The rockstar and the winds of political change

For a long time, we have been accustomed to political rallies and meetings where seasoned politicians take centre stage, with narratives shaped and reshaped vis-à-vis the issues at hand. This one, and the two that preceded it — in Kota and Dehradun — felt more like a trip down memory lane to Bangalore in 2007, when I attended a rock concert by an international band, one of the earliest such performances in India.

Getting there was a task in itself. The youthful exuberance did not mind spending 18 hours squeezed into the space next to the sleeper-coach door on a train from Pune. Years later, reaching the venue in Prayagraj, once the heartland of student politics in Uttar Pradesh, for Rahul Gandhi’s student outreach event, Chhatron Ki Goonj, brought back much of that same feeling.

Persistent rain and the unfounded attempts to cancel the event failed to diminish the buzz in the city for its ghar ka beta. Entering the arena meant wading through mud and slush, but it did little to deter the thousands of young fans making their way to the venue. The euphoria was palpable. Many climbed onto stationary trucks carrying the venue equipment and even bulldozers parked in the area, all to catch a better glimpse of the star of the show — much like we changed positions during the rock concert for a better view of the stage.

And then, the show began.

India’s evolving political landscape has seen a transformation in the style and conduct of campaigns and public meetings over the years. From handwritten posters and folk songs, we moved to digital screens and occasional musical performances. This one, however, was carefully tailored to its target audience — Gen Z, around 38 crore of whom are expected to be eligible to vote in the 2029 general elections.

From what I know of this generation, they are unlikely to want to go through the usual drill of political rallies, and the organisers seem to have recognised that. Rappers and DJs set the tone for the evening, much like the electrifying opening acts that build anticipation before the main performance at a rock concert. The stage bore no resemblance to those we usually associate with political rallies — no wooden podium, no rigid rows of chairs lined with the party’s who’s who. Instead, it was a sprawling live-performance setup, drenched in lights, smoke, and sound, built for a rock star to command the space.

Each time the host called his name, the decibel levels surged, rippling through the crowd like a wave. Cheers erupted, chants rolled across the arena in rhythmic unison, and for a moment I found myself thinking — I’ve seen this before.

Then came Rahul Gandhi, amid deafening cheers, flying confetti, smoke and fireworks, dressed in a loose pink shirt and black trousers, a broad smile on his face, and greeted by whistles, roars and the glow of mobile-phone lights.

He spoke, and the crowd found its voice with him. The loudest cheers came when he mentioned his family’s connection with Prayagraj — a subject he must have spoken about at length earlier in the day, when he visited his family home, Anand Bhawan, with his niece Miraya.

Dard, Data aur Daulat were the themes of his speech. With confident gestures and a microphone in hand, he looked every bit like a rockstar performing on a vibrant stage and setting. The crowd responded in unison — much as we had done to 2 Minutes to Midnight at that Iron Maiden concert in Bangalore — as he urged them to persist in their fight against paper leaks and keep the mohabbat ki dukaan open.

What followed was a more intimate interaction with young students: high-fives, selfies and brief exchanges, culminating in a promise of embracing non-violence.

For a moment, at least, the political grammar seemed to shift that evening in Uttar Pradesh, the soon-to-be battleground. The rockstar-like performance had entered the politics of the moment—signalling that something new was taking shape.

Perhaps this is what political mobilisation looks like in the age of Instagram reels — less podium, more performance; less speech, more spectacle. The message may remain political, but the medium has changed. And if the crowd is any indication, the politics of tomorrow may need to learn a few lessons from the concerts of yesterday.

Puneet Pathak is a Congress spokesperson in Uttar Pradesh. The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of THE WEEK.