AH THE SUPREME COURT OF INDIA. A place where legal legends are born, historic decisions are made, and—if you are unlucky—the curtains decide to turn your courtroom debut into a slapstick comedy routine. Let’s talk about those curtains first. You know the ones I’m talking about: the ones that are so large they could double as a parachute. The color? Well, if “vague greenish brown” was a thing, these curtains would be its poster child. Imagine every drape of these curtains as a metaphor for your legal career: massive, slightly oppressive, and not the kind of thing you want to get too close to unless absolutely necessary.These curtains were probably installed with the idea of enhancing the courtroom’s “grandeur,” bringing an aura of power and mystique. But let me tell you, when you’re running late and scrambling to find your place in the jam packed court room while clutching an armful of files (yes, yes iPad also, liquid text is a saviour), the only thing you notice is how these curtains keep calling your name. There you are, prancing around, trying not to trip over your own feet or your files, and in the process, you are inadvertently auditioning for a new kind of courtroom dance performance.Now, the courtroom is called to order, and you—like any self-respecting lawyer—are ready to walk in, case file in hand, poised to deliver your opening statement with the confidence of Smita Patil in Aaj Ki Awaaz. You make the dramatic shuffle towards the front, glance at the bench, look at your papers, and then—bam—your gaze locks onto them: the curtains..These curtains were probably installed with the idea of enhancing the courtroom’s “grandeur,” bringing an aura of power and mystique..These curtains, in all their glory, are now your unexpected dance partner. You think, “No big deal, I’ll just sidestep them.” But no. It’s like they’ve seen you. You try to walk around them, but somehow you’re drawn in, like a moth to an ugly, overpriced lampshade. Suddenly, you are twirling. I am talking full-on Bollywood Tanu Weds Manu moves in the middle of a Supreme Court hearing, your case file now serving as an impromptu prop.Now, let me be clear: I’m not even holding my files properly anymore. My papers are flapping like they’ve just been hit by a tropical storm, and I am in the middle of what can only be described as the worst tango performance in history. The curtain is dragging me back and forth like it is auditioning for Dance India Dance—and I, dear friends, am the unwitting contestant..Come to the Dark Side- Come join Litigation.And then—just when I think I’ve broken free—the universe calls. “Matter called,” says the clerk, like a referee in an absurdly tragic dance-off. But I can’t move! I’m frozen, caught in the tangled embrace of the curtain, trying to make my way to the bar table like a contestant in a game of Jenga—wobbly, unstable, and about to collapse at any second.And there he is. The judge. Watching this whole situation unfold with what can only be described as a mix of disbelief, pity, and a touch of “Well, I’ve seen it all… but not this.” His eyes dart between me, my flailing papers, and the curtains that are clearly in charge of the situation now.At that moment, I should have felt embarrassed, but I was too far gone. My dignity? Gone. My hair? A windblown disaster, the result of my fight with the curtains. My papers? They were now performing the equivalent of an Olympic dive, falling in slow motion toward the floor. And yet, here I was—trying to wriggle out of the curtain’s grasp while also attempting to look professional. It was like a failed magic trick. “And for my next act, I shall disappear into the curtain.”Finally, I did it. With what can only be described as desperate determination (and maybe a little bit of anger), I pulled myself free from the clutches of the curtain. It was like escaping from the world’s least glamorous escape room.But my troubles weren’t over. I now had to regain my composure while holding onto the files that were now fighting back as though they were trying to escape to the nearest coffee shop. With the grace of a drunken giraffe, I approached the bench. My files? Flapping like a bird whose wings were entirely made of legal jargon..What did I learn from my battle with the curtains? That nothing in the courtroom goes according to plan. Not your case, not your performance, and especially not those God-awful curtains..The judge, no longer even pretending to suppress his amusement, gestured for me to proceed. I could practically hear his thoughts: “I’ve survived 30 years of law, but this? This is a whole new level of chaos.”What did I learn from my battle with the curtains? That nothing in the courtroom goes according to plan. Not your case, not your performance, and especially not those God-awful curtains. They will always be there, lurking, ready to ruin your chances of ever looking dignified.Next time you find yourself in the Supreme Court, forget about your case. Forget about your polished look. Instead, mentally prepare yourself for battle against the drapes. They may be ugly, but they are also mighty.As for me? I have officially earned my place in legal folklore. And if you ever find yourself in Court No. 1, and you hear a rustling sound behind you, just know: it’s probably me, still tangled in those darn curtains.
