The kids will be alright

Aamir Kazi (lying on ground), Mumbai president of AISF, was detained multiple times during the protests. PIC BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

TANISHA BANERJEE, AKSHITA MAHESHWARI, ISHA GANESAN, AND GARVIT BHARDWAJ

If you were walking towards Shivaji Park this past week, the chants would have reached you long before the crowd did. As soon as you step into the protest - whether you are at the back, the front, or somewhere in the middle - it fills your lungs and your head with an inescapable energy. Thousands of strangers begin to sound like one voice. "Dharmendra Pradhan istifa do! Istifa do, istifa do!" echoes through the streets in perfect rhythm, bouncing off buildings and barricades alike. By the end of the day, your legs ache from standing, your throat burns from shouting, and your clothes are damp from the rain. Yet, there is an unmistakable sense of pride in knowing your voice became part of something larger than yourself.

Then someone beside you lifts a placard that reads, "Certified Cockroach". Another breaks into a parody song, "Aree Modi teri tanashahi, nahi chalegi nahi chalegi!" A group of students start filming a satirical Reel, drawing cheers from the crowd. Between the chants demanding accountability are bursts of laughter. This is not the protest language India is used to.

Over the last few weeks, the youth-led movement spearheaded by the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) has transformed satire into one of its most powerful political tools. What began as an online joke, fuelled by memes mocking the repeated examination paper leaks and the government's response, has evolved into one of the country's largest youth movements, with humour travelling alongside slogans.

As the movement gathered momentum, so did the state response. At Delhi's Jantar Mantar, police repeatedly cracked down on demonstrators with barricades, tear gas, and excessive baton charges on minors after marches attempted to move towards the Parliament. Metro stations were shut, several protestors were detained, and security was tightened around the designated protest site even as thousands continued to camp there. Authorities also forcibly shifted activist and educator Sonam Wangchuk, who was on a hunger strike, to a hospital - a move protestors described as another attempt to weaken the movement.

"It would have been a waste of my education if I hadn't gone," 21-year-old law student and content creator, Maulik Chopra says. He was part of the Jantar Mantar protests in Delhi, now infamous for its police brutality. "I don't know if there will be another moment in my youth where such a large student protest happens. I wanted to see how a protest functions, how the police respond, and most importantly, stand up for education [rights] and for the youth of the country."

Unlike many protestors who embraced the CJP's identity, Chopra consciously distances himself from the label. While he credits the group for kickstarting the movement, he believes it has grown beyond any one organisation. "This is no longer just their movement. It's a youth movement, a students' movement, and it should remain that way."

Chopra sees satire as making accountability approachable. "We are the ones who started brain rot. Humour is what connects our generation," he says, "When you make fun of those in power, you are taunting the system. Ridicule holds the ruling government accountable for what their deeds have been without directly attacking them." Through his Reels, he hopes to normalise political participation among young people, particularly those from privileged backgrounds like his own. "If someone like me can show that protesting is normal and standing up for your principles is cool, maybe others will feel encouraged to do the same."

The ripple effects were felt far beyond Delhi including Pune, Chhattisgarh, Telangana, Karnataka, Bihar, and many more states. In Mumbai, solidarity protests drew students and young professionals to the streets. Police detained hundreds of protestors outside Azad Maidan and Shivaji Park even as demonstrations remained largely peaceful.

Taking part in the Mumbai protests, 33-year-old lifestyle blogger and writer Karishma Rawat, uses satire to not trivialise a serious issue, but to increase people's engagement with one. She creates humorous content - a Reel, where with police in the background, she lip syncs the lyrics, "Everybody knows that I'm a good girl officer," from Lana Del Ray's unreleased track Playing Dangerous. It's a meme template that gained popularity years ago where young people sing songs with policemen. She believes every generation develops its own language of resistance.

"People process major events differently," she says, "Some write essays, some attend protests, and others use humour. Satire lowers the barrier to engage with complex issues, and it travels much faster online."

Rawat sees memes and funny Reels as an entry point rather than a replacement for journalism or activism. "I definitely don't try to make light of the issue itself. Humour is just a way to get people to think about what's happening," she explains.

"Satire is one form of participation," she says, "The intention is not to divide people but to start conversations. Within a few seconds, a meme can communicate an idea to thousands of people. People may disagree with it, but at least they're talking about the issue."

Yet if police action was meant to dampen spirits, the Internet had already ensured the movement spoke a different language. The CJP itself was born online. Long before thousands occupied Jantar Mantar, its founders had built a following through satirical memes, cartoon critiques, and biting political humour. Instead of abandoning social media, young protestors weaponised it. Reels from protest sites rack up millions of views. Cartoons are shared faster than speeches. Placards are designed to become screenshots.

Perhaps nothing captures this better than the movement's embrace of the word "cockroach". Wearing insults has long been a strategy of resistance, but this generation has adapted it to the Internet age. Nepal's recent youth-led protests similarly relied on memes, parody songs, and Internet humour to mobilise young people, suggesting that satire is increasingly becoming a common vocabulary for digital-native protest movements across South Asia.

A generation that had been labelled "lazy" and accused of "Instagram activism" - Gen Z has proved naysayers wrong by showing up on the streets in scores, demanding accountability from their government and standing up for each other's rights.

"History is being made in the country like never before by how the youth has turned humour into power," Rawat says. Standing amid the chants, it becomes clear that the slogans have not disappeared. Today's protestors still raise their voices, but they also raise punchlines. In 2026, humour is no longer separate from protest. It is the new naarebaazi.