About This Series — INDIA IN TRANSIT

India is urbanising faster than at any time in its history, yet our cities are struggling to move. “India in Transit” is a long-form documentary-style series exploring how buses, metros, suburban railways, autos, and streets shape everyday life across the country. Each article examines a different transport system, why it works or breaks, and what we can learn from India and the world to build cities where mobility is a right, not a privilege.

The Dream

When the Hyderabad Metro opened in 2017, it was promoted as the face of a modern India: air-conditioned coaches, massive stations and a promise that cities could tackle congestion with rapid Transit. Under a public–private partnership, Larsen & Toubro (L&T) would design, construct, and operate. At the same time, the Telangana government provided land, permissions and limited viability support. The model was sold as a way to bring private capital and speed to a public service.

But eight years on, Hyderabad’s metro finds itself at a crossroads: trains run, but stations are desolate, and the system struggles to meet the lofty expectations that justified its cost. Beneath the viaducts, the city still jams. The reasons are not purely technical; they are institutional, financial and political.

The Illusion of Perfection

The financial idea behind many modern metros, including Hyderabad’s, was simple: recover some costs from fares and the rest from commercial revenues (property development, retail and advertising). This approach was inspired by international examples like Hong Kong’s MTR, where integrated land and transport planning made Transit financially sustainable.

In Hyderabad, however, that logic ran into local realities. Land parcels around stations did not yield the expected commercial returns; litigation, slow clearances, and oversupply in the real estate market blunted revenue potential. With non-fare income limited, the metro depended disproportionately on ticket revenue, a shaky base for repaying heavy construction debt.

A decade after launch, the project’s finances show the strain. Several reports in 2024–25 estimated daily ridership in the range of a few lakh passengers and noted operational losses; L&T openly discussed the need for restructuring or state support as the company grappled with debt servicing and subdued non-fare revenues.

The Numbers Tell Their Own Story

Early planning documents for the Hyderabad Metro optimistically projected around 15 lakh daily passengers by 2022 to justify the nearly ₹20,000-crore investment. Actual ridership fell short of this target. By various counts across 2023–2025, daily ridership was commonly reported in the 3–6 lakh range, depending on the corridor and season. While ridership rebounded after the pandemic, the gap with early projections remained material. Financial reporting showed operating losses and significant debt burdens, necessitating renegotiation and public intervention. In late 2025, state and company discussions culminated in the Telangana government agreeing to take on a large portion of Phase-1 debt and restructure parts of the concession, a clear sign that private models carried substantial contingent public costs.

These facts speak to a fundamental reality: metros are complex public systems that need more than trains and tunnels; they need integrated planning, steady public finance and time for ridership habits to evolve.

If projections show how planning assumptions failed, usage intensity reveals what that failure means on the ground — how effectively each kilometre of metro infrastructure is actually used.

Where usage intensity is low, every kilometre of metro becomes an expensive way to move very few people.

A City That Moves but Doesn’t Flow

Even with the metro’s presence, Hyderabad’s roads stay crowded. Employment hubs and residential growth have shifted since the network was planned. Many new job centres, technology parks, and business districts have been developed in areas not fully integrated with metro alignments. Stations sometimes open onto busy arterial roads without safe footpaths, shaded walkways, or frequent feeder services. For many commuters, the trip starts and ends with an auto or bike taxi. When the total time and cost of the combined journey are compared with a two-wheeler, the metro often loses.

This same pattern recurs across Indian cities: infrastructure arrives, but the user experience remains fragmented because first- and last-mile planning lags.

Lessons from Delhi, Mumbai, Kochi, Bengaluru — and Why They Matter

To see what works and what does not, we have to compare Hyderabad with other Indian experiences.

Delhi Metro is often described as the country’s most successful system. It has grown into a massive network serving Delhi and its suburbs. It regularly posts very high daily ridership, including record single-day counts of over 80 lakh journeys on peak days, showing what dense, well-connected systems can achieve when planned and funded consistently over decades. This success rests on long-term public commitment, institutional continuity in DMRC, route choices that connect dense residential and employment corridors, and coordination with buses and feeder services.

