At first glance, they sound like lines from a college canteen, a WhatsApp group or an Instagram comment section. But over the past few days, these rhymes have become part of the online vocabulary surrounding a women-led protest movement in Delhi.The demonstrations by Delhi University students on Monday were triggered by concerns over women’s safety following the gang rape of a 17-year-old girl at Aastha Kunj Park in southeast Delhi. But as the protests moved from the streets to Instagram, X and other platforms, their language began changing.
Making a statement of fearlessness and freedom, students climbed the pedestal of Vivekananda’s statue in the Faculty of Arts
Alongside angry chants demanding accountability came food, rhymes, memes, Bollywood songs, pop-culture references and jokes.There was “Rapist ko andar karo, ladkiyon ko nahi” and “Beti ki location nahi, bete ka intent check karo”. And then there was “Ek kachori, do samosa, in mardon ka kya bharosa”.The contrast is striking: a protest about sexual violence and restrictions on women’s movement has also generated some of the internet’s most playful protest slogans in recent memory.But not every line circulating online can be traced to the streets. Some were documented at protest-related events, while others appear to have been created or remixed by social-media users. The distinction has become increasingly difficult to maintain as slogans move rapidly between placards, chants, reels, comments and memes.
As students came with hope, many questioned why there is still a need to fight for basic fundamental rights
The rain could not drown out the chants
On afternoon, women students and members of the queer community gathered at Delhi University’s Faculty of Arts under the banner ‘Hum Auratein Aazad Hain’.The march began around 3pm and moved towards the Faculty of Arts gate opposite Daulat Ram College before culminating at the Swami Vivekananda statue.Then came the rain.Umbrellas opened across the crowd. Placards were pulled closer to protect handwritten messages from the downpour. Some posters began curling at the edges. Clothes were soaked.
The protest saw displays of slogans against patriarchy and misogyny, with chants like “narivaad zindabad” and “ek kachori do samosa, inn mardon ka kya bharosa?”
But the crowd stayed.“Hum leke rahenge azaadi,” students shouted as they continued walking through North Campus.The protest followed demonstrations near Kamala Nehru College and Lady Shri Ram College for Women amid renewed concerns over women’s safety and public spaces.The central demand was not simply for more restrictions. Students questioned why women should have to alter their movements, timings or behaviour because public spaces remain unsafe.One placard put the argument bluntly: “Rapist ko andar karo, ladkiyon ko nahi.”Another read: “Beti ki location nahi, bete ka intent check karo.”There were also messages such as “Hum aazad hain sirf panno par”, “Girls just wanna have fundamental rights”, “Cutie nahi, kranti hoon” and “Make Delhi Safe Again”.The mood was angry, but not uniformly sombre.
The mood was angry, but not uniformly sombre.
From ‘Hum Bharat ki nari hain’ to meme-ready protest language
The change is also visible when today’s slogans are compared with older protest vocabulary.Earlier women’s movements frequently relied on direct, declarative slogans such as:“Hum Bharat ki nari hain, phool nahi chingari hain.”Today’s protesters are using lines such as:“Naari apne aap ki, nahi kisi ke baap ki.”The message remains about autonomy, but the delivery has changed.The modern protest slogan is often shorter, more conversational and designed to work as a social-media caption as easily as a street chant.It has to be heard by the people standing around the protest — but it can also be photographed, posted, screenshotted, remixed and turned into a reel.
The Gen Z protest does not always look like a traditional protest
That change extends beyond slogans.At other recent youth-led demonstrations, protesters have arrived carrying swimming goggles to protect themselves from tear gas, handheld fans to cope with Delhi’s humidity and phones ready to record everything.Some have filmed GRWM — Get Ready With Me — reels before leaving for protests.Others have posted their journeys from trains and airports as though they were travelling to a concert.At the protest site, Bollywood songs and pop music have mixed with political chants.When police chased protesters through the streets, some turned the footage into running montages, adding romantic or comic soundtracks.A video of protesters running was edited to the song “Saiyyan Tu Kamaal Ka”.Another used “Aaj Teri Galiyon Mein Mohabbat Hogi” in reference to Delhi Police.The joke was deliberate.Running from police became “cardio”. One participant posted a screenshot of the distance covered with a caption along the lines of thanking Delhi Police for the workout.Another compared the chase to Subway Surfers in real life.Tear gas, too, became meme material, with users comparing the visuals to a video game or joking about Delhi’s air quality.
