The square gown

IT was not easy for Khushbir Singh Hasaeja to arrive at this momentous decision in his life. The decision to apply for the 'square gown'. (This was how most litigants referred to the gown worn by designated 'senior advocates' of our Bar.)

He had always felt he stood no chance. None of his close relatives were ministers, judges or leading counsel. He hardly had any private clients of any reputation or worth. The kind who are 'influential' in high places.

What he did possess were good academic qualifications, loads of experience and sincerity of purpose. Advocate Hasaeja was a panel counsel for the Union government and an assistant government pleader for the state government. And he had held on to these positions for a long time.

Everybody knew him and the judges loved him. Just the sight of him made them smile. And once he opened his mouth to make submissions he seldom shut it without first having offered the audience in court a great deal of merriment. Governments had come and gone but Advocate Hasaeja had survived them all and retained his empanelled position.

When he saw several undeserving advocates whom he had beaten in court battles becoming designated senior advocates, his mind got very agitated and his acidity increased. Injustice of this kind was difficult to digest even after chewing many Digene tablets.

But he knew that without the right connections, it would be an exercise in futility to apply for that coveted square gown with any reasonable hope of getting it.

So what made Advocate Hasaeja change his mind?

In 2017, the Supreme Court while deciding a petition filed by senior advocate Indira Jaising laid down certain guidelines that introduced an objective weightage and marking system for selection from among the applicants desirous of being considered for this honour.

Accordingly, 20 points were allocated for seniority at the Bar, 40 points for reported and unreported judgments, domain expertise and for pro bono work and 15 points for publications. All these were based on objective criteria. Thus 75 percent marks were allocated on objective parameters.

The subjective element appeared to be only in the 25 percent weightage given to the evaluation of personality and suitability through an interview and interaction with a high-powered 'permanent committee'.

Hasaeja was convinced that objectively speaking no one could deny him 75 percent points. His reasoning was as simple as it was unassailable to himself. He had put in 30 years of practice so he would get a full 20 points on that count.

Being on the Union and state government panels, he had appeared in hundreds of cases that were reported and many more that were unreported. And in several of them, his role had been very vital. Very often it was because of his arguments that the other side had won and the law was laid down. They also serve who lose and lay down the law. Thus, no one could take away those 40 points from Hasaeja.

He had had to appear as a government pleader across all domains and could therefore claim domain expertise in all branches.

That only left the 15 points meant for publications.

Khushbir Singh Hasaeja had no problems with publications either. He had written many romantic poems for his college magazine under the pen name 'Khush'. He had preserved copies of ten such poems. Surely, those would account for ten points.

After joining the Bar, he had contributed five 'Letters to the Editor' on subjects of great importance such as clogged gutters, spitting on roads and the menace of people defecating along railway tracks. All these missives were well appreciated and acted upon. Surely worth five points!

There! He had got 75 out of 75 by his own calculation.

Armed with this 'distinction', Khushbir Singh Hasaeja was emboldened to apply for that senior designation which would result in him being able to wear the square gown which sets aside the chosen ones at the Bar from the commoners and also-rans.

What Hasaeja had not bargained for was that there were several lawyers who had already given themselves 75 points just like he had. They too had done this by using various evaluation criteria of their own.

For example, one aspirant had appeared in only one important case which had been reported in five different law journals. He had counted these as five 'reported judgments'!

Because of such applicants, the list of aspirants was endless. The valid applications that year after scrutiny were about 100! The thought of interviewing all of them sent shudders down the spines of the committee members.

In due course, the permanent committee decided to undertake the onerous task of separating the wheat from the chaff among the applicants. The key members of this five-member team were the two seniormost puisne judges who were of the view that even without interviews 90 percent of the applicants were fit to be rejected in limine like misconceived writ petitions.

The Chief Justice was to head the permanent committee but being an outsider had no clue about the 'standing' of these applicants. On this important committee, the Chief Justice was like a passenger waiting in the VIP lounge who has been told that his flight to New Delhi has been indefinitely delayed.

That left the Bar representative, who was a respected senior advocate. He was the fifth member of the team. In an exhibition of the true spirit of honour and loyalty he agreed with the two senior judges about the unsuitability of all applicants, except those belonging to the Bar Association to which he belonged!

But they all knew that even in fixed cricket matches the results cannot be announced till the last ball is bowled and the public has recovered its money's worth. So there was no escape from playing the interview game as per the mandate of the Supreme Court.

Although the committee knew that 90 percent of the applicants did not deserve the square gown they did not want to reject all of them in one go. So they devised a stratagem. They would interview everyone for just about five minutes.

They would then select the 10 percent who were passable but inform the mediocre others that their applications had been 'deferred' for the time being. Only the patently scandalous or embarrassing ones would be outrightly (and rightly) rejected.

The committee began spending an hour every day to dispose of a dozen cases @ five minutes each.

While the applicants waited outside the committee room for their turn, they were observing each other carefully. Bedecked in their best suits and ties, all had worn shining shoes. Most flaunted Mont Blancs in their pockets and Rolexes on their wrists.

Khusbir Singh Hasaeja regretted carrying a simple Parker ball pen and wearing a Titan wristwatch. He hoped he would not lose some points on that score.

When his turn came at the end of that day's list, the committee was already looking irritable and tired. Hasaeja wished he could do something to cheer them up. He waited for them to ask him a question. No one spoke.

Finally, the Bar member asked him: "What do you consider to be the biggest achievement in your career so far?"

Hasaeja: "Sir, I was appointed as an arbitrator and I gave an award which was carried right up to the Supreme Court but even the Apex milords could not set it aside … and now the matter is right back with me! That is my greatest achievement!"

Senior judge: "Why would it come back to you?"

Hasaeja: "Sir, even after reading it ten times, the Hon'ble judges could not understand my reasoning. So they sent it right back saying only the author of this award can explain what he means!"

At this, everyone burst out laughing. The mood in that room had become cheerful again. Hasaeja also joined them and was in splits himself.

Senior judge: "Why are you laughing, Mr Hasaeja?"

Hasaeja: "Sir, I can't help laughing when I see other people laughing!"

At this, they all laughed even more. It was like a Laughter Club meeting in a Rotary Club Park. They did not realise that 10 minutes had gone by in a jiffy. Advocate Hasaeja left the interview quite confident of having aced it.

He would get 20 out of 25 points for sure, the way they were all laughing! That took Hasaeja, in his own imagination, to 95 points out of 100. "Let us see who can beat that!" he thought.

After a month, a sealed letter was hand-delivered to Advocate Hasaeja. It was from the registrar of the permanent committee of the Bombay High Court. It stated that Advocate Hasaeja's application for a senior designation had been "deferred" for the time being by the court.

Hasaeja thought that the registrar did not know his spellings properly and that the committee must have 'differed' in their opinion about him. So he met the registrar to ask him whether they had 'differed' by a 4–1 or 3–2 margin.

After the registrar had a good laugh, he had to call for a dictionary from the judges' library to explain the difference between 'differed' and 'deferred' to Advocate Hasaeja.

Hasaeja went home a happy man. At least his application had not been rejected.

There was still hope that he would one day join the legion of 'square gowns' who contribute to the glory of the Bombay Bar in hallowed courtrooms across the country every day.