Mumbai’s suburban rail, though overcrowded and frequently unsafe, demonstrates the capacity of public systems to carry mass ridership at scale. The suburban network still moves over seven million passengers daily because the city evolved around the rail lines for a century; ticket revenue alone cannot explain its resilience, public ownership, and continuity; the system’s social centrality does.

Kochi provides another instructive contrast. Kochi Metro’s rail ridership is modest, but the city’s decision to connect rail with a Water Metro: ferries that integrate directly with stations and bus services, shows how context-sensitive, multi-modal planning can boost relevance. The Water Metro’s ridership growth and plans for break-even demonstrate that smaller, well-fitted systems, when integrated, can become sustainable.

Bengaluru’s Namma Metro highlights another typical pattern: the city has strong latent demand (driven by a large working population and severe congestion), and ridership surges when lines open, sometimes reaching very high daily numbers. Yet delays in expansion and poor last-mile links reduce potential gains. Namma Metro’s experience, rapid ridership increases on new corridors but persistent integration problems, underscores that building lines is necessary but not sufficient.

When we place these cases next to each other, everyday ingredients for success emerge: planning that aligns routes with dense travel demand, public funding that accepts the social value of mobility, institutional continuity (or strong public agencies), and deliberate integration with buses, walking and cycling.

Why People Choose Two-Wheelers, and What That Tells Us

Affordability and flexibility explain many commuter choices. A 20 km metro trip can cost roughly the same as a day’s petrol for a two-wheeler in many cities. Add to that the time and fares for first- and last-mile connections, and the convenience of a personal vehicle becomes clearer.

Cultural factors matter, too. Two-wheelers offer instantaneous door-to-door movement and a feeling of control that fixed-route Transit cannot match. To shift significant numbers toward public transport, systems must be cheaper, faster, and more convenient throughout the journey, not just on the train or bus.

What Hyderabad, and other Cities, Can Do Differently

Fixing metros is not only a technical problem; it is a planning and governance challenge.

First, governments should treat metros as public infrastructure that delivers social and economic returns beyond the farebox. That implies public funding for operations and capital until networks mature and complementary systems scale.

Second, every metro station must offer good first- and last-mile connections. That means frequent short-loop feeder buses, safe pedestrian paths, secure cycle parking, and regulated shared-mobility options. In Hyderabad, better coordination between the metro and TSRTC could expand the practical catchment of each station.

Third, integrate fare systems across modes. A single smart card or app with daily caps and discounted transfers reduces cost friction and encourages multi-modal trips.

Fourth, align land use with transport investments. Transit-oriented development should prioritise affordable housing and mixed-use neighbourhoods near stations rather than speculative commercial projects that do not translate into daily commuters.

Fifth, PPP contracts must be flexible and realistic. When private partners assume risk premised on optimistic real-estate gains, projects become fragile. Shared risk, incremental revenue structures and clear public backstops can protect both service and public interest.

Finally, strengthen institutional capacity. Whether through empowered public authorities or accountable joint agencies, city governance must oversee integration across buses, metros, suburban rail and non-motorised transport.

A Mirror to the Nation

The Hyderabad Metro tells a story repeated across many growing Indian cities: we can build impressive transport infrastructure quickly, but we struggle to turn it into usable, affordable mobility for most people. If metros are to be more than ribbons across traffic, we must shift from thinking of transport projects as discrete investments into understanding them as parts of a system shaped by land, policy, funding and daily behaviour.

With the right policy choices, funding, integration, land-use alignment and realistic contracts, metros can still become the backbone of equitable urban mobility.

Until then, the billion-rupee commute will remain a symbol of how infrastructure and its politics sometimes drift apart.

Selected References

Hyderabad Metro ridership, financial performance and company/state discussions.

(2026, January 13). Hyderabad Metro: Standing At A Critical Juncture Of Expansion & Legal Knot Resolution. Metro Rail News. https://metrorailnews.in/hyderabad-metro-2/

(2025, December 19). Deccan Chronicle. https://www.deccanchronicle.com/southern-states/telangana/metro-services-worsen-after-takeover-announcement-1925085?

