The viral videos showed laughter, meme-filled placards and Gen Z humour at New Delhi's Jantar Mantar. But behind the memes were stories of exhausted bodies sleeping on pavements, volunteers working tirelessly without expecting recognition, strangers becoming family and young people choosing discomfort over silence. Away from the social media reels existed another side of Jantar Mantar—one filled with the smell of sweat, damp bedsheets and public toilets, where simply enduring became part of the protest.
The protest site, which became synonymous with satire, memes and Gen Z-style resistance, demanded something far less glamorous than online virality. It demanded resilience.
For nearly a month, the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), founded by Abhijeet Dipke in Boston, turned Jantar Mantar into a temporary township. Thousands of students, senior citizens and volunteers occupied Delhi's designated protest site, demanding the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan over the NEET-UG 2026 paper leak and other alleged irregularities in the education system. Their days were spent raising slogans and attending speeches, while their nights revolved around finding enough room on the pavement to sleep.
On Saturday, the government, which had repeatedly maintained that its ministers would not resign under pressure, eventually accepted Dharmendra Pradhan's resignation.
For more than a month before that, life at the protest was reduced to its essentials. Protesters bathed at public taps, queued outside unhygienic public toilets, lived out of backpacks and endured Delhi's intense July heat followed by humid monsoon nights.
Women faced additional challenges because of the poor condition of the washrooms, which increased the risk of urinary tract infections (UTIs). Despite this, they stood in the same queues every morning.
Few of these moments found space on social media.
Instead, the internet embraced a different image of Jantar Mantar. Humorous placards, witty slogans, satirical performances and spontaneous dancing transformed the protest into one of the most distinctive youth movements in recent years. The memes helped the movement spread far beyond Delhi, encouraging thousands to travel to the capital after first discovering it online.
However, spending time at the protest made one thing clear—the memes amplified the movement, but they did not sustain it.
What kept Jantar Mantar alive were ordinary people who stayed away from the spotlight. Volunteers spent entire days arranging drinking water, meals and bedding instead of addressing crowds. Students travelled hundreds of kilometres only to sleep on concrete pavements because they believed their presence mattered. Hunger strikers arrived as strangers but gradually became companions through weeks of shared hardship and uncertainty.
It was these quiet acts of sacrifice and care that gave the movement its strength. Memes drew attention. The humour went viral. But it was the exhaustion, perseverance and silent determination of hundreds of young people that carried the protest through nearly a month and ultimately culminated in Pradhan's resignation.
SLEEPING ON PAVEMENTS, QUEUING FOR WASHROOMS
As night fell over Jantar Mantar, protesters quietly claimed small patches of pavement. Some spread thin bedsheets while others slept directly on flattened cardboard. Bags doubled as pillows to safeguard their belongings. The pavements became makeshift dormitories for hundreds.
There were no fans except near the main stage. Even a light breeze felt like a luxury. Morning brought yet another challenge.
The public toilets, already overwhelmed by the crowds, became one of the most difficult aspects of daily life.
For women, the situation was even more challenging. Many delayed using the washrooms because of unhygienic conditions, despite doctors warning that doing so—or repeatedly using unsanitary facilities—could increase the risk of UTIs.
Yet every morning they queued again before returning to raise slogans. These moments rarely appeared on camera. They were experiences that had to be witnessed rather than recorded.
I spent an entire night at Jantar Mantar, eating and sleeping alongside the protesters. You can read about that experience here: I spent a night as a cockroach at CJP's Jantar Mantar protest. This is what I saw.
THE VOLUNTEERS WHO KEPT THE PROTEST GOING
Every protest has speeches and slogans, but fewer people notice those who make everything else possible. Twenty-one-year-old Hasan Ali from Uttar Pradesh was one of them.
Within minutes of arriving at Jantar Mantar, it was impossible not to notice him. Someone needed drinking water. An elderly visitor required a chair. A newcomer was looking for a place to sleep. Another protester needed directions. Every few steps someone called out to Ali, who responded with the same smile before rushing to the next task.
When I asked where I could stay overnight, he glanced at the belongings I had brought and smiled.
"We would have arranged bedsheets for you if you hadn't brought them," he said.
Ali had been volunteering since the protest began on June 28. His official role was finding sleeping space for newcomers, but in practice he ensured that anyone arriving from another state had somewhere to spend the night.
His work never went viral. No one applauded him for arranging sleeping spots or gained Instagram followers for distributing water. Yet protests survive because someone remembers who needs food, who has nowhere to sleep and who has been forgotten.
NOT EVERYONE CAME FOR SOCIAL MEDIA
The CJP protest gained momentum when social activist Sonam Wangchuk joined the agitation and began an indefinite hunger strike on June 28. His fast became the focal point of the movement, though attendance remained modest initially.
Everything changed after the CJP's 'Chalo Sansad' march on July 20.
Violence broke out after some protesters allegedly threw stones at security personnel, prompting Delhi Police and the Rapid Action Force to respond with lathi-charge, tear gas and pellet guns.
The police action transformed the movement. What had been a relatively small protest quickly swelled into one where counting the number of participants became nearly impossible.
Among those who arrived after the crackdown was 28-year-old Provincial Civil Services aspirant Ashwini Verma from Uttar Pradesh's Azamgarh district. Like thousands of other students, his future depended on competitive examinations.
He had earlier heard about a man from a neighbouring village who travelled to Delhi with only Rs 20 to protest against the education system. That story stayed with him. Then came the police action.
"That was the trigger," Verma told India Today Digital. "I realised it was time to come to Delhi."
Throughout the protest, Verma kept his face covered with a mask—not to hide from fellow protesters, but because he feared photographs or videos could later be used against him.
"My being here is important because I am also a student suffering from this education system," he said.
WHEN STRANGERS BECAME FAMILY
Until July 18, public attention remained focused on the main stage, where Sonam Wangchuk continued his hunger strike. But a short distance away stood another tent that received little attention.
Inside sat Bahadhur Singh from Aligarh, Uttar Pradesh, quietly observing his own hunger strike.
"I came here for the nation," Singh told India Today Digital. "I won't return home until I achieve my purpose."
Beside him sat Deepak Yadav from Lucknow, who had also gone days without food. Others had joined the fast later after being inspired by the movement.
Only weeks earlier, none of them knew one another. They came from different districts and different backgrounds. Yet shared hardship slowly created bonds that resembled family. They reminded each other to drink water, monitored each other's health, shared medicines and looked after one another.
Their connection was not built on common interests but on shared sacrifice.
THE STORIES THAT NEVER WENT VIRAL
The CJP protest became an internet phenomenon, with memes, satirical slogans, humorous placards and videos of young protesters dancing on the streets. Social media celebrated a generation protesting in unconventional ways.
But it rarely captured the exhaustion behind the movement.
It did not show volunteers skipping meals while helping others. It did not record people choosing filthy public toilets instead of abandoning the protest and returning home.
Sacrifice is harder to package than humour.
The memes made Jantar Mantar famous, but they did not keep it alive.
That responsibility rested with hundreds of ordinary young people whose names never trended, whose faces often remained hidden behind masks and whose days were spent performing unseen acts of care.
Beyond the humour was relentless work. Beyond the slogans was physical discomfort. And beyond the viral videos was a movement sustained not only by anger, but by countless quiet acts of endurance that rarely appeared on anyone's social media feed.
