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Decades ago, while teaching in London, I delivered a lecture to medical students on drug dependence. One slide from that session remains etched in my memory. It ranked commonly used substances according to their potential harm and dependence. Cannabis appeared at the very bottom of the scale—well below alcohol and cigarettes.
At the time, the prevailing medical understanding was that cannabis had relatively low toxicity and limited potential for physiological dependence. Unlike nicotine or alcohol, it did not produce the well-documented withdrawal syndromes or organ damage associated with long-term use. Tobacco, by contrast, was already known to be profoundly addictive and responsible for enormous global disease burdens—yet it remained socially acceptable and legally available.
This paradox has never quite disappeared. Drug policy across the world is rarely shaped by science alone. It evolves through a mix of politics, cultural anxieties, historical circumstances and international pressure.
Few countries have a relationship with cannabis as historically deep—and as legally contradictory—as India. A plant once regulated through licensed government shops and embedded in religious tradition now sits within one of the world’s strictest narcotics laws.
Cannabis has an unusually long and complex history in the subcontinent. Long before modern drug laws existed, the plant occupied a recognised place in religious practice and social life. In Hindu tradition it is closely associated with Shiva, the ascetic deity often depicted consuming it in various forms. Cannabis preparations have been used for centuries in rituals and seasonal festivals such as Holi and Maha Shivaratri.
Even in the early decades after Independence, cannabis was not treated as a forbidden substance. In several states it was sold openly through government-licensed ganja shops. These shops were part of the routine administrative system of the time. In Kolkata, traces of that era survive in local memory—one neighbourhood park continues to be colloquially known as Ganja Park, a reminder of a period when cannabis was regulated rather than pushed underground. In many states, older residents recall a time when cannabis grew naturally and was consumed locally without major social disruption.
This pragmatic approach had deep historical roots. In 1893-94, the colonial government appointed the Indian Hemp Drugs Commission, one of the most extensive investigations ever conducted into cannabis use anywhere in the world. After examining hundreds of witnesses—including physicians, administrators and community leaders—the Commission concluded that moderate consumption caused little medical or social harm. It warned that outright prohibition would likely be impractical and counterproductive. Regulation and taxation, it suggested, were more sensible policy tools.
For nearly a century, that pragmatic view broadly shaped cannabis policy in India.
The decisive shift came in 1985 with the enactment of the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances (NDPS) Act, which introduced a draconian framework. The law effectively created three distinct tiers of cannabis regulation:
- Charas (hashish resin) and ganja (flowering tops)— prohibited narcotic substances; production and sale are criminalised.
- Industrial hemp – low-THC varieties cultivated for textiles, fibres, speciality paper and packaging materials—is grown in Uttarakhand, Himachal Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh.
- Bhang, prepared from cannabis leaves, continues to be legally sold in several states including Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Odisha.
Yet prohibition did not eliminate demand for intoxicants. Instead, the decades that followed witnessed the arrival of heroin and later synthetic narcotics, fundamentally altering India’s drug landscape.
What had once been a relatively mild intoxicant embedded in local culture gradually gave way to a far more dangerous underground narcotics economy.
Across much of the world, governments are now re-examining cannabis policy. Canada, several American states and a number of European countries permit regulated recreational use. Many others allow use under medical supervision and prescription. Even where recreational use remains restricted, medical applications for conditions such as epilepsy, chronic pain, multiple sclerosis and chemotherapy-related nausea are being increasingly accepted.
In India as well, there are signs of change. Researchers in India are exploring the medical potential of cannabis-derived compounds, with drug discovery work led by CSIR–Indian Institute of Integrative Medicine.
Cannabidiol oils with minimal psychoactive content are increasingly marketed for dogs, cats, horses and other companion animals for chronic pain, inflammation and seizure disorders. Some research institutions and state authorities have begun exploring regulated medical applications of cannabis-based formulations. A few states have also initiated industrial hemp cultivation, and analysts estimate that India’s hemp-based products market could reach roughly US$ 400 million by 2030.
None of this suggests that cannabis is harmless. Like many psychoactive substances, it carries risks and requires responsible oversight.
But the emerging scientific consensus is that the harms associated with cannabis are significantly lower than those posed by many substances that remain legal and widely consumed.
India therefore finds itself at a curious crossroads. A plant deeply embedded in its cultural and historical traditions remains largely criminalised, while far more destructive synthetic drugs—from methamphetamine to MDMA—circulate through underground markets with minimal oversight.
Drug policy should ultimately be judged not by the severity of its laws but by the harm it prevents. India once approached cannabis with a pragmatic framework of regulation rather than blanket prohibition. As scientific understanding evolves and global policies shift, revisiting that earlier wisdom may not be a step backwards—but a step toward a more rational and humane drug policy.
Author Bio: Aloka Sengupta is a Bengaluru-based healthcare professional and commentator on international affairs and geopolitics.
These pieces are being published as they have been received – they have not been edited/fact-checked by ThePrint.