In Mumbai, Citizens Were Detained Before A Protest Could Begin

By 4:30 pm on Tuesday, the protest had not yet begun. The police vans, idling along the rain-slicked curbs of Shivaji Park with their diesel engines humming, were already filling up.

Monsoon skies hung low and grey over Dadar, casting a dull reflection across the red dirt of the maidan. There were no elevated stages, no loud bullhorns, no dense crowds chanting in unison. The air smelled of wet asphalt, salt breeze, and fried vada pav from the street stalls nearby. I arrived at the edge of the park on July 21 as a reporter for Outlook India to cover a student-led demonstration.

Citizens were still making their way toward the park in small groups or alone, walking along the wide pathways. Some carried damp backpacks packed with textbooks. Others held handwritten cardboard placards wrapped in plastic sleeves under their arms. A few had simply come straight from their workplaces, stepping off overcrowded BEST buses to stand in quiet support.

Before they could gather into a proper crowd, the police began stopping people.

Officers positioned along the stone pathways intercepted citizens en route. They guided them toward waiting transport vehicles, the blue metal doors swinging shut with a heavy, metallic clang.

Several individuals protested, pointing toward the open promenade to show they had not even reached the designated gathering site. Others asked why they were being taken or under what specific rule they were being held.

A group of young women stood on the wet walkway, visibly confused as police officers stepped around them. As I stepped forward to ask the officers why they were being detained and identified myself as an Outlook India journalist covering the protest, I too was taken into custody.

From Public Streets To Police Stations

Inside the transport vehicle, the air felt warm and humid. It held a complete mix of people: college undergraduates, young corporate employees, and everyday passers-by who had never imagined that a Sunday stroll would end inside a police station.

Among them was a 16-year-old boy who kept his face turned away from the glass windows, worried that a news camera outside might catch his face before he could explain things to his family.

"I was just coming back from my coaching class down the road," he whispered, pressing his hands tightly against his knees. "I didn't even know there was a protest today. How am I supposed to convince my parents that I wasn't doing something wrong?"

Sakshi (name changed), an IT worker who had recently moved from Bengaluru, sat across from him in similar disbelief, wringing her wet raincoat. She said she had very little involvement in politics and could not understand how an afternoon walk near Dadar Chowpatty had ended in a police ride.

"I don't really know much about politics," she admitted after being allowed to leave hours later. "Maybe I should start learning. Do you know any good books I should read? I just wanted to see if people were actually standing up for the students. I didn't realize standing on a sidewalk was an issue."

The police vehicles divided everyone between Mahim and Worli police stations. Those brought in sat inside the brightly lit station rooms for nearly three hours while officers wrote down their personal details in heavy paper logbooks. By the time everyone was allowed to leave, the gathering they had intended to join had been completely cleared out before it ever started.

The authorities had used prohibitory orders under Section 163 of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), which replaced the old Section 144 of the Code of Criminal Procedure (CrPC), giving officials the legal power to restrict public gatherings to keep peace.

A Tale Of Two Protests

The main point of confusion, however, was how those powers were used. Article 19(1)(b) of the Indian Constitution gives every citizen the basic right to assemble peacefully without weapons, subject to reasonable safety checks under Article 19(3).

However, when people are picked up while simply walking toward a public space, before any large group, rally, or noise has even formed, the line between managing a protest and stopping it from happening at all becomes very blurred.

Notably, 48 hours earlier, I had stood on the same grounds watching a very different afternoon unfold. The protest was organised by the Uddhav Thackeray-led Shiv Sena (UBT), in solidarity with climate activist Sonam Wangchuk, who was taken to hospital by Delhi Police after his indefinite hunger strike in New Delhi, following a court order.

Wangchuk was observing a fast at Jantar Mantar in support of the protests of the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP). His deteriorating health- he had lost over 9 kg on salt and water alone- had become the emotional centre around which the gathering in Mumbai revolved.

Following restrictions that had prevented more extensive protests elsewhere in Mumbai, students, activists, political workers, and locals gathered at Shivaji Park. Rain had left parts of the ground waterlogged, pushing the crowd onto the surrounding roads.

