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.
