Every generation inherits a world—replete with good things and bad—that it did not design. What differs is how they respond to it.
My generation’s default response to adversity, be it political corruption, a stagnant job market or a struggling economy, is complaining. We moan over drinks with friends, crib on family WhatsApp groups and post snide comments on X as we wait for someone (else) to fix things. This year, our children have shown us what the alternative looks like.
When the Cockroach Janta Party popped up in May, political commentators dismissed it as a joke. Instead, it blossomed into a national street movement that achieved what most people thought impossible: the resignation of a Union minister after five weeks of relentless, multi-city protests by India’s unputdownable youth.
Now the same youthful energy is aimed at Chief Election Commissioner Gyanesh Kumar, over alleged irregularities in the electoral roll revision and deletion of eligible voters. The movement has coaxed citizens of diverse backgrounds—many of whom would normally shun each other—out of their homes and onto the streets, together. That alone is a big achievement in our fractured polity.
But that’s not the most remarkable aspect of this agitation. That honour has to go to the huge number of young people who show up repeatedly to be heard. They get beaten and harassed at every outing, and yet keep their spirit and sense of humour intact.
Personally, I cannot get enough of their sass. Along with many of my middle-aged friends, I eagerly refresh my feed every morning for the memes, parody videos, and self-deprecating jokes flooding social media. I love the ‘fit checks’ featuring helmets, goggles, and homemade protest gear, the ‘get ready with me’ vlogs recorded before heading to the barricades, and most importantly, the cocky comments fired by the kids even as they’re herded away by the cops in cages on wheels.
Some of my older peers are baffled. They cannot fathom why a demonstrator should carry shampoo to the protest and start lathering his hair when hit by a water cannon. But this humour is precisely what makes this movement potent. Gen Z has understood instinctively that jokes travel faster than speeches, and disarm intimidation. A protester who laughs at fear is harder to frighten. Satire was always the weapon of the powerless; this generation has given it 5G power.
There’s more. Not only have our children grown up fluent in the tools that can spread a message in minutes, they (unlike us) don’t see deference as a virtue or think questioning the order of things is ungrateful. They want results, and they understand that results require physical presence. Most importantly, they understand something most of us oldies have forgotten: a person who stays home may have given up; those who show up believe the future can still change.
Is it working? Well, the last round of protests saw off a minister. If this energy holds, accountability might finally become a permanent feature of Indian democracy.
It’s a very interesting time. A movement that began as a joke has shown us that humour and seriousness aren’t opposed. And the generation accused of living online has filled the streets and reminded us that democracy thrives when ordinary people practice it—even if it’s with their tongue planted firmly in their cheek.
shampadhar@gmail.com
