WHEN THE PROTECTION OF CHILDREN FROM SEXUAL OFFENCES (POCSO) Act was enacted in 2012, it was a landmark moment for Indian jurisprudence—a long-overdue legal framework aimed at shielding children from the horrors of sexual violence. But over a decade later, the same law has transformed into a double-edged sword. While it rightly guards minors against predators, it also ruthlessly punishes young men for consensual adolescent relationships, turning tender affection into alleged felony and treating youthful romance as statutory rape.
In the name of protection, we have created a system where thousands of boys—many barely into adulthood—languish in overcrowded prisons, shamed by society and forgotten by the legal system. Their crime — falling in love in a country where the law draws no distinction between a violent offender and a teenage boy in a consensual relationship with someone a year or two younger.
India’s jails are bursting at the seams, and a chilling question arises: Could we field an Olympic team from the young men incarcerated under POCSO? The data suggests we could—and with reserves to spare. But at the end of the day, these boys are fighting for their dignity, futures, and lives from inside concrete cells.
The Numbers we refuse to see
Between 2014 and 2016, over 1.04 lakh cases were filed under POCSO, according to the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB). Yet, conviction rates in these cases hover around 30 to 40 percent, as per the 2015 NCRB data. What this translates to is harrowing: for every ten young men accused, at least six are either acquitted or their cases collapse. But that acquittal comes at a cost no data set can quantify—years of lost education, social stigma, crushed mental health, and families dragged through hell.
As of 2021, 76 percent of India’s prison population comprises undertrials—many of them boys and young men caught in the legal vortex of a rigid, unforgiving statute. In these cases, it is not just legal delay, but the law itself that acts as punishment. The average POCSO trial can take five to seven years. For a 20-year-old student, this means losing the entirety of his academic and formative life to a courtroom calendar.
The cruel irony: Protected victims, lynched accused
The law rightfully ensures the anonymity of the victim—a safeguard essential to dignity and justice. But the accused is offered no such cover. The boy’s name, photo, and background are often leaked to the press. Social media renders its verdict in minutes. Neighbours gossip, employers blacklist, and families disown. His face is not blurred. His voice is not heard. And his life—before he even steps into a courtroom—is effectively over.
There are countless examples. A nineteen-year-old boy from Karnataka was imprisoned for three years before being acquitted. His engineering degree was rendered useless.* His mental health deteriorated. His reputation was irreparably damaged. The girl admitted the relationship was consensual—but her testimony came too late to reverse the clock.
This is not justice delayed. It is innocence discarded.
Love as a crime: The weaponisation of POCSO
While POCSO was designed to protect, it is increasingly being used as a tool of social control. Parents often weaponise the law to punish inter-caste or inter-faith relationships. A teenage boy in a consensual relationship with a slightly younger girl finds himself charged with rape, kidnapping, and criminal intimidation. In many cases, even if the girl tells the court that she acted voluntarily, the law does not allow her to consent.
There is no room for nuance. A kiss between a seventeen-year-old boy and a sixteen-year-old girl can lead to a ten-year prison sentence. If the couple elopes—even voluntarily—the boy is hunted, arrested, and branded a criminal for life.
In Bihar, a twenty one-year-old engineering student spent four years in jail after eloping with his seventeen-year-old girlfriend.* He lost his job offer and hispassport application was rejected. He attempted suicide—twice. In Maharashtra, a boy faced similar trauma, only to be acquitted years later when the girl finally admitted the relationship was mutual.*
We have turned adolescent love into legal sin, and romantic courage into criminal intent.
Institutional cruelty disguised as protection
The imbalance is glaring. The victim receives anonymity, state-funded compensation, legal aid, and psychological counseling. In 2022–23, ₹347 crore was disbursed in victim compensation. These are essential supports—and must remain.
But what about the boy who is later found innocent?
He receives no compensation for wrongful arrest, neither any public rehabilitation nor help in rebuilding his shattered life. Trials stretch over years while families are bankrupted by legal fees, forced to sell land and homes to save their children’s lives. There is no fast-track for the falsely accused—only a long, dark tunnel with no light in sight.
The human cost: A generation silenced
Behind every statistic is a young life derailed. Education is the first casualty—degrees abandoned and classrooms replaced by courtrooms. Families are left in financial ruin, emotionally exhausted and socially ostracized. What follows is a collapse of mental health: depression, PTSD, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts run rampant. The falsely accused are not just criminalised—they are emotionally crucified.
India’s prisons no longer just detain criminals. They detain lost potential, forgotten dreams, and the last hopes of a generation silenced by law.
The Nipun Saxena hearings
Recently, in the hearings in Nipun Saxena v. Union of India, Senior Advocate Indira Jaising who has been appointed as Amicus Curiae to assist the Court, called for lowering the age of consent to 16, with judicial discretion. Her argument is not to legalise exploitation—but to decriminalise love. She warned that the law, as currently framed, criminalises adolescent sexuality and punishes the innocent more often than the guilty.
Even the 22nd Law Commission in its 2023 report acknowledged the “gross injustice” in cases of de facto consent. Yet, it refrained from recommending any reform to the age of consent.
Reform is a constitutional necessity
The law must change. First, the age of consent should be revised to 16 years, with a provision for courts to exercise discretion based on the facts and maturity of those involved. Second, the identity of the accused must be protected until a verdict is delivered—just as the victim’s is. Third, romantic cases involving consensual relationships between adolescents must be fast-tracked and disposed of within six months. Fourth, those wrongfully accused and acquitted must be compensated—not just monetarily, but also through psychological and social rehabilitation.
Finally, data must no longer remain vague. The NCRB must be mandated to track and publish statistics on false or malicious POCSO complaints, acquittal rates, and average trial durations.
Not just a legal battle—A moral reckoning
The POCSO Act was built to shield innocence from abuse. But in its current rigidity, it punishes innocence itself. It jails boys for loving, silences girls who want to speak up for them and shames families.
How many more boys must be buried under the weight of false accusations before we admit that the law, while well-intentioned, has gone too far? How many more families must lose their sons, savings, and sanity before we act? How many more dreams must die before we hear them cry?
This is not merely a plea for reform but a call to conscience. A demand for humanity.
Let us not raise a generation behind bars, in the name of protecting another.
Notes:
* The Karnataka, Bihar, and Maharashtra cases mentioned in the piece are based on real-world patterns documented through the author’s local friends, court monitoring, case law analysis, and legal aid work—but presented in anonymized form to protect identities. Similar factual circumstances and legal outcomes were also observed in this case in Karnataka, this one in Maharashtra, and while an identical Bihar case with all cited consequences has not been publicised, there have been contextual similarities in other cases.
Disclosure: One of the founders of The Leaflet is the Amicus Curiae in the Supreme Court case. Founders are not involved in day to day editorial decisionmaking.