“For the whole world is one; you are rated a very insignificant part of it, and therefore it is right for you that you should serve your millions of brothers, rather than aggrandise this little self."
Swami Vivekananda
Hello,
I write in the aftermath of the largest youth protest in India’s recent history triggered (in part) by some choice name-calling from none other than the Chief Justice of India himself.
On May 15, 2026, during a court session, CJI Surya Kant referred to unemployed youth and activists as "parasites." He remarked: "There are youngsters like cockroaches; they don't get any employment, and they don't have any place in a profession. Some of them become media, some of them become social media, some of them become RTI activists, some of them become other activists, and they start attacking everyone..."
India is a young country with a large workforce. A fifth of this country’s population is between the ages of 15-29. As per conservative estimates approximately 9.9% of this population is unemployed with figures skewing higher in urban centres and even more so for urban women (18.9%). Interestingly, the more educated a young Indian, the higher the chances of unemployment.
To no one’s surprise except those in power, the Chief Justice's remarks got on an entire generation’s last nerve. First memes and reels flooded the social platforms as young people quickly claimed the cockroach tag. Then came the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP)—a satirical take on the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party. The CJI’s later clarification changed nothing.
With news of student suicides after the latest round of paper leaks (competitive entrance exam keys being sold to those who can afford them), a new satyagraha began, bringing thousands to the streets.
On 20th July, several thousands of students and those who believed in the cause, took to the streets of Central Delhi to march to the parliament. They faced tear gas, lathi charge, and other police brutalities. If India’s freedom fighters had happened on the scene, one imagines they would have felt right at home.
Topmost on their list of demands was the resignation of the education minister. By 25th July, in a first for the government that has been in power since 2014, he had resigned.
Meanwhile, in an (un)surprising twist, the Delhi High Court has taken a Suo Moto Public Interest Litigation. It has concerned itself with neither paper leaks, nor protesters, nor the baton-wielding police. The honourable court is bothered by street dogs.
This is such déjà vu.
Last year, in July and August, the media and judiciary colluded to brand India's street dogs a “growing canine menace,” “biological vulnerabilities,” and “neighbourhood terrors.” An incompletely researched news report in the Times of India decided that Delhi was hounded by its strays. News cycles looped AI images of monster dogs with videos of dog attacks. What ensued was heart breaking. Innumerable dogs were abducted and brutalised by the municipalities, private catchers, and citizens. Many who cared for them were subjected to the same fate. Even now, they continue to be under threat from the spread of misinformation and prejudice. Legal evidence and constitutional precedent have counted for little in the courts or on the streets.
So, I find myself thinking of power as it begins to distance. Of the judges going to work in armoured vehicles oblivious to a world beyond their benches. Of politicians who don’t have to worry about the state of education because they can pay for their children's tuition abroad. Of a prime minister who breaks his silence over it all with an Instagram video in which he addresses the lathi-charged, injured, and unemployed youth as 'Friends.'
At a distance, scale changes. Living, breathing creatures begin to resemble parasites. Or prey. When you don’t have to live in it – what does it matter if it’s the Ganga or the gutter?
So, the whole of last year has felt like a growing crescendo of grief. For me, it began with the Supreme Court’s case against street dogs, followed by the systemic and public cruelties. And through it all – institutional deafness.
It has been very hard to find grounding, to stay human through it all.
Here are notes on how I am making my way through this chapter.
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Watching
Instagram shows me videos of interfaith conviviality on the protest site of Jantar Mantar, of people sending food through food delivery platforms, cooking and serving biryanis, rajma chawal, and fried kachoris. I also saw a video of a volunteer carrying a shocked dog away from a tear gas site. I tear up every time.
I also happened on Hank Green’s video on how "No Effort is Wasted"—a thought that echoes the Bhagavad Gita's karmanye vadhikaraste (to work you have the right, not the results thereof).
Green likens people to junk drawers. He says we are filled with random things that can sometimes fortuitously come together. But this ‘filling’ does not happen in linear fashion. It comes from detours and digressions and doing things without any end in sight except the action itself.
Another example he gives is a fish that lays over a million eggs without knowing how many will survive. Nature gives a species enough shots so that the next generation has a chance.
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Listening
Protests have OSTs. The songs from animal welfare videos last year now trigger me. In 2025, I had goosebumps on listening to them. In 2026, I skip play.
The same songs lend themselves to the current protests. They range from Bollywood rap on freedom from systemic ills to various iterations of the national song – Vande Mataram, which was composed by the poet Bankim Chandra Chatterji in 1870. A classical version of the song is linked in the button below. And an older version by the late Ms. Lata Mangeshkar is here.
As tens of thousands took to the streets, I remembered the Home Minister insisting in Parliament that those who insult the national song ought to be imprisoned.
Who do we think is better honouring the spirit of a song which includes the lyrics:
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands,
When the swords flash out in twice seventy million hands
And seventy million voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
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Reading
I recently read William Hazlitt's On The Ignorance of the Learned. It is an energetic and eloquent piece of writing. To my surprise, since I have not read Hazlitt properly before, he weighs in on the side of common sense, of feeling, and of lived experience over bookish knowledge.
He writes, “Common-sense is neither priestcraft nor state policy.” Also, “If indeed a large proportion of the people are in want of food, of clothing, of shelter … and if each feeling it in himself, they all say so with one voice and one heart, and lift up their hands to second their appeal, this I should say was but the dictate of common sense, the cry of nature.”
This is sensus communis.
I am always amazed by the prescience of poets.
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Feeding
Once or twice a week, I make rice and chicken/ rice and liver with turmeric for my streeties. In all this time, I have learnt their preferences – the temperature of the food, the desirable ratios of rice and meat, and how quickly I must lay down paper plates for a particular pack.
This Tuesday night, after I had fed Declan and his pack (Bobby, Whitey, Brownie, Ella, and Baby Puppy) he trotted beside me, booping my palms with his wet velvety nose. The rest wagged their tails and followed at a distance.
I turned around and said, "Thank you for the boops, Declee! It’s always a privilege to cook for you.”
He wagged his tail having understood every word I’d said.
Friends always do.
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In solidarity,
Skendha
The Long View Letters
