Even the well-heeled Gen Z joined the protest at Jantar Mantar. I found out why
Well-heeled teenagers who could have stayed home have chosen to stand in the rain, breathe tear gas and risk a lathicharge while marching from Jantar Mantar to Parliament. That, perhaps, is a break in the pattern and reveals something might have shifted.
The air at the entrance of the Cockroach Janta Party's protest site at Jantar Mantar still carried traces of tear gas, but was now mixed with the smell of fresh rain. Just hours earlier, people had gathered there for the Chalo Sansad march before heading towards Parliament on Monday.
Deeper in, a few hundred metres from the entrance was the stage where activist Sonam Wangchuk began his indefinite hunger strike. With the stage and tent dismantled, the place now resembled a war zone.
Closer to the stage where Wangchuk sat, the smell changed. In some huddles of protesters, the mustiness of the crowd was cut through by the scent of cologne, layered under sweaty bodies that had stood for hours in the humid air and pouring rain.
Smell tells you a lot about a place. Sometimes, it tells you about the people who occupy the place. At Jantar Mantar, it suggested that this was not a protest of only seasoned activists. Yes, the usual participants from student organisations such as NSUI, AISF and AISA were present in strength, providing structure and continuity to the protest. But as many put it aptly, "It's so bad that even the privileged are here."
Metro services near the protest site remained suspended. Private vehicles were at risk of being damaged. The only way to reach the area was by autorickshaw or cab. Internet suspension across central Delhi, with only spotty Edge connectivity in the 5G era, made it impossible to book rides at fair prices through apps. Drivers capitalised on the demand. The shortest rides cost anywhere between Rs 300 and Rs 500 — rates only those with means could afford. And they did.
Protests are inconvenient. Yet the people who usually limit themselves to armchair activism came to the ground. With their latest iPhones, they shot videos and stories in succession, documenting scenes that were beyond the mainstream coverage.
The crowd included school students who were headed to universities abroad. They would never have to navigate the high-stakes entrance exam system themselves, yet they had turned up to protest alongside those whose futures really depend on it. They came from families that pay lakhs in fees per semester and travel by air as routine.
Better clothes. The latest iPhones. Whether we admit it or not, in India, these are the details that shape first impressions. These details added a layer to a setting where tear gas shells flew, and lathis rained, and blood wasn't a rare sight.
THE PATTERN BROKE AT CJP PROTEST
This participation by the privileged class is unusual. In Delhi, this was last seen during the protests against the December 16, 2012, gang rape and murder.
Activist and journalist Aakar Patel notes in his book, The Anarchist Cookbook, that India's upper class — roughly the 3% that pays income tax — experiences the State at few points. Its members operate in English, live in cities, and access private healthcare, education, and transport.
They rarely rely on government schools, anganwadis, or the public distribution system (PDS) that supports over 80 crore people in India. Their daily lives remain largely untouched by the inefficiencies and failures that shape the majority's existence.
As a result, their contact with the State is limited and often abstract. They engage with politics more as spectators than as direct stakeholders.
Electoral promises on identity, nationalism, or global standing carry weight for the privileged, while everyday governance issues feel distant.
Yet on this day at Jantar Mantar, that pattern broke. The situation had reached a point where even those usually removed from street action found reason to show up.
An activist-lawyer who is familiar with street protests, speaking on condition of anonymity, shared a photo of a friend with a forehead wound from a stone that "dropped from the sky".
Around 9.30 pm on Monday, on the approach roads to Jantar Mantar — Ashoka Road, Raisina Road and Akbar Road — which had witnessed nearly 30,000 protesters the same afternoon, there was no trace of what had unfolded just hours earlier. The streets had been cleaned, almost as if nothing had happened.
But the protest site itself, also in Lutyens' Delhi, was littered with garbage, stones, broken glass, and sludge. These were not conditions that children raised in air-conditioned comfort typically endure for long.
The disparity within the crowd at Jantar Mantar on Monday night was visible. Some Delhi University students carried steel dabbas packed with peanuts and pickle, wrapped in gamchhas. Others arrived with Mokobara bags. Both groups stood together, as it poured.
Two 18-year-olds explained their presence to India Today Digital.
"I am here because what is happening affects the future we will inherit," said Arjun Sharma, a Class 12 student from a South Delhi school. "We read about rights in our textbooks. But when you see policies that ignore people's voices, you realise silence is not an option. My parents were worried, but I told them this is our time to learn how to speak up."
