Disclaimer: Blame LinkedIn, a provocative bar-room conversation, and recent court related absurdities for this piece—which, unlike my last fiction (yes, fiction—I swear), recklessly tackles real events while trying (and probably failing) not to sound preachy.
A bundle of papers, found its mark at the temple of justice the other day. Not a first-timer, apparently. Members of this family, I hear, have graced the sacred bench before. So much for first-generation practitioners.
Sorry to disappoint, dear readers, but this isn't about the projectile. Neither is this another moral guide to the legal galaxy. The perpetrator has extracted enough attention already. As tempting as it is to take the high ground, I abstain. Some acts transcend satire.
The incident did get me wondering, how our courtrooms have become reality TV. A bad one at that. Only text, no context.
Poor context has been mauled to death by rage baits!
Re: Noble All
A sitting judge recently reminded us that judges should “disappear” after delivering judgments. Let the orders speak, he said. Measured speech. Restraint. Truth through brevity.
Fair point.
Unfortunately, these noble words collide with our new normal. Virtual hearings and live streaming were meant to democratize access - a noble goal born from necessity. Instead, we got reality TV. Every raised eyebrow becomes breaking news. Every judicial sigh, a constitutional crisis. Every whispered aside gets live-tweeted before the lawyer can process what happened to their carefully rehearsed argument.
The bench speaks and Twitter descends - a modern tragedy in real-time posts. A judge explores a legal theory: “Judge DESTROYS petitioner.” Another thinks aloud during arguments: “Bench SLAMS government” trends before tea break. The deliberative process - that messy, beautiful journey toward truth, gets packaged into reels, punctuated with dank memers going “BRUH”.
When judges speak in court, they're searching for truth. Testing theories. Probing arguments. But now they’re also inadvertently auditioning for prime-time reels where influencers explain what serving justices “really meant” to other influencers whose last post was “how to get Court ready.”
Re: Colosseum
Courtrooms have become colosseums where gladiators perform for virtual masses. The delicious irony? We love it. When a judge's disdain aligns with our prejudices, we screenshot faster than we laugh at our bosses’ dad jokes. We forward clips to clients as proof of imminent victory, never mind that the eventual order might say something different. Who reads judgments anyway? We've got the clip. We've got the quote. The show must go on. Truth can wait.
I participated in this mob dance during my first Supreme Court appearance as a young lawyer. The live-stream clip went to my family group. Compliments poured in. “First time before the Chief Justice!” I exclaimed. “Mubarak ho, Vakil Sahiba!” my family exclaimed back.
Virtual hearings aren’t the villain here - that would be too simple. They’ve democratized access in ways our wig-wearing forebears couldn't imagine. Law students in remote towns watch constitutional arguments unfold in real time. They can dream of making it there. Young lawyers learn courtroom craft by watching senior counsel lose it at each other. Some banter even brightens the day.
But transparency has been sacrificed at the altar of sensationalism. And that makes us sad. Not upset sad—just sad, people.
Re: Judges Beware - Democracy Watches You Think
Virtual hearings haven’t liberated judges; they’ve enrolled them in involuntary performance art. Every word monitored by self-appointed guardians of judicial propriety. Every pause analysed by