The skies are overcast, and it is unbearably humid when I reach Jantar Mantar on a Sunday evening. Beads of sweat run down the faces of the police personnel and guards on duty as people, young and old, walk in. A transgender woman—clearly not here for the first time—asks after the health of one of the guard’s children before moving on and merging with the crowd. I’m foolish to think that I’ll just quietly observe and absorb this moment of history before going back home.
The two-month-old Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) began its round-the-clock protest at Jantar Mantar more than three weeks ago on 20 June, and has been joined by hundreds of students, parents, activists, citizens and even farmers’ groups, all in support of the demand for the resignation of education minister Dharmendra Pradhan, following multiple exam paper leaks and rescheduling of exams that have caused confusion, stress and suicides in the student community. A sea of blue tents lines the path to the podium where climate activist Sonam Wangchuk is on an indefinite hunger strike. It’s not easy to be a mere observer, while soaking in stories of people from different communities, economic strata and professions.
Beneath the shade of a tree, artist Shweta Gautam, 26, sits on an old bedsheet. Her mother, who used to work in an export garment factory as a sewing assistant, has saved up money for paint and canvas so her daughter can work on her art at Jantar Mantar. I stop to look at her latest figurative painting, a sombre portrait of Wangchuk, an animated cartoon figure of a politician on the run, and a silhouette of a person, face buried in hands, with the words “Sorry Mom, Dad”.
Gautam, who works as a part-time accountant at a grocery store, arrives every Sunday and sits down to work, unfazed by the people who surround her and watch her paint. “My 24-year-old brother is autistic, and my mother needs my help,” says the resident of Khichripur, about 15km away, when asked why she’s there only on Sundays. “My mother says, ‘Ab peeche nahi hatna hai (No going back now)’,” says Gautam. She’s completed 15 paintings since the CJP protests began, apart from documenting through her art unresolved cases of rapes of minors, alleged fake encounters, deaths of people from minority communities, and other political news that she feels deserves attention.
Looking at her works, I’m reminded of modernist Chittaprosad’s art, whose works are considered a chronicle of the 1943 Bengal Famine. I approach the podium and see Wangchuk in a white kurta-pyjama, a picture of calm, unfazed by the chaos around him. Reclining with his legs propped up, left arm resting over his head, Wangchuk stares at the tableau in front of him, wired earphones in place, routinely acknowledging citizens, some of whom come up on stage to deliver speeches. On the stage is a table with images of B.R. Ambedkar and M.K. Gandhi, besides those of students who died by suicide after the education system failed them.
There’s a lump in my throat when I see a photo of Kahaan Patel, 18, who jumped off the balcony of his building after the NEET exam he took on 6 May was cancelled following the discovery of a paper leak. Another image is of school topper Riya Kumari Thapa, 23, who also died by suicide due to exam stress. The smiling face of Amaira Kumar, a class IV student of Neerja Modi School, Jaipur, is a bleak reminder of how the child, when bullied and not heard by her teachers, jumped to her death from the school building last year.
Sahil, in his early 20s, walks up to me and asks if I’ve clicked any of his pictures or videos. When I assure him that I haven’t, he explains that his parents might worry if they found out he’s at the protest site. “I told them I’m out with my friends,” he says and asks if I’d like a kulfi. “See, there,” he points to a langar, “they’re distributing it.” He says he doubles as a cameraperson for a friend working at an independent news channel covering the protest, and says these channels at the Jantar Mantar protest site are comparable to the newspapers launched during India’s struggle for freedom.
The by-product of CJP’s protest, much like the Shaheen Bagh protest against the Citizenship Amendment Act in 2019, has led to an even more dramatic rise in the creator economy, with many sharing news online and interviewing people united in frustration. In one of the tents, at the entrance of which there’s a handwritten poem Giro by Hubnath Pandey, which recently went viral when actor Rajendra Gupta narrated it, there’s a commotion. A protester is being stretchered to an ambulance, having collapsed during his hunger strike. About 22 students are also fasting along with Wangchuk. People chant “Halla Bol (raise your voice)”, the opening chant for street plays as part of youth-led education protests, as student organisation Krantikari Yuva Sangathan (KYS) begins a skit.
KYS, besides doing plays, has released “Jantar Mantar Declaration of the Demand Charter of the Students and the Youth of India for Radical Change in the Education System” demanding a fair, transparent, and better education system for students. Close to where the “Declaration” is put up, Randhir Bharat, 71, who arrived early that day from Haridwar to support CJP, lies down on a mat, resting his head on an old green briefcase. “Ab yahin hoon (now I’m here)”, he says. His agenda, he says, is a return to ballot-based voting and the abolition of electronic voting machines (EVMs), which he feels are easy to tamper with. When asked why he wants to bring EVM controversy to a protest site that’s addressing education issues, he says: “There’s no dearth of issues.”
Then there’s Mohammad Ahmed Saifi, who is here with his daughter and toddler grandson. In his mid-60s, the resident of Old Delhi has a quiet resilience about him as he goes around distributing hand-held bamboo fans and fanning people to give them respite from the heat. Now affectionately called “Pankha Man” by some student protestors, Saifi says he shows up every day to offer hausla-afzai (encouragement) and khidmat (service).
A former electrician who finds it hard to keep working because of his weakening eyesight, Saifi unfurls the Indian flag every evening at Jantar Mantar as a reminder of the diversity and unity of the nation. “I unfurled the same flag in 2011 when I was supporting the Anna Hazare movement,” he says, adding that people often refer to him as the Purani Dilli Ke Gandhi (Old Delhi’s Gandhi), a title given to him by a channel when it recognised his efforts to clean the lanes of Old Delhi following a strike by the municipal corporation in 2016.
Later that evening, in the comfort of my home, I sit to read Umar Khalid and His World, coming across Umar Khalid’s letter to Rohith Vemula, a student of Hyderabad University who died by suicide in 2016 because he was harassed for his beliefs and political activities. In the book, Vemula is described as a “Dalit student activist (who was) institutionally murdered.” Khalid, himself in jail for over five-and-a-half years, writes: “They may kill us, they may imprison our bodies, but they can’t stop the possibility of the spring that lurks at the corner of the very darkest winter, waiting to sprout.” The Jantar Mantar protest is perhaps that “spring” that’s awaited.
Abhilasha Ojha is a Delhi-based independent writer.