Priya Mehra, an 18-year-old studying at a Delhi University college, said, "My family has resources. But if we, who have the privilege of voice and safety, do not stand here, then who will? I came with friends. We are here to push back."
PROTESTS REQUIRES COLLECTIVE MEMORY, GEN Z IS LEARNING IT
Protest is an art that requires practice, discipline, and collective memory. For much of India's Gen Z, this is a learning process. They are discovering how to organise, document, and persist under pressure. In previous years, street action often remained the domain of activists. Now, the young are testing the ground.
Rachit Kumar, a journalism student at IMS Noida, comes from an affluent family. Unlike many in the crowd, the protest was unlikely to have a direct bearing on his own future. He joined the protest after seeing messages on his college group and felt it was important to witness events on the ground. "If we are going to become journalists tomorrow, we cannot learn reporting from a classroom alone... If ordinary people are on the streets raising their voices, we have to be there to understand what is happening firsthand," he told India Today Digital.
Another student, Hardik, who also comes from a wealthy family and had little personal stake in the demands being raised, told India Today Digital, "For most middle-class families, education and healthcare are the biggest expenses. If almost everything a family earns goes towards those two things, people have every right to question the system. We shouldn't reduce every protest to a class. We are Indians first, and when people come together for a public cause, that is what should matter," the student said.
The elite's arrival does not erase the deeper structural issues. The privileged continue to enjoy buffers — private alternatives, networks, and exit options — that insulate them from consequences that the majority of Indians are subjected to.
But presence on the ground creates its own momentum.
It's truly so bad, even the privileged are here.
(With inputs Rishabh Chauhan)
The air at the entrance of the Cockroach Janta Party's protest site at Jantar Mantar still carried traces of tear gas, but was now mixed with the smell of fresh rain. Just hours earlier, people had gathered there for the Chalo Sansad march before heading towards Parliament on Monday.
Deeper in, a few hundred metres from the entrance was the stage where activist Sonam Wangchuk began his indefinite hunger strike. With the stage and tent dismantled, the place now resembled a war zone.
Closer to the stage where Wangchuk sat, the smell changed. In some huddles of protesters, the mustiness of the crowd was cut through by the scent of cologne, layered under sweaty bodies that had stood for hours in the humid air and pouring rain.
Smell tells you a lot about a place. Sometimes, it tells you about the people who occupy the place. At Jantar Mantar, it suggested that this was not a protest of only seasoned activists. Yes, the usual participants from student organisations such as NSUI, AISF and AISA were present in strength, providing structure and continuity to the protest. But as many put it aptly, "It's so bad that even the privileged are here."
Metro services near the protest site remained suspended. Private vehicles were at risk of being damaged. The only way to reach the area was by autorickshaw or cab. Internet suspension across central Delhi, with only spotty Edge connectivity in the 5G era, made it impossible to book rides at fair prices through apps. Drivers capitalised on the demand. The shortest rides cost anywhere between Rs 300 and Rs 500 — rates only those with means could afford. And they did.
Protests are inconvenient. Yet the people who usually limit themselves to armchair activism came to the ground. With their latest iPhones, they shot videos and stories in succession, documenting scenes that were beyond the mainstream coverage.
The crowd included school students who were headed to universities abroad. They would never have to navigate the high-stakes entrance exam system themselves, yet they had turned up to protest alongside those whose futures really depend on it. They came from families that pay lakhs in fees per semester and travel by air as routine.
Better clothes. The latest iPhones. Whether we admit it or not, in India, these are the details that shape first impressions. These details added a layer to a setting where tear gas shells flew, and lathis rained, and blood wasn't a rare sight.
THE PATTERN BROKE AT CJP PROTEST
This participation by the privileged class is unusual. In Delhi, this was last seen during the protests against the December 16, 2012, gang rape and murder.
Activist and journalist Aakar Patel notes in his book, The Anarchist Cookbook, that India's upper class — roughly the 3% that pays income tax — experiences the State at few points. Its members operate in English, live in cities, and access private healthcare, education, and transport.
They rarely rely on government schools, anganwadis, or the public distribution system (PDS) that supports over 80 crore people in India. Their daily lives remain largely untouched by the inefficiencies and failures that shape the majority's existence.
As a result, their contact with the State is limited and often abstract. They engage with politics more as spectators than as direct stakeholders.
Electoral promises on identity, nationalism, or global standing carry weight for the privileged, while everyday governance issues feel distant.
Yet on this day at Jantar Mantar, that pattern broke. The situation had reached a point where even those usually removed from street action found reason to show up.
An activist-lawyer who is familiar with street protests, speaking on condition of anonymity, shared a photo of a friend with a forehead wound from a stone that "dropped from the sky".
Around 9.30 pm on Monday, on the approach roads to Jantar Mantar — Ashoka Road, Raisina Road and Akbar Road — which had witnessed nearly 30,000 protesters the same afternoon, there was no trace of what had unfolded just hours earlier. The streets had been cleaned, almost as if nothing had happened.
But the protest site itself, also in Lutyens' Delhi, was littered with garbage, stones, broken glass, and sludge. These were not conditions that children raised in air-conditioned comfort typically endure for long.
The disparity within the crowd at Jantar Mantar on Monday night was visible. Some Delhi University students carried steel dabbas packed with peanuts and pickle, wrapped in gamchhas. Others arrived with Mokobara bags. Both groups stood together, as it poured.
Two 18-year-olds explained their presence to India Today Digital.
"I am here because what is happening affects the future we will inherit," said Arjun Sharma, a Class 12 student from a South Delhi school. "We read about rights in our textbooks. But when you see policies that ignore people's voices, you realise silence is not an option. My parents were worried, but I told them this is our time to learn how to speak up."
Priya Mehra, an 18-year-old studying at a Delhi University college, said, "My family has resources. But if we, who have the privilege of voice and safety, do not stand here, then who will? I came with friends. We are here to push back."
PROTESTS REQUIRES COLLECTIVE MEMORY, GEN Z IS LEARNING IT
Protest is an art that requires practice, discipline, and collective memory. For much of India's Gen Z, this is a learning process. They are discovering how to organise, document, and persist under pressure. In previous years, street action often remained the domain of activists. Now, the young are testing the ground.
Rachit Kumar, a journalism student at IMS Noida, comes from an affluent family. Unlike many in the crowd, the protest was unlikely to have a direct bearing on his own future. He joined the protest after seeing messages on his college group and felt it was important to witness events on the ground. "If we are going to become journalists tomorrow, we cannot learn reporting from a classroom alone... If ordinary people are on the streets raising their voices, we have to be there to understand what is happening firsthand," he told India Today Digital.
Another student, Hardik, who also comes from a wealthy family and had little personal stake in the demands being raised, told India Today Digital, "For most middle-class families, education and healthcare are the biggest expenses. If almost everything a family earns goes towards those two things, people have every right to question the system. We shouldn't reduce every protest to a class. We are Indians first, and when people come together for a public cause, that is what should matter," the student said.
The elite's arrival does not erase the deeper structural issues. The privileged continue to enjoy buffers — private alternatives, networks, and exit options — that insulate them from consequences that the majority of Indians are subjected to.
But presence on the ground creates its own momentum.
It's truly so bad, even the privileged are here.
(With inputs Rishabh Chauhan)
The air at the entrance of the Cockroach Janta Party's protest site at Jantar Mantar still carried traces of tear gas, but was now mixed with the smell of fresh rain. Just hours earlier, people had gathered there for the Chalo Sansad march before heading towards Parliament on Monday.
Deeper in, a few hundred metres from the entrance was the stage where activist Sonam Wangchuk began his indefinite hunger strike. With the stage and tent dismantled, the place now resembled a war zone.
Closer to the stage where Wangchuk sat, the smell changed. In some huddles of protesters, the mustiness of the crowd was cut through by the scent of cologne, layered under sweaty bodies that had stood for hours in the humid air and pouring rain.
Smell tells you a lot about a place. Sometimes, it tells you about the people who occupy the place. At Jantar Mantar, it suggested that this was not a protest of only seasoned activists. Yes, the usual participants from student organisations such as NSUI, AISF and AISA were present in strength, providing structure and continuity to the protest. But as many put it aptly, "It's so bad that even the privileged are here."
Metro services near the protest site remained suspended. Private vehicles were at risk of being damaged. The only way to reach the area was by autorickshaw or cab. Internet suspension across central Delhi, with only spotty Edge connectivity in the 5G era, made it impossible to book rides at fair prices through apps. Drivers capitalised on the demand. The shortest rides cost anywhere between Rs 300 and Rs 500 — rates only those with means could afford. And they did.
Protests are inconvenient. Yet the people who usually limit themselves to armchair activism came to the ground. With their latest iPhones, they shot videos and stories in succession, documenting scenes that were beyond the mainstream coverage.
The crowd included school students who were headed to universities abroad. They would never have to navigate the high-stakes entrance exam system themselves, yet they had turned up to protest alongside those whose futures really depend on it. They came from families that pay lakhs in fees per semester and travel by air as routine.
Better clothes. The latest iPhones. Whether we admit it or not, in India, these are the details that shape first impressions. These details added a layer to a setting where tear gas shells flew, and lathis rained, and blood wasn't a rare sight.
THE PATTERN BROKE AT CJP PROTEST
This participation by the privileged class is unusual. In Delhi, this was last seen during the protests against the December 16, 2012, gang rape and murder.
Activist and journalist Aakar Patel notes in his book, The Anarchist Cookbook, that India's upper class — roughly the 3% that pays income tax — experiences the State at few points. Its members operate in English, live in cities, and access private healthcare, education, and transport.
They rarely rely on government schools, anganwadis, or the public distribution system (PDS) that supports over 80 crore people in India. Their daily lives remain largely untouched by the inefficiencies and failures that shape the majority's existence.
As a result, their contact with the State is limited and often abstract. They engage with politics more as spectators than as direct stakeholders.
Electoral promises on identity, nationalism, or global standing carry weight for the privileged, while everyday governance issues feel distant.
Yet on this day at Jantar Mantar, that pattern broke. The situation had reached a point where even those usually removed from street action found reason to show up.
An activist-lawyer who is familiar with street protests, speaking on condition of anonymity, shared a photo of a friend with a forehead wound from a stone that "dropped from the sky".
Around 9.30 pm on Monday, on the approach roads to Jantar Mantar — Ashoka Road, Raisina Road and Akbar Road — which had witnessed nearly 30,000 protesters the same afternoon, there was no trace of what had unfolded just hours earlier. The streets had been cleaned, almost as if nothing had happened.
But the protest site itself, also in Lutyens' Delhi, was littered with garbage, stones, broken glass, and sludge. These were not conditions that children raised in air-conditioned comfort typically endure for long.
The disparity within the crowd at Jantar Mantar on Monday night was visible. Some Delhi University students carried steel dabbas packed with peanuts and pickle, wrapped in gamchhas. Others arrived with Mokobara bags. Both groups stood together, as it poured.
Two 18-year-olds explained their presence to India Today Digital.
"I am here because what is happening affects the future we will inherit," said Arjun Sharma, a Class 12 student from a South Delhi school. "We read about rights in our textbooks. But when you see policies that ignore people's voices, you realise silence is not an option. My parents were worried, but I told them this is our time to learn how to speak up."
Priya Mehra, an 18-year-old studying at a Delhi University college, said, "My family has resources. But if we, who have the privilege of voice and safety, do not stand here, then who will? I came with friends. We are here to push back."
PROTESTS REQUIRES COLLECTIVE MEMORY, GEN Z IS LEARNING IT
Protest is an art that requires practice, discipline, and collective memory. For much of India's Gen Z, this is a learning process. They are discovering how to organise, document, and persist under pressure. In previous years, street action often remained the domain of activists. Now, the young are testing the ground.
Rachit Kumar, a journalism student at IMS Noida, comes from an affluent family. Unlike many in the crowd, the protest was unlikely to have a direct bearing on his own future. He joined the protest after seeing messages on his college group and felt it was important to witness events on the ground. "If we are going to become journalists tomorrow, we cannot learn reporting from a classroom alone... If ordinary people are on the streets raising their voices, we have to be there to understand what is happening firsthand," he told India Today Digital.
Another student, Hardik, who also comes from a wealthy family and had little personal stake in the demands being raised, told India Today Digital, "For most middle-class families, education and healthcare are the biggest expenses. If almost everything a family earns goes towards those two things, people have every right to question the system. We shouldn't reduce every protest to a class. We are Indians first, and when people come together for a public cause, that is what should matter," the student said.
The elite's arrival does not erase the deeper structural issues. The privileged continue to enjoy buffers — private alternatives, networks, and exit options — that insulate them from consequences that the majority of Indians are subjected to.
But presence on the ground creates its own momentum.
It's truly so bad, even the privileged are here.
(With inputs Rishabh Chauhan)