Dora the Protester, Spider-Man and T-rex
The visual language of youth protests has become just as unusual.At Jantar Mantar in Juky, protesters have used pop-culture costumes and references, including Spider-Man, Dora the Explorer and dinosaur-like costumes.Dora became “Dora the Protester”.A T-rex appeared amid the crowd.The effect was almost surreal: a protest space where an alien, a Bollywood song, a foreign leader, Taylor Swift references, exam paper leaks and women’s rights could exist in the same social-media feed.The humour does not necessarily mean the issue itself is being treated lightly.Instead, it reflects the way Gen Z communicates — through the same visual and meme vocabulary used for everyday online conversations.The protest becomes an event to document, remix and share
The serious argument behind the jokes
Behind the food rhymes and memes is a much more serious argument.The Delhi protests were partly a response to the authorities’ decision to restrict access to public parks after sunset following the alleged gang rape at Aastha Kunj.That triggered a larger question among protesters:When a public space becomes unsafe, should the response be to make the space safer — or to restrict who can use it and when?Aastha Kunj illustrates the dilemma.The 143-acre park has multiple access points and stretches that become dark and isolated. TOI’s reporting after the incident found security vulnerabilities, including an unmanned guardpost near the area where the alleged assault took place.The park was officially open until 9pm, while police said some gates remained accessible later because people used the park as a shortcut between nearby areas.The alleged perpetrators were also familiar with the park’s layout.Following the incident, the DDA ordered a safety audit, increased evening vigilance, controlled access after sunset, CCTV cameras, additional security personnel and lighting at vulnerable points.Some of these measures directly address the physical security problem.But protesters have questioned whether restricting access should become the most visible response when the underlying weaknesses — dark stretches, inadequate surveillance and gaps in security — remain.
‘Why should women calculate the hour?’
That question was visible in the words of students at the Delhi protest.Sparshika, a Hansraj College student whose parents live in Dehradun, said her parents had opposed her attending the demonstration because of safety concerns.“I cut the call and came,” she said, arguing that women should be able to move freely.Shefali, another DU student, questioned the tendency to connect women’s safety with their clothes or timings.Other students spoke about harassment around their campuses, dark roads and concerns while travelling after dark.The same anxiety extends beyond the college gates.A Gargi College student who had to reach college at 5am for NCC activities spoke about inadequate lighting outside the college gate.A Bhagini Nivedita College student described feeling uneasy while waiting for a DTC bus after dark.The concern, therefore, is not only what happens inside a park, campus or bus.It is what happens on the road to get there.
A new dictionary of dissent
Indian protest culture has long had its own vocabulary — from “Inquilab Zindabad” to songs, poetry and street theatre.The language is now being reshaped by social media.Research on protest slogans has pointed to a broader shift: slogans increasingly speak not only to people physically present at the protest but also to a much wider online audience. They can be personalised, expressive and designed for circulation.That is exactly what appears to be happening here.A slogan is no longer necessarily finished when it is shouted.It can be filmed.Captioned.Remixed.Memed.Turned into a song.Or converted into a new food rhyme.
The protest keeps moving
That may explain why the slogan list refuses to end.Today it is “Ek kachori, do samosa”.Tomorrow someone adds jeera and ajwain.Another user adds Parle-G and Oreo.Someone else turns it into a reel.Another person replies with a new rhyme.And suddenly a street protest has acquired an online language of its own.But beneath the jokes remains the question that brought students to the streets in the first place:Why should women have to change where they go, when they go and how they move because a public space is unsafe?The answer cannot be found in a slogan — whether it is serious, angry or deliberately ridiculous.It lies in what happens after the slogans fade: whether dark stretches are lit, CCTV cameras actually work, guards are present where they are supposed to be, unsafe routes are addressed, transport staff are properly verified and public spaces become secure enough that women do not have to calculate the risk before entering them.The rain at North Campus eventually stopped.The placards dried.The slogans continued online.And somewhere between “Rapist ko andar karo, ladkiyon ko nahi” and “Ek kachori, do samosa”, Delhi’s latest women-led protest found a language that was at once angry, playful, political and unmistakably shaped by the internet.
