4 min readJul 29, 2026 05:53 PM IST First published on: Jul 29, 2026 at 05:53 PM ISTBy Sudip SharmaEvery generation grows up with a certain set of values that become their defining characteristics. For my parents’ generation, the midnight’s children, those values were hope and survival. I always thought the primary value my generation grew up with was doggedness, an ability to adjust to anything the world threw at us and to somehow find a way to get to the other side of it. We wore this badge proudly and bemoaned the generations that followed us (specifically Gen Z) for not having the same work ethic as us, for having the imperviousness to refuse what – to our “boomer” brains – was a legitimate call of duty. Recent events at Jantar Mantar, though, have forced a late realisation.AdvertisementWhat my generation considered perseverance and adaptability was nothing but fear: The fear of authority, the fear of not being allowed to make it, of being singled out, of being left behind. Our grand ambition had simply been to get past the door before the doorman shuts it on us, too bad for the ones left behind. We who grew up in pre-liberalised India knew what scarcity was, and the psychological imprint it left on us was the ever-lurking fear of losing it all once again.Nowhere is this fear as manifested as in my own fraternity: The Hindi film industry. In the last decade or so (that’s the fearful boomer in me trying to avoid specificity when I could have easily written the last 12 years), the film industry has witnessed an unprecedented clamping down on its freedom of expression. Our response to it has been that of the frog in the pan, our boomer bodies skillfully “adjusting” as the water temperature kept rising.When my film Udta Punjab ran into censor issues in 2016, a large part of the industry took a stance and came out in support. In 2026, merely 10 years later, a well-made, powerful film like Satluj was banned and not a whisper could be heard. We chose this silence, for it kept us safe from being branded anti-nationals. We chose this darkness, for it allowed us to hide in the shadows. Many of us “adjusted” even further, crawling when we were only asked to bend, and unleashed a hateful propaganda machinery on an unsuspecting audience. Heck, most of it wasn’t even competent cinema, and yet, our award functions celebrated them with gusto. The rest of us continued to go to them just so we could preen with our glittering trophies on our social-media accounts. It was my generation’s fear of being left behind manifesting itself all over again.AdvertisementAlso Read | Street protest is resurrection of democratic politics, not insurrection against itGuilt, though, is a deadweight and to make sure it doesn’t drown us, we poured our hearts out in the safe space of like-minded company, blaming the state of affairs, the state of the audience, but never acknowledging our complicity in it. We consoled each other – “hang in there, this too shall pass”. And to make us appear less guilty, we chose to lampoon the larger media landscape, taking digs at the toxicity of the news channels in our films and shows. Yet, when the time for their release, we chose to go to the same toxic channels for media promotions, even though it ate at our conscience.you may likeThe Gen Z at Jantar Mantar, though, have refused to do that. What we did not understand then – and what is crystal clear to us now – is that this generation has a different relationship with authority. What we read as their intransigence is, indeed, a lack of fear. They are not afraid of authority. They look it in the eye and ask for what they believe is rightfully theirs.Yeah, the kids are alright. They’ll leave behind a better world than the one that was handed over to them. And while they are at it, they are teaching some of us how to speak again.Sharma is a writer, director and producer