On the ground, the protest represented broader concerns about the alleged NEET-UG paper leak, examination-related controversies, unemployment among educated youth, and the state of public education, even though many people attended in support of Wangchuk following his hospitalisation.

A middle-aged activist from the CJP network, who travelled from Delhi, said, "Sonam ji's fight is our fight. We have seen too many paper leaks, too much corruption in the NTA [National Testing Agency]. If the Education Minister won't resign, the people will make him."

The slogans moved with an unpredictability that showed the fractured character of contemporary protests. Protesters chanted, "Sonam Wangchuk, hum tumhare saath hain", "Dharmendra Pradhan resign" and "Narendra Modi resign". Before the cadence could settle, "Jai Shri Ram" echoed from one corner, followed almost immediately by chants celebrating Aditya Thackeray.

One Protest, Many Political Voices

The gathering's focus shifted from one issue to another as various groups raised different slogans. The variety of political voices present at the demonstration was shown at times when several chants overlapped.

To the left of the main stage stood a separate group of student bodies, positioned away from the political platform. They had come carrying the unresolved anger surrounding the NEET controversy and the broader questions of accountability that had first animated the CJP’s protests at Jantar Mantar before students' organisations joined the movement.

As speeches from the Shiv Sena stage gathered momentum, many students refused to merge into the sea of party flags. Instead, they formed their own procession, choosing to walk repeated circles around Shivaji Park rather than stand beneath the political banners. Their march was quieter but deliberate, a physical assertion that solidarity need not require surrendering political independence.

The police found themselves negotiating these invisible boundaries as much as the visible crowd. Officers repeatedly attempted to channel people towards the main stage, where speeches were underway. Students taking independent rounds of the park were urged to join the larger gathering instead of continuing separate demonstrations. Some complied. Others politely refused, insisting that while their cause was the same, they did not wish to become an extension of any political party.

Yet the July 19 demonstration stood out for another reason.

Even though it was run by an established political party, not everyone present wanted to stand under party flags. Independent student groups, including members linked to the youth movement CJP, intentionally stayed away from the main stage. Instead of joining the main political rally, they formed their own line and walked along the outer rim of the park in steady loops. They wanted to support the main cause while keeping their own independent identity.

The police managed the crowd mainly through conversation. Officers walked alongside the marchers, gently suggesting that the independent student groups move toward the primary stage where party leaders were speaking. Some did; others politely said no.

The speeches went on. Slogans filled the damp air. The police monitored the crowd, but the gathering was allowed to happen. That memory stayed with me as I sat inside the quiet police station on July 21, watching the rain run down the barred windows.

The same location was being occupied with the same concerns about education and governance. Yet the police response had completely changed in just forty-eight hours. On July 19, having a major political party behind the event provided an invisible cover that allowed dissent to take up public space. On July 21, without that political party backing, people were stopped before they could even stand together as a group.

Outside, a clear difference in media coverage appeared as news of the detentions spread. Mahim Police Station, where one group of protesters sat in relative quiet, received almost no news cameras. Worli Police Station, on the other hand, suddenly turned busy late in the evening. Word had spread that Shiv Sena (UBT) leader Aditya Thackeray was coming to visit the detainees. A swarm of TV news crews and photographers gathered at the gates of Worli, bright camera lights cutting through the night.

Thackeray arrived right as the police were wrapping up their paperwork and preparing to let people go after their three-hour hold. Stepping inside the station, he said he wanted to hear the students out, listening to their side of the story and offering political backing.

Yet his visit felt somewhat indirect. Coming at the exact moment when the detentions were ending and the cameras were rolling, it raised a quiet question among those sitting on the wooden benches: where was this political shield when citizens were being guided into police vans hours earlier? The timing felt less like an emergency rescue and more like a planned photo moment.

The help was certainly welcomed by the tired students, but it highlighted a reality of public life: political attention and official support usually arrive after people have already been detained and processed by the system.

For Shakti Vaghela, one of those held at Worli on July 21, the afternoon ended with a sharp, sarcastic comment:

"We were picked up before we could even protest. Maybe next time we'll organise a funeral for democracy; funeral processions are permitted, protests, it seems, are not."