Cashback policy

A very competent lawyer had once applied and got empanelled as a Union government advocate. Everyone congratulated him upon seeing his name in the notification.

Weeks elapsed and he had not been assigned any brief. After two months, he asked others who had been empanelled with him and who were getting regular briefs if there was some reason why he was being overlooked. They all said he would have to go and personally meet the 'Boss'.

The Boss was a Union government advocate who used to sit in a big office in Aayakar Bhavan (the mighty income tax department building) and was in charge of distributing to the lawyers on the panel the briefs in all matters in which the Union of India had been made a party.

The competent lawyer telephoned the Boss about being "briefless" and was asked to come and meet the Boss.

"Aisi baatein phone pe nahi ho sakti," he was told. So the lawyer went to meet the Boss.

The Boss told him that all important matters were assigned only on the basis of merit. And "merit" was decided by the Boss.

The Boss told the competent lawyer that if he wanted to appear in matters where the government was just a formal party and only a formal marking of presence was required, he could assign him dozens of such cases right away.

Boss: "Aapko aise matters mein interest hai?" (Do you have an interest in such matters?)

The competent lawyer shook his head. He said he was interested in "challenging" matters.

Boss (with a big smile): "Ye hui na baat!" (That is what I wanted to hear!)

The Boss told the competent lawyer that in all challenging matters he would himself weigh the "potential" of each matter and the lawyer would have to demand that much from the other side if they needed "cooperation from the government". The Boss would determine the amount as per the "worth" of the matter.

Apparently, over the decade or so of being in that chair, he had mastered this "art".

Once that amount was received by the lawyer, the Boss would take half of it as his "assignment charge" and the lawyer would keep half as his "sahakar shulk" (cooperation fee).

"It is a highly skilled job," said the Boss.

"You have to fight tooth and nail in court but ensure that you lose in the end. No one should be able to know that you have taken a fall. And yes, if you manage this efficiently for a few years, the sky is the limit," he explained.

"Humare under se train hokey bahot vakeel upar chad gaye hain. (Many a lawyer trained by me has risen to the top.) Given your young age, like them, you may even find yourself on the Bench," the Boss reassured the competent lawyer.

"Once you have made enough on this panel, you can accept judgeship and do justice for a few years," the Boss topped it off with some advice about the future.

The competent lawyer was scandalised.

"What if I do not wish to be part of this arrangement?" he asked.

Boss: "Then you can mark your presence in formal appearances and collect the paltry fixed pittance that this cash-strapped government provides us."

That competent lawyer chose to tender his resignation and concentrated on his own private practice. He himself told me this story. But when I see milords who were elevated through that route sitting on Benches, a horrible termite of doubt begins to gnaw my mind.

I recall that a similar thing had happened to me when I used to represent the bank officers associations of some big banks against their respective managements in the Bombay High Court.

After a few years of battling it out against the seasoned senior advocates of the banks, I could see a change in the way my opponents looked at me. Because I had won many battles against them, I had become a nuisance for them. Therefore I had gained value— 'nuisance value'.

It was then that the deputy general manager (law) of the biggest bank approached me directly.

He candidly admitted that I was a big nuisance for them, and my clients had become a bigger nuisance for his clients thanks to a few favourable decisions I had secured for them from the courts.

The offer was that the bank would give me ten times the amount my clients were paying me per case as my fee— if I switched over to their side officially, of course!

I told him I did not wish to abandon my clients. He then offered another carrot cake. He would see to it that I was briefed on the bank's "high stake" matters as second counsel with top leaders of the Bar and could mark up to two-thirds of their fee for every appearance.

(Of course, for this service, he confessed, the "Law Department" of the bank took 25 percent as "cashback" from their counsel to pass their bills smoothly through the audit appraisals.)

Basically, he was asking me, "Kaun Banega Karodpati?" (Who wants to be a millionaire?)

And I had to tell him, "Mai nahin!" (Not me!) Most of my friends and colleagues felt my decision was impractical, if not wrong. They said you should not look a gift horse in the mouth. But I have absolutely no regrets.

Some officers' associations still consult me and I can sleep peacefully without taking any pills. And the only "cashback" I get is from my money-back insurance policies.

Read more Antics from the Adalat here.

If you love the smell of paper along with spicy satire and the ring of laughter, Raju Moray's new book Tales of Law & Laughter is out now.