Delhi Metro records ridership figures and network information

(2025, August 9). Indo-Asian News Service. Delhi Metro sets new ridership record at over 81-Lakh on Rakhi Eve. https://www.ndtv.com/india-news/delhi-metro-sets-new-ridership-record-on-rakhi-eve-9054252

(2025, August 9). PTI. Delhi Metro hits record ridership of 81.87 lakh on eve of Raksha Bandhan| India News. Hindustan Times. https://www.hindustantimes.com/india-news/delhi-metro-hits-record-ridership-of-81-87-lakh-on-eve-of-raksha-bandhan-101754758375865.html

Mumbai Suburban Railway ridership estimates and system overview.

(2015, August). MRVC. MUMBAI URBAN TRANSPORT PROJECT 2A (MUTP 2A). https://mrvc.indianrailways.gov.in/works/uploads/File/Institutional%20Development%20of%20the%20suburban%20rail%20system%20(TA2)(1).pdf

India’s national metro network growth (2014–2025) and investment figures.

PIB Headquarters. (n.d.). https://www.pib.gov.in/PressNoteDetails.aspx?ModuleId=3&NoteId=155002&utm&reg=3&lang=2

Indian Railways Year Book and broader national transit statistics.

RDSO. INDIAN RAILWAYS YEAR BOOK 2023–24. https://rdso.indianrailways.gov.in/railwayboard/uploads/directorate/stat_econ/2025/IR%20Year%20Book%202023-24-English.pdf

Coming Next in the Series

“The Lost Corridors: How India’s BRT Systems Failed Before They Began” Part 3 of India in Transit

An inside look at Delhi, Pune, and Bhopal’s failed bus rapid transit systems, and why India’s most affordable public transport idea was left to die.

Author’s Note

India in Transit is a long-form series exploring how Indian cities move, and why they often don’t. Each part looks at a different system, metros, buses, and suburban trains, to uncover what works, what fails, and what the future could look like.

In the past two decades, India’s urban landscape has transformed at dizzying speed. Glass towers, gated enclaves, and sprawling flyovers have redrawn the skylines of once-sleepy towns. Alongside this rapid urbanisation, another grand vision emerged: the dream of modern, fast, efficient public transport systems that would ferry millions while curbing pollution and congestion.

From Delhi’s glittering metro to Bhopal’s Bus Rapid Transit corridors, Indian cities sought to join the league of sleek, connected, future-ready global metropolises. The goal was bold: to replace traffic with dependable, clean mobility. However, in 2025, the paradox could not have been more apparent.

Despite the billions spent, Indian cities are not moving faster but more slowly. Outside of peak hours, metros operate at only half of their capacity. Fleets of buses are getting smaller. Unbearable pressure clogs suburban trains. For all the talk of “smart cities,” most Indians still wait endlessly for overcrowded buses that never arrive on time.

This opening chapter of the Public Transport in India series looks at why, despite technology, money, and ambition, our rapid transport systems keep collapsing under their own weight.

I. The Metro Mirage

When the Hyderabad Metro was inaugurated in 2017, it was celebrated as the biggest public-private partnership (PPP) in Indian urban infrastructure. The 72-km network promised seamless travel, smart cards, Wi-Fi-enabled coaches, and zero delays. The dream didn’t last long.

Eight years later, the metro runs at less than half its projected ridership. Losses mount every year, forcing L&T Metro Rail (Hyderabad) to seek bailouts and restructuring. Stations built around “transit-oriented development” remain empty, while the adjoining real estate projects failed to take off. The pandemic exacerbated the fall, but the deeper flaws were already built into the system.

Hyderabad’s metro was designed to be profitable, not accessible. Routes were drawn to maximise land monetisation, not connectivity. Many dense working-class neighbourhoods were left out; interchange stations were poorly planned; first- and last-mile connectivity was ignored. The result: commuters still rely on autos, shared cabs, or two-wheelers for the “last mile,” defeating the very purpose of mass transit.

