the fact that Justice Kant had, in 2021, authored a stellar judgement advancing bail rights in the Najeeb case. As part of a three-judge bench headed by Justice N.V. Ramana, Justice Kant had authored a judgment holding that constitutional courts could grant bail in a UAPA case if there is a violation of Article 21 of the Constitution, which guarantees the right to a speedy trial. The strict conditions for bail under UAPA would not impede the court’s powers to grant bail if there is no likelihood of trial being completed within a reasonable time, and the period of incarceration already undergone had exceeded a substantial part of the prescribed sentence.
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That such stark departures in positions of liberty can coexist in the same judge really underscores how fragile and contingent our constitutional protections are, entirely dependent on the “mood” and the “vibe” of the moment rather than constitutional principle.
What is also interesting is the fact that a diametrically opposite event was unfolding simultaneously in the Supreme Court today—one that could not be more telling. While Justice Kant’s bench in courtroom number 2 was moral-policing an academic and endorsing state overreach, in courtroom number 3, Justice Abhay Oka was reminding an investigative agency of the following—”For ideology, you cannot put someone in jail,” while hearing bail pleas of accused Popular Front of India members in the Kerala RSS leader Srinivasan’s murder case.
Just weeks earlier, in the Imran Pratapgarhi case, the Supreme Court had eloquently reaffirmed in its judgment (authored by Justice Oka) that “in a healthy democracy, the views or thoughts expressed by an individual or group of individuals must be countered by expressing another point of view”, and that even if such speech is disliked by many, it must still be “respected and protected”. It went on to note that there could be speech that even judges may not like, but the court went on to remind them that it was their “duty to uphold” and “zealously protect” the fundamental rights under Article 19(1) of the Constitution.
That such clarity and progressive stand could coexist with the regressive posture of Justice Kant’s court only shows us the schizophrenic state of free speech in today’s India.
Saurav Das is an investigative journalist writing on law, judiciary, crime, and policy.
