As the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) prepared to lead a protest against Chief Election Commissioner Gyanesh Kumar, with opposition parties rallying alongside, the city’s arteries—specifically the Delhi Metro—were effectively severed. By the end of that day, it was clear that the directives issued by the Supreme Court of India had been treated as mere suggestions rather than binding law.
On October 10, the Supreme Court had issued explicit directions intended to prevent the authorities from using a total transport shutdown as a tool for crowd control. The bench had mandated that transport services should continue to function, albeit with appropriate regulation.
Pakistan sponsored Khalistan terrorist group Sikhs for Justice (SFJ) — designated an unlawful association in India — has publicly announced $1 million in support for the CJP protest campaign. SFJ chief Gurpatwant Singh Pannun, himself designated an individual terrorist, tied the offer to conditions: protesters must reject any dialogue with the Centre and continue agitating through Independence Day. He also called for disrupting PM Modi's Red Fort address on Aug 15 and announced a Khalistan referendum event in Indianapolis on Aug 16. Security agencies are now probing whether any funds were actually transferred, even as Delhi Police widens its investigation into violence during the "Chalo Sansad" march. An Indian-designated terrorist group linking its separatist agenda to a domestic student protest raises serious questions. More importantly, will the protestors, who claim to be peaceful and law abiding, distance themselves from terrorist organisations?
Despite the clear instruction from the highest court in the land, the reality on the ground told a different story. Reports confirmed that metro station gates at GTB Nagar and Vishwavidyalaya remained firmly shut, severely crippling public life across the National Capital Territory and stranding essential travelers, according to the petitions. This was not merely a logistical hiccup; it was a direct defiance of the judicial order. By maintaining these closures, authorities effectively bypassed the court’s authority, choosing instead to prioritize a complete lockdown of transit corridors over the rule of law.
The petition alleges that these officials deliberately violated the previous order.
By Saturday, the frustration reached the steps of the Supreme Court. Advocate Shailendra Mani Tripathi filed a formal contempt petition, naming three high-ranking officials as respondents: Union Home Secretary Govind Mohan, Delhi Police Commissioner Anurag Kumar, and DMRC Chairperson D Thara. The petition alleges that these officials deliberately violated the previous order. The language in the filing is stark, accusing the contemnors of having "consciously maintained a blanket shutdown across transit corridors" and failing to issue or publicize transparent traffic advisories. The petitioner argues that this behavior is an "intentional attempt to bypass and undermine the authority and majesty of this Hon’ble Court."
On May 23, 2025, the Supreme Court had already directed authorities not to impose a complete ban on transport services. The CJP, for its part, has also filed its own contempt petition, mirroring the legal challenge brought by Tripathi and highlighting the crippling effect these closures have had on public life.
Beyond the legal maneuvering and the high-level finger-pointing, the consequences of these decisions have been felt most acutely by the citizens of Delhi. The ongoing restrictions, according to the petitions, have "severely crippled public life across the National Capital Territory, stranding essential travelers." As the legal battle unfolds, the question remains: can the judiciary compel the executive branch to respect the mobility of the people, or will the "majesty of the court" continue to be sidelined in the name of administrative convenience?
Letter from Lahore by Ehtesham Hassan for Abhijeet Dipke Dear Abhijeet, Beyond Borders We watch with wonder and longing I am writing to you from Lahore, a city that breathes the same dusty air as Delhi. I am a young activist here, part of a generation that has grown up in the long, flickering shadow of a border. I am writing to you because, after a long time, the news coming from your side of the fence felt like staring into a mirror. When the Chief Justice of India used the word “cockroach” to describe the young and unemployed, young people I know here in Pakistan recognised that word instantly. It is the way the powerful across South Asia look at the millions of us who are “surplus”, the graduates without jobs, the students whose dreams are sold in leaked exam papers, the young who are expected to be grateful for the crumbs. By naming your movement the Cockroach Janata Party, you took the stone thrown at you and used it to start building a house. In Lahore, we often feel like we are living in a silent version of your protest. Our struggle is the same: the Medical and Dental College Admission Test scandals mirror your crisis where the National Eligibility-cum-Entrance Test was leaked. Our families go into the same crushing debt for coaching centres, our youth bulge is also becoming a youth burden. But in Pakistan, the air is sometimes a little heavier. Exam leaks are just the tip of it. Zooming out, we all face common issues: unemployment, poverty, poor living standards across borders. Your protest feels refreshing and full of hope for millions of us here as well. There could be no better month than August to rethink our collective freedom from imperial rule. We lost millions during the Partition of 1947. But what did we achieve if millions of us still lack the basics of life after 80 years of independence? Gen Z is in the best position to raise these questions to governments and to themselves. We cannot wait for another century to get the basics right. We must act now by educating, uniting and mobilising youngsters. We look at the images and videos from India with a sense of wonder. There is a courage in being “visible”. Here, we have learned that visibility comes with a high price. We have had to find quieter ways to exist, to organise in the margins, and to keep the fire alive when the cameras are turned away. I won’t lie to you: there is envy here – not a bitter envy, but a longing. We watch your digital space, 22 million followers in a fortnight, and we think of what we could do if our own digital corridors were as wide. We watch the way your civil society shows up for you, and we dream of a day when the youth of the entire subcontinent can stand together, not as “Indians” or “Pakistanis”, but as a people who have been denied a future by the same, old-world politics. The “cockroach” is the perfect metaphor for us, isn’t it? The cockroach doesn’t care for the Radcliffe Line. It survives in the cracks of the walls we build between us. It outlives empires. It is the ultimate witness to the failures of the powerful. I see your struggle as a warning and a promise. The warning is that the tactics used to silence youth, internet shutdowns, the dismissal of student grief, the branding of dissent as “anti-national”, are a shared regional language. But the promise is in your resilience. If you can stand up in Delhi, it gives a little more oxygen to a student in Lahore or Karachi who feels like they are suffocating. But in the young Indian student crying over a leaked exam paper, I see a sibling. When I see you standing against a system that calls you a parasite, I see a version of myself that is allowed to speak. Keep the streets, Abhijeet. Keep the satire. Keep the pestilence of your presence alive. As long as you are standing, the idea of a Young South Asia remains possible. We are watching from the other side of the mirror. We are different, yet we are the same. We are the ones they forgot to count, but we are