The story repeats across the country. Despite significant investments, the Jaipur Metro only transports 20,000 passengers per day, which is less than one crowded Delhi bus corridor. Despite its spectacular opening in 2017, Lucknow’s metro is nearly empty. Since the fare increase in 2017, even the most successful metro system, Delhi Metro, has had trouble keeping up with ridership.

With more than 20 functioning metro systems and numerous more underway, the Indian metro boom is frequently praised as evidence of progress and development. However, beneath the concrete, there is a deeper conflict: metros are no longer tools for equitable commuting but have evolved into symbols of progress.

II. The Forgotten Buses

If metros are the glamour projects, buses are the forgotten backbone.

In Delhi, the bus fleet has declined from nearly 6,000 to under 4,000 in a decade. Bhopal’s buses often skip routes due to a lack of drivers or fuel. Private minibuses fill gaps left by the state-run Metropolitan Transport Corporation’s declining reliability in Chennai.

However, buses transport five times as many people daily throughout India as metros. They are inexpensive, adaptable, and indispensable. Nevertheless, they only get a little portion of the funding.

It is a systemic neglect. Urban transportation planners frequently view buses as short-term, “low-tech” solutions that will be phased out when cities “graduate” to metro systems. However, metros serve a limited geography, usually connecting commercial corridors. At the same time, 70% of commuters depend on buses to move between peripheral and residential areas.

The most tragic experiment in this neglect was the Bus Rapid Transit System (BRTS), a low-cost, high-efficiency idea borrowed from Bogotá and Curitiba. In India, it became a political casualty.

Delhi’s BRTS, launched in 2008, was mocked as “chaotic” and “anti-car.” The media fixated on car traffic jams rather than the improved safety or reduced travel times for bus riders. After years of criticism, the project was dismantled in 2016. In Bhopal, Jodhpur, and Pune, BRTS corridors became parking lots.

The failure wasn’t in the concept; instead, it was in the execution. Poor design, encroached lanes, weak enforcement, and a lack of integration with existing bus networks doomed the idea.

Ironically, the BRTS model could have saved Indian cities millions while serving more people than metros ever will. Instead, what remains are half-built corridors and broken trust in affordable transit solutions.

III. The Suburban Rail That Never Was

If buses represent neglect and metros represent excess, suburban rail represents missed opportunity.

Nowhere is this clearer than in Bengaluru, where a suburban rail system has been proposed since the 1980s. For decades, the project bounced between Indian Railways, the Karnataka government, and the Centre, a victim of bureaucratic indecision. Only in 2024 did partial operations begin, forty years late.

With its EMU suburban services, Chennai was once a pioneer. Still, it hasn’t seen significant improvements in decades—the Multi-Modal Transport System (MMTS) in Hyderabad stutters along with its outdated trains and limited routes. Plans for suburban lines in Pune are still stalled in feasibility studies.

The only outlier is Mumbai, whose suburban rail carries over 7 million people daily, more than all Indian metros combined. But even Mumbai’s system, a colonial relic expanded piecemeal, is overstretched. Fatalities, delays, and crowding are routine.

Suburban rail is the one system that works, yet India refuses to replicate it at scale. The reasons lie in institutional chaos:

• Indian Railways controls the tracks, but cities need the service.

• Land acquisition is slow.

• No clear mechanism exists for shared funding.

The result: suburban rail remains India’s most underutilised urban asset, probably a solution hiding in plain sight.

IV. Crowded, Overloaded, and Ignored

Public transport in India is not only inefficient but also undignified.

Commuters hang from bus doors, passengers stand packed for hours, and stations lack basic amenities. Women face harassment daily. Elderly commuters often avoid public transport altogether. Accessibility for people with disabilities is almost non-existent outside the Delhi Metro.

The collapse isn’t only physical; it’s psychological. Public transport is seen as the last resort for those who can’t afford private vehicles. This class divide reinforces political apathy: when the powerful don’t use buses, they don’t fix them.

Data from the Ministry of Housing and Urban Affairs shows that less than 18% of urban trips in Indian cities are now made by public transport, down from nearly 35% in the early 2000s. The rest rely on private vehicles, mostly two-wheelers, worsening pollution and congestion.

Every unbuilt bus stop, every delayed train, every fare hike widens the gap between those who move easily and those who struggle to get to work.

V. The Political Economy of Prestige

Why, despite clear evidence, do cities keep repeating the same mistakes?

Because in India, transport is politics before it is policy.

Metros photograph well. They promise visible progress. Politicians love them because they can be inaugurated, ribbon-cut, and tweeted about. Buses and footpaths, by contrast, are invisible; no one wins an election by promising better bus shelters.

This “prestige politics” drives infrastructure priorities. The Centre’s Metro Policy and Smart Cities Mission directs funding towards expensive projects, leaving regular systems like buses with persistently low financing.

The private sector introduces another layer of distortion. PPPs, such as the Hyderabad Metro concept, put investor profits ahead of the well-being of commuters. When profitability declines, governments bail them out, socialising the losses.

Urban transport in India thus becomes a cycle of glitter, decay, and blame. Every failure followed by a newer, bigger promise.

VI. Lessons from Elsewhere

Globally, there’s no shortage of inspiration.

• In Bogotá, Colombia, BRTS carries 2.5 million passengers daily at a fraction of metro costs.

• Seoul integrates buses, metros, and suburban lines under one unified payment card and timetable.

• Singapore’s Land Transport Authority treats public mobility as a public service, not a business.

Each success story shares a common ingredient: integration. Different public transportation systems, such as metro, bus, and suburban rail, are designed to complement each other, not compete. Unified ticketing, reliable timetables, and first-mile-last-mile planning make transit efficient and dignified.

India, in contrast, builds each system in isolation, paying little attention to how a commuter moves door-to-door. The result is fragmentation: efficient pockets in a dysfunctional whole.

VII. The Way Forward

Fixing public transport in India is not an engineering challenge; it’s an institutional and ideological one.

1. Redirect Funding

2. Public transport should be seen as an investment in equity, not a financial burden.

3. Subsidies are not losses; they’re the price of inclusive growth.

4. Integrate Systems

5. Cities need unified mobility authorities that manage all modes, be it metro, bus, suburban, cycle, and pedestrian infrastructure, all under one plan.

6. Prioritise the Bus

7. Reviving city bus networks is the cheapest and fastest way to fix mobility. Dedicated lanes, cleaner buses, real-time tracking, and fair wages for drivers can transform access within months.

8. Democratise Mobility

9. Make policy participatory. Let commuters, not contractors, define priorities.

10. Accessibility, gender safety, and affordability must be at the Centre, not luxury stations or digital gimmicks.

11. Build Culture, Not Just Concrete

12. Promote public transport as a social good. When the middle class uses buses and trains, quality improves. The shift must be cultural as much as infrastructural.

VIII. A Future on the Move

Indian cities now have to choose whether to build for people or cars.

Misplaced priorities are the cause of every clogged roadway, halted BRT lane, and empty metro coach. Public transport is failing because it isn’t considered necessary, not because it is impossible.

India’s moves, both physically and figuratively, will be defined during the next ten years. With over 600 million people expected to live in cities by 2036, mobility will determine how cities develop and who gets to participate in it.

A well-functioning transportation system promotes sustainability, opportunity, and dignity in addition to travel. It influences whether a student can afford college, whether a community can breathe, and whether a domestic worker can get to her job.

Suppose metros are to mean more than monuments, and buses more than burdens. In that case, India must rediscover mobility’s moral and social purpose.

Because in the end, transport is not about vehicles. It is about the people.

And in Indian cities, people have been left waiting long enough.

This piece is Part 1 of an ongoing series on India’s Public Transportation crisis. The next article, “The Metro Mirage: Why Hyderabad’s Dream Collapsed,” will explore how the country’s ambitious metro project became a cautionary tale.

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Even experienced political analysts were taken aback by Nepal’s sudden climb to international attention in September 2025. What started as a state ban on social media sites swiftly turned into one of the biggest protests young people in South Asia spearheaded recently. Thousands of young Nepalis — mostly students, but also young professionals, gig workers, and unemployed graduates — took to the streets, transforming frustration into a nationwide movement now known as the “Gen Z Revolution.” Within days, Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli resigned, the social media ban was lifted, and an interim government was formed under former Chief Justice Sushila Karki.

This upheaval was not simply a political story but a case study in how digital media intersects with student activism to drive rapid social change. The Nepal protests must also be read against a broader global pattern: from France’s strikes against austerity measures, to Indonesia’s anger over parliamentary privileges, to the Philippines and Peru’s anti-corruption mobilisations, young people — often coordinated by and through social media — have become central political actors. In South Asia, regime changes in Sri Lanka and Bangladesh confirm that this generational wave reshapes political landscapes.

This article examines Nepal’s Gen Z uprising as a media-driven, student-anchored movement, explores its similarities with other youth protests worldwide, and reflects on what these dynamics mean for democracy and governance in India’s neighbourhood and beyond.

Students at the Heart of Nepal’s Uprising

Although the phrase “Gen Z” brings up a broad sense of generational identity, students were the most well-known and well-organised participants in Nepal’s protests. Universities in Biratnagar, Pokhara, and Kathmandu served as organising centres, and uniformed schoolchildren participated in demonstrations, giving the cause moral and symbolic support. Carrying books and backpacks, these young protesters highlighted the gap between their aspirations for education and opportunity, and the entrenched corruption and nepotism that block their futures.

Student collectives provided crucial logistical support. Groups such as Hami Nepal, initially known for disaster relief and civic initiatives, quickly became central nodes of protest coordination. They organised routes, provided first aid, disseminated safety guidelines, and created a bridge between street mobilisation and digital messaging. By doing so, students transformed what might have been spontaneous anger into a movement with resilience and coherence.

In earlier South Asian protests, students often played supporting roles behind established political parties. However, in Nepal, youth networks and students established themselves as autonomous agenda-setters. Their demands expressed a more comprehensive criticism of corruption, nepotism, unemployment, and political stagnation than their instant outrage over the social media ban. Therefore, the protests were not just against Oli’s government but against the entire political class that had failed to deliver on the promises of democracy.

Media as Catalyst and Battleground

The role of social media cannot be overstated. The government’s decision to ban platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and X was the spark that ignited the protests. These were essential components of Gen Z students’ social, academic, and political lives and were sources of amusement and livelihood for others. Cutting off these platforms was seen as a way to silence the voice of a whole generation.

Paradoxically, the prohibition increased opposition. In order to get around limitations, students and young activists soon resorted to diaspora networks, encrypted apps, and virtual private networks (VPNs). Hashtags such as #NepoKids exposed the privilege of political families, circulating videos of elite children flaunting luxury cars and foreign degrees while ordinary students faced unemployment and crumbling universities. These pictures developed into potent stories that solidified sporadic annoyances into a feeling of betrayal.

The role of traditional media was likewise conflicting. At first, state-affiliated media minimised the demonstrations or presented them as violent disturbances caused by “outsiders.” Independent journalists, who frequently collaborated closely with students who supplied live video, refuted these assertions. The government’s story was swiftly weakened by livestreams of police crackdowns, pictures of students hurt by rubber bullets or tear gas, and viral videos of sympathy marches. This tug-of-war between official discourse and student-led counter-narratives exemplifies the new “hybrid media system,” where professional and citizen journalism interact in real time.

Nepal’s case demonstrates how digital platforms act as both infrastructure and battleground: they enable rapid mobilisation and become targets of state control. The ban symbolised the state’s concern about the media’s political influence, which was lifted following Oli’s departure, demonstrating how political legitimacy and internet freedom are now inseparably linked.

While the media empowered the protesters, it also contributed to the rapid escalation of violence. Reports suggest that misinformation and rumours — claims of police defections, fabricated casualty figures, doctored videos — circulated widely. Some of these fueled panic, drawing more people into the streets, while others gave security forces pretexts to justify crackdowns.

Student livestreams and viral content increased visibility but also heightened the stakes. Once videos of protesters storming government buildings spread online, the government doubled down on framing the movement as anarchic. Similarly, the international press, which picked up sensational clips, sometimes emphasised violence more than underlying grievances. This dynamic demonstrates the media’s dual role in protest movements: while it can increase exposure and foster camaraderie among the people, it can also skew narratives in favour of the government, incite more severe reactions, or undermine movements’ legitimacy as a result of the “severe reactions”.

Nonetheless, the key achievements of the protests, such as the resignation of the Prime Minister, the repeal of the ban, and the installation of an interim government, would likely not have occurred without the persistent pressure that media visibility produced. Students ensured that state violence, elite privilege, and youth resilience were ingrained in the public record by using the media to both protest and chronicle history in real time.

Youth Protests Beyond Nepal

Nepal’s Gen Z revolt was part of a wider regional pattern. In 2024, student protests against corruption and discriminatory job quotas ousted Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina from office in Bangladesh, resulting in an interim government. In Sri Lanka, President Gotabaya Rajapaksa was overthrown by youth-led protests amid the 2022 financial crisis after pictures of demonstrators seizing his home went viral. The protests were a response to the authoritarian rule of the Rajapaksa family.

In August 2025, teenagers and students in Indonesia staged a protest against aristocratic privileges and parliamentary benefits, with social media escalating resentment following the death of a delivery driver at the hands of police. The killing of the delivery driver became the trigger, like the social media ban in Nepal. The result was the government’s brutal use of force, resignation of the defence minister and others and storming of the parliament building itself. The Philippines also saw large-scale anti-corruption demonstrations in Manila, where livestreams and trending hashtags inspired people of all ages. Even in France, students and young workers stood at the heart of strikes and protests against budget cuts.

The trend across these instances is clear: student activism, heightened by digital media, has become the catalyst for larger social complaints. Young people use media to transform dissatisfaction into collective action, regardless of the issue — austerity, elite privilege, unemployment, or corruption. The outcomes vary; some protests achieve regime change, others secure concessions, and others fade without systemic reform. However, the centrality of students and media is undeniable.

Oli’s government’s overthrow does not ensure systemic change. These days, students and Gen Z activists want participation in policymaking, especially in ministries that deal with employment, education, and digital rights. Established elites, however, might try to silence or co-opt their voices. Concerns over cycles of unrest are also raised by the protest violence, which resulted in over 70 fatalities, thousands of injuries, and significant property devastation.

Considering Sri Lanka’s Example, Mr Ranil Wickramasinghe assumed the president’s office after the fall of Rajapaksa’s system. He is currently in controversy surrounding allegations of misappropriation of state funds, attempts to regulate the internet during his presidency, etc.

The central question is whether student and media-driven protests can evolve into durable political participation. If structural reforms fail, the media networks that toppled a prime minister could once again mobilise against new leaders, repeating the cycle of eruption and repression.

Nepal’s Gen Z revolution demonstrates that in today’s world, politics cannot be separated from media, and media cannot be separated from students and youth. The protests demonstrate a generational dissatisfaction with the deep-rooted systems plagued with corruption and inaction, a refusal to submit to censorship, and the ability to mobilise at a pace never seen before. They also highlight the risks of relying too much on digital mobilisation, including escalation, instability cycles, and disinformation.

The story of Nepal provides a striking example of how digital tools can undermine and alter established hierarchies, empower new political actors, and influence public debate. Students are no longer only “the future” of politics; they are its present, equipped with hashtags, smartphones, and the will to change the course of history.

One lesson is evident as Nepal’s elections draw near and teenage protests reverberate around Asia and Europe: in the twenty-first century, student voices, mediated through internet platforms, have emerged as one of the most powerful forces in world politics. The stability and legitimacy of democracies in the years to come will depend on how well governments can interact with that voice.

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