Entry 1: The View from Up Here
I see it all. I see you all. I hear the sniggers. The sweet smell of Rajnigandhas — and the bitter one of your disdains. I am not God, but you did place me on this pedestal. And the vantage point it gives me—oh, I see it all.
Your tribulations in these trials. The nervous energies. I sense those too.
The aggressive tenor. The trembling hands. The celebrity lawyer, strong social presence––weak argument. The chain of screaming that runs down the hierarchy. The undercurrent of influence and the overcurrent of flattery. I see it all, Sir.
Sometimes I wish I could unsee. So, I learn to ignore. To let it pass.
I am not superior, but I am here. Put in this place by you––and some well-meaning collegium people. To serve. And at your pleasure, I shall.
Entry 2: The Seniors
The doyen has finished his arguments. He will sit down now and go through his phone. Because once his arguments are done, it is beneath him to listen to the other side. At least that should be the perception. Slightly indifferent. A loose smirk here, a patronising guffaw there. That’s all!
The senior counsel opposite him doesn’t bat an eyelid at this theatre. He continues with well practiced vehemence. Oxford education peeping through his lilt. In force is pronounced “IN F-A-U-R-C-E”— with distinct syllables. And why not.
He will now read this long judgment. Slowly. Specifically, deliberately, and painfully slow. Each word enunciated like he’s teaching kindergarten. To a bench that’s heard this judgment cited too many times before.
Entry 3: The Young Ones
Next case. Young lawyers appearing, struggling for their page numbers and copies. I will cooperate. If I don't encourage, who else will? The senior at the back is rolling his eyes. He's forgotten his first appearance—the trembling, the fumbling, the absolute terror of addressing the bench.
She enunciates and over-enunciates. “Your Lordship” becomes “Your LORD-SHIP.” It’s alright. She will be saying “FAURCE” in a few years. The cycle continues.
"We list it for Friday,” I say, knowing full well Friday is already packed with 73 matters. Better than Thursday – with all the Section 34s – headache inducing day that one! PUBLIC POLICY. Ugh.
Entry 4: Your Banter is my Entertainment
2:30 PM. Arguments done. But they don't give up. One side wants to circulate a note. Other wants to file a reply. One more note. One more reply. One more rejoinder. One more sur-rejoinder. A note for a note will make the whole case blind!
I put my foot down and reserve.
Cross board banter begins. They're arguing amongst themselves now, forgotten I exist. "Talk to the bench, not at each other," I want to scream. Throw my gavel like that caricature from the movies. But dignity. Always dignity.
It's 4 PM. I need to go and resume that long one — the magnum opus of all my judgments. The one that will define my legacy. The one I've been writing for six months. Alas — one more mentioning.
I am up now. I am walking away. They pull me back in, of course. I haven't had lunch today. But do they care? I eat dates made of gold, anyway. The most privileged. Part of the problem. Pendency creator. That's what the news tells me.
Entry 5: The Sky is Falling
You all speak the same tongue these days.
“With great respect” — which means complete disrespect.
“Vehemently denied” — which means you're right, but I can't admit it.
“Heavens will not fall” — except they fall, all day, every day.
The overuse of proverbs kills me slowly. Something about the gander and the geese. The proof of pudding and the pie. I'm drowning in mixed metaphors and mangled idioms — on an empty stomach!
That interim order ate away my lunch time. But it’s all done now. Done and Dastid.
Entry 6: The Wrong One
5:45 PM. The courtroom empties. You people pack your briefs, already on your phones, updating clients, about what I “really meant” when I asked that question about jurisdiction.
One of you will write a “blog” (or worse, a thread) on how judges have lost touch. How we're part of the problem. How we enable delays. How we're too harsh. Too lenient. Too everything and not enough of anything.
Some of you call me liberal. Others label me too conservative. Some say I balance too much. So much criticism. I did too in my time.
I was there once. Swearing under my breath. They had their power. I had my intensity.
Then I travelled to the other side. This side taught me humility. Power, yes. Responsibility, yes. But humility nevertheless.
In any case, I do not want to comment. I cannot for now comment. Maybe I too will find a weekend event to make my point.
Entry 7: I am You
I see the young lawyer who waited all day for her two-minute mention. The senior citizen whose case has been pending for fifteen years. The government counsel who hasn’t been paid in six months. The junior judge struggling with 200 cases a day. I see it all. I am trying to fix it all. Believe me, I am.
Overwhelming, isn’t it? We're all trapped here. In this beautiful, broken system. The seniors who won't retire. The juniors who can’t rise. The litigants who can't wait. The judges who can't keep up.
Tomorrow, I'll be back. In this black robe — that's too heavy in summer and not warm enough in winter. To do justice. Whatever that means. Another day of “with great respect” to “condone the delay.” Another day of seeing it all, hearing it all, and pretending I don't notice the not-so-subtle eye rolls.
The view from up here is spectacular. Sometimes boring. Often exhausting.
But at your pleasure, I shall serve.
Note: This is a work of satire. Any resemblance to actual judges, living or retired, or actual courtrooms, functional or dysfunctional, is purely coincidental. With great respect, of course.