I’ve spent 16 years doing standup in India, 10 of them under prime minister Narendra Modi’s government. I’ve learned – especially at corporate events, private shows and turns at various associations, universities and business schools among the English-speaking urban elite – that people are most thrilled when politics doesn’t come up, as if it doesn’t exist. I’m often told: “Anuvab, you can joke about anything – just don’t mention any specific names, places, incidents or events.”

You might read that and think I live in some humourless, semi-monarchic stasis. That isn’t true either. Many comedians and influencers joke about the government. Some get into trouble and some don’t, the overall assessment being that it is not worth the risk. In India, whatever is true, the opposite is often true as well.

Protests in India have a playbook, dating from the Raj era. There’s often a hunger strike by a prominent person (Gandhi first, the OG). Some injustice is done, demands are made, people gather, police beat people with sticks, things are broken, a compromise is reached, the prominent person breaks their fast, the cause eventually sells out and a small faction becomes a political party. None of it is funny.

So I was quite cynical when the gen Z protests started. And what I was definitely not expecting was that comedy would create governmental change. A key medical exam paper was leaked (bribery, that good old tool in India), the education minister Dharmendra Pradhan was accused of lapses, prominent educator Sonam Wangchuk went on hunger strike, a satirical collective calling themselves the Cockroach Janata party rallied behind him, a flood of students poured into Delhi’s Jantar Mantar area, the police started beating them up, the government were open for talks and … I thought I’d seen this movie before.

But what the Cockroach party’s gen Z army did in response surprised everyone. Rather than sticking to the usual political sloganeering, where Marxist catchphrases blend with street theatre, or resisting the police by throwing things at them, they targeted the government and the media ecosystem that supports it with witty, profane, often downright abusive and sometimes very funny memes, doctored videos, AI-generated nonsense, posters and protest art – all of it going viral across Indian social media.

One video showed hundreds of students at a train station chanting in unison: “The prime minister is a thief.” One cartoon featured Modi being kissed by two billionaires on either side of him – and the artist, defiantly, signed his name. Something had begun. Rather than delivering another grave protest, gen Z began to entertain.

Tech and India’s young are as synonymous as sheep and New Zealand. Tech’s been our biggest export. Yet none of the great tech gods – not Zuckerberg, not Musk, nor, for that matter, the Indian government or oligarchs – foresaw a situation in which this huge young population, rich and poor, all armed with smartphones, would get angry and decide to use their editing talent to unleash madness on Insta and X.

One of my favourite themes links Modi and Italian PM Giorgia Meloni. One gen Z-er appealed to Meloni, saying she should not date Modi because he’s all red flags and ghosting. Another piece of AI slop showed Kim Jong Un, a supposed rival for Meloni’s affections, hurling profanities at Modi in Hindi and charging at him.

Modi has done many decisive things. Yet in the face of thousands of Meloni/Modi romcom meme mashups, he stalled.

Elsewhere, young people at the protest site have been uploading reels next to policemen, soundtracked by the Lana Del Rey line “everyone knows I’m a good girl, officer” and holding posters that read: “Arrest me daddy.” India has never seen anything like this.

Modi did his best to respond, releasing a selfie video talking about legitimate steps being taken. The gen Z-ers weren’t listening. Within minutes, there were AI parodies showing Modi swearing, directing rhyming obscenities at the education minister. Many believed it was real. Soon, they had taken a screenshot of him and started to play noughts and crosses on his disproportionately large forehead! Another viral smash. Modi responded with another video, but with his head further away from the camera, more stylised. They mocked that as well, showing him getting further and further away from camera until he vanishes. They were unstoppable. Modi was trying to communicate. They were having fun.

Government folks and their media channels tried all the usual narratives. It’s all politically motivated, backed by George Soros, with China playing some role in destabilising things, they said. But the students, who don’t watch TV, made viral comedy clips in response, taking a few seconds of a news anchor and adding in their own split-screen commentaries. It turned a sombre evening show by eminent pro-government news anchor Arnab Goswami on Republic TV, railing against the terrorist youth, into a Funny or Die video, with a touch of British satirist Michael Spicer’s The Room Next Door.

My two favourite clips were a fake Soros saying, in a local Indian language, that he’s isn’t involved, and a protester pretending to call Chinese premier Xi Jinping from Delhi to report that the plan was going well. Eventually, overwhelmed by memes, the education minister resigned.

Like many post-empire Indians who grew up under socialism, we were taught to always worry about what people will say about you. We did comedy with that in mind. It was stifling but possible. India’s gen Z has proved they do not care – so they’re much funnier. I have no idea whether they’re actually interested in straight debates with the government … but they’re definitely having a laugh.

A new education minister was appointed, Pralhad Joshi. Before he’d said anything, the first comment under the announcement on X read: “Resign Pralhad Joshi.”