On January 10, the Supreme Court of India, in State of Uttar Pradesh versus Anurudh & Anr., openly acknowledged a growing fault line in India’s child protection framework — the misuse of the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act, 2012 in cases involving consensual, romantic relationships between adolescents. By urging the Union government to consider corrective measures for genuine adolescent relationships, the Court has reignited a long-standing and deeply contested debate around the ‘age of consent’ in India.
Why the Supreme Court’s observation matters
POCSO was enacted as a zero-tolerance law to combat child sexual abuse, responding to systemic failures in recognising children as distinct victims under general criminal law. However, over the years, courts have repeatedly encountered cases where the law’s rigid application has resulted in criminal prosecution of consensual relationships between teenagers — often at the instance of disapproving parents. The January 2026 judgment marks a rare institutional admission that the law’s protective intent may be undermined when it criminalises adolescent intimacy rather than exploitation.
How the age of consent is defined in Indian law
The age of consent refers to the legally prescribed age at which an individual is deemed capable of consenting to sexual activity. In India, this threshold is uniformly set at 18 years. Under the gender-neutral POCSO Act, anyone below 18 is classified as a “child”, rendering their consent legally irrelevant. Any sexual act involving a minor is therefore treated as statutory rape, based on the presumption that children lack the capacity to provide informed consent.
This position was reinforced by the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act, 2013, which amended Section 375 of the Indian Penal Code and raised the age of consent from 16 to 18. The same standard has been retained under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, where Section 63 defines rape to include sexual acts with a woman under 18, irrespective of consent. Section 19 of POCSO further mandates compulsory reporting of any suspected offence, leaving little room for discretion at the policing stage.
A brief historical evolution of consent laws
India’s age of consent has not been static. Under the IPC of 1860, it was as low as 10 years, later raised to 12 by the Age of Consent Act, 1891, then to 14, and subsequently to 16. The shift to 18 in 2012 marked a decisive policy choice to prioritise absolute child protection. Crucially, the age of consent must be distinguished from the minimum age of marriage, which remains 18 for women and 21 for men under the Prohibition of Child Marriage Act, 2006.
Why calls for reform are growing louder
The push to revisit the age of consent is driven largely by empirical evidence from POCSO prosecutions involving adolescents aged 16–18. In many such cases, the girl explicitly states that the relationship was consensual. Studies by Enfold and Project 39A, examining thousands of POCSO judgments across multiple States, reveal that nearly a quarter of cases involve romantic relationships, with a large majority of victims refusing to testify against the accused.
Supporters of reform argue that the current framework fails to recognise adolescent sexuality and autonomy, effectively criminalising normal developmental behaviour. Data from NFHS-4 (2015–16), showing that a significant proportion of girls report sexual experience before 18, further complicates the assumption that all such activity is inherently abusive. Comparisons are often drawn with jurisdictions such as the U.K. and Canada, which retain an age of consent of 16 while providing safeguards through ‘close-in-age’ or ‘Romeo-Juliet’ exemptions.
The risks of lowering the age of consent
Opponents of reform caution that any dilution of the age threshold could seriously weaken India’s child protection regime. The current “bright-line rule” offers clarity and avoids subjective determinations of maturity or willingness, which could be exploited by offenders. Evidence consistently shows that child sexual abuse frequently occurs within relationships of trust — by family members, neighbours, teachers or caregivers — where power imbalances make genuine consent illusory.
A 2007 study by the Ministry of Women and Child Development found that more than half of child abuse cases involved known persons. Critics argue that lowering the age of consent could legitimise coercion, suppress reporting, and undermine efforts against child marriage, trafficking and exploitation, particularly in socio-economically vulnerable communities.
Parliamentary and expert resistance to dilution
Legislative history reveals sustained resistance to lowering the age of consent. While the Justice Verma Committee had suggested retaining 16 years under the IPC, Parliament consciously raised it to 18 in 2013. Parliamentary Standing Committees in 2011 and 2012 rejected recognising minor consent or introducing close-in-age exemptions. More recently, the Law Commission’s 283rd Report (2023) warned that reducing the age of consent would render POCSO ineffective and compromise India’s broader child protection architecture.
How courts have navigated the grey zone
Judicial responses have been marked by tension between statutory rigidity and lived realities. Some High Courts have emphasised adolescent autonomy and the need to distinguish consensual relationships from exploitation, while others have reiterated that consent is legally irrelevant under POCSO. The Supreme Court itself has alternated between strict statutory interpretation and equitable relief, including the use of Article 142 to mitigate harm in exceptional cases — while carefully avoiding the creation of binding precedent.
Recent observations by Justice B.V. Nagarathna, noting the trauma inflicted when consensual adolescent relationships are prosecuted, reflect growing judicial discomfort with the law’s blanket application.
The real policy challenge ahead
While only Parliament can amend the age of consent, the Supreme Court’s intervention is crucial to harmonise interpretations across courts and provide guidance to investigators. Beyond legal reform, the debate exposes deeper societal failures — poor sex education, stigma around adolescent relationships, and the weaponisation of criminal law by families.
The challenge is not simply whether the age of consent should be 18 or 16, but how the law can be recalibrated to separate exploitation from consensual adolescent intimacy. A narrowly tailored ‘close-in-age’ exemption for 16–18-year-olds, coupled with strict judicial scrutiny and stronger investment in sex education and adolescent health services, offers a middle path. Without such nuance, India risks a system that punishes the young without necessarily protecting them.
