Why was Gopi Bahu Devoleena’s son abused, Devo took a big step, Devo broke down

Television actor Devoleena Bhattacharjee — famously known as “Gopi Bahu” from Saath Nibhaana Saathiya — has been through countless rounds of criticism over her career, but recently she and her newborn son became victims of a level of online hatred that cut deeper than before. What began as a moment of joy—releasing photos of her infant baby—swiftly turned into a distressing episode of racial trolling that left social media users questioning basic decency and empathy.

Earlier this year, Devoleena and her husband Shanawaz Shaikh celebrated the arrival of their first child, a baby boy born in mid‑December. The couple had become parents during the festive season, and their newborn son quickly became the center of shared happiness online. Devoleena, who tends to keep her family life relatively private, chose this moment to finally introduce her baby to the world, posting heartfelt images that showed the infant’s face for the first time.

In the photos, both parents were visible—Shanawaz’s presence confirming his fatherhood—and the baby bore a striking resemblance to his father in complexion and features. What followed was a barrage of hateful comments that shocked many. A segment of the audience attacked the child for being “black,” offensive remarks followed comparing him to animals, and insulting slurs were used invoking his very skin tone. Some critics even made vile references invoking communal identity. These were not the typical celebrity trolls—they were personal, racist attacks leveled at an infant merely six months old.

Words such as “too black like your dad” echoed in comment sections, along with grotesque metaphors and derogatory pseudonyms. Some people even quantified racism by rating it: “Deduct ₹50 for overacting,” mocking the child as if his skin made him suspect. Critics used terms like “black mulla child” and suggested that had Devoleena married someone of a different religion, the baby would be “cute,” implying that lineage and complexion alone determined beauty. The vile tone even crossed into references insinuating the baby was bred from animal meat, as one comment described the child as “the flesh of dog torn apart,” revealing the level of cruelty inflicted.

Devoleena remained remarkably silent in public on individual replies; she did not engage with any of the hateful comments directly. Sources close to her indicate that she refuses to let such toxicity consume her energy. She continues to focus on motherhood and her personal peace, refusing to dignify hate with a response. Many noticed that her silence was her statement—an assertion that she prioritizes her child’s well-being above any misplaced attention.

From a broader perspective, this racial backlash ties into long-standing patterns of colorism and communal bias in Indian society. A public figure’s child, even if born within a private union like Devoleena and Shanawaz’s, is often interpreted as belonging to a communal narrative. The fact that Shanawaz is Muslim triggered more cruelty—not just over the baby’s complexion, but over religious prejudice packaged in colorist remarks.

What makes this particularly disturbing is the personalization. This baby, who has no public persona, was judged for his heritage and skin tone. Comments such as “Your son don’t look like you,” and “Should have married Najim for a cute baby,” show how the internet often sees mixed marriages as grounds for blame or foreignness. In genetic reality, babies inherit features from both parents. But online trolls used the baby’s appearance as currency to express deep-seated biases.

Devoleena’s husband, Shanawaz Shaikh, has been equally silent publicly. On rare occasions, fans glimpsed him signing off in shared posts with quiet smiles and affection for his newborn. Neither parent offered statements defending themselves or explaining their choices, nor did they issue public challenges to those spewing hate. Their only visible action has been maintaining normalcy amid the storm.

This response—or lack thereof—highlights a growing dilemma for public figures: when to speak up and when to hold space. Some callers for accountability urged Devoleena to name and shame the trolls or file legal complaints. Others warned that responding would only encourage trolls with more attention. Her silence has instead become a calm protest against escalation.

While trolls attacked an infant, many fans and well-wishers rose in defense. Comments also poured in, praising Devoleena’s dignity and condemning the hate. Messages like “We are proud of you, Gopi Bahu” and “Shame on these people” trended among her supporters. The wave of defense, however, could not match the ugliness of the abuse directed at a child whose only offense was existence.

A deeper reflection emerges on the social responsibility of platforms. Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook continue to host comment sections that allow unfiltered hate speech. Even when abusive comments are reported, their reach and damage get done in the first minutes online—before any censorship step can intervene. Parents like Devoleena who choose to share personal photos—even those meant to introduce a child to family and friends—risk exposing their kids to public weapons that require no justification to deploy.

Colorism in Indian culture is widely recognized, but rarely addressed at the level of condemning attacks on infants. When a baby born to a private couple is publicly targeted for complexion, it speaks to systematic devaluation of melanin and the intersection of prejudice against both race and religious identity. Devoleena’s baby inadvertently became the face of these biases—and that has serious implications for other families navigating mixed marriages or darker complexions.

This tragic episode also raises questions about digital citizenship. Those who write comments choosing to insult a child show not immediate ignorance, but deeper hostility. It is a reflection of how entrenched prejudices find expression online. And while many have commented how badly those remarks reflect on the commenters themselves, an equally troubling concern is how few platforms proactively moderate childish, racist vitriol before it spreads.

Despite all this, Devoleena remains unbowed. Before this, she had already publicly defended herself from trolls over her personal choices—whether for wearing certain outfits, makeup, or being in a relationship with a Muslim man. She has repeatedly said that she owes nobody her explanations. She once shut down Pakistani hate accounts and warned trolls not to involve her family in cross-border politics. She demanded respect and refused to give trolls permission to judge her identity or her choices.

In this recent incident, she has taken a silent posture—perhaps a sign that speaking up against racial attacks on her baby is unnecessary when the troll’s intention is to provoke. Her focus now remains on raising her child without feeding the outrage. She and her husband reportedly spend private time away from screens, avoiding public backlash and concentrating on nurturing their son.

For society, this moment should be a wake‑up call. If we shun colorism in theory, we must also reject racial attacks at every level—even when aimed at children. Empathy should guide how we respond to public photos of infants, not cruelty. If fandom worships someone’s character onscreen, hatred offline must be held equally accountable.

Devoleena’s decision to not retaliate does not make the racism acceptable. Instead, it highlights that the real battle is against those assumptions and biases that lurk in comment boxes. Her silence is a refusal to allow hate to define her family’s narrative. It sends a powerful, silent message: you may judge, you may comment, but I will still choose peace.

Ultimately, this painful saga is not about a celebrity child. It is about how digital society treats vulnerability, heritage, and innocence. A newborn born into a private, interfaith household was publicly shamed for his skin tone—and that shame originated from adults. Those adults will one day influence how he sees himself. That Devoleena did not participate in the spectacle, but still shared his photo, signals that love is not defined by intimidation.

As debate continues, people must ask themselves: what happens when fans let their prejudice override civility? When does sentiment cross into hate? And if platforms fail to moderate, what responsibility lies with users themselves?

Devoleena Bhattacharjee’s motherhood journey has now become controversial. Not because she asked for it, but because others decided to degrade her child for complexion. Her response of quiet resilience is a testament to dignity in the face of prejudice. And if nothing else, the world must reckon with the fact that a six-month old child should never be judged—not in person, not online.

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