Rethinking the Age of Consent: Why the Supreme Court’s POCSO Remarks Have Reignited a Long-Running Debate

The Supreme Court’s January 10 judgment in “State of Uttar Pradesh versus Anurudh & Anr.” has once again pushed the question of India’s age of consent into the legal and public spotlight. Acknowledging the growing misuse of the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act, 2012 in consensual adolescent relationships, the Court urged the Union government to consider corrective steps. The observation has revived a complex debate at the intersection of child protection, adolescent autonomy, and criminal law.

What the Supreme Court said — and why it matters

In its ruling, the “Supreme Court of India” recognised that POCSO, though enacted to combat child sexual abuse, is increasingly being invoked in cases involving consensual romantic relationships between adolescents, particularly those aged 16–18. The Court cautioned that the law’s rigid application can cause disproportionate harm to young people, especially girls, and recommended that the Centre explore exemptions for genuine adolescent relationships.

This is significant because POCSO is a strict liability law: once the victim is under 18, consent is legally irrelevant. The judgment reflects a growing judicial discomfort with how this “bright-line rule” operates on the ground.

How India’s age of consent is defined in law

The age of consent refers to the legally defined age at which a person can validly consent to sexual activity. In India, it is fixed at 18 years under the gender-neutral POCSO Act. Anyone below this age is classified as a “child”, and any sexual act involving them is treated as statutory rape.

This threshold was reinforced after the 2012 Delhi gang rape, when the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act, 2013 amended Section 375 of the Indian Penal Code, raising the age of consent from 16 to 18 to align with POCSO. The new criminal code — the “Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita” — has retained this position, defining rape to include sexual acts with a woman under 18, irrespective of consent.

Importantly, the age of consent is distinct from the minimum age of marriage under the Prohibition of Child Marriage Act, 2006, which is 18 for women and 21 for men.

Why calls to revisit the age of consent are growing louder

A major driver of the debate is the surge in POCSO cases involving adolescents aged 16–18, where the girl often states that the relationship was consensual. Critics argue that the law fails to recognise adolescent sexuality and criminalises relationships that, while socially disapproved, are neither exploitative nor abusive.

Empirical data supports this concern. National Family Health Survey-4 (2015–16) showed that a significant proportion of girls reported sexual debut before 18. Studies by civil society organisations such as Enfold and Project 39A have found that nearly a quarter of POCSO cases examined involved romantic relationships, with most victims refusing to testify against the accused.

Those in favour of reform stress that POCSO was intended to address sexual abuse, not to be used by families to penalise elopements or relationships across caste or community lines. They argue for a more nuanced approach — recognising consent for older adolescents while retaining strong safeguards against coercion, grooming, or abuse of authority.

The counter-argument: why many oppose lowering the threshold

Opponents of reducing the age of consent warn that doing so could seriously weaken India’s child protection regime. The existing “bright-line rule” offers clarity and avoids subjective determinations of maturity or willingness, which could vary widely and be manipulated.

There are also concerns that recognising consent below 18 could provide cover for trafficking, child marriage, and sexual exploitation, particularly in contexts where power imbalances are acute. A 2007 study by the Ministry of Women and Child Development found that a majority of child sexual abuse cases involved known persons — relatives, neighbours, teachers, or caregivers — making claims of consent deeply problematic.

Parliament has repeatedly endorsed this protective approach. Both the Parliamentary Standing Committee on Human Resource Development (2011) and the Standing Committee on Home Affairs (2012) rejected the idea of recognising minor consent or introducing close-in-age exemptions. More recently, the Law Commission’s 283rd Report (2023) warned that lowering the age of consent could render POCSO a “paper law”.

What courts have said: empathy versus statutory rigidity

Indian courts have increasingly found themselves torn between the letter of the law and its lived consequences. High Courts in Delhi and Bombay have emphasised the need to respect adolescent autonomy and sexual dignity in consensual relationships, while simultaneously acknowledging that, under POCSO, consent of a minor has no legal value.

The Supreme Court itself has sent mixed signals. In August 2024, it overturned a Calcutta High Court ruling that had acquitted an accused in a POCSO case involving a 14-year-old, firmly reiterating that consensual sex with minors is not recognised by law. Yet, invoking Article 142, it declined to impose a sentence, noting that the girl had suffered more from the criminal process than the act itself — while clarifying that the decision should not be treated as precedent.

More recently, Justice B.V. Nagarathna observed that romantic relationships involving persons on the verge of adulthood need to be viewed differently, highlighting the trauma faced by girls when consensual relationships result in the incarceration of their partners.

The unresolved dilemma for lawmakers and judges

Ultimately, any formal change to the age of consent lies within Parliament’s domain. But the Supreme Court’s observations underline the need for clarity and consistency, especially as lower courts and police struggle to navigate conflicting judicial signals.

The challenge is not merely whether the age of consent should be 18 or 16, but how the law can distinguish consensual adolescent intimacy from exploitation. A blanket reduction risks diluting child protection, while the current framework continues to criminalise many young people navigating relationships.

Towards a more balanced legal response

A growing body of opinion suggests that the answer lies in calibrated reform rather than an all-or-nothing approach. This could include narrowly crafted “close-in-age” exemptions for adolescents aged 16–18, combined with strict judicial scrutiny to detect coercion or abuse. Equally important are non-legal interventions — comprehensive sex education, accessible reproductive health services, and more sensitive policing.

The Supreme Court’s January 10 judgment has not settled the debate. But it has sharpened the central question: how can the law protect children without turning adolescent love into a crime? The answer will shape not just criminal jurisprudence, but the everyday lives of young Indians negotiating autonomy, family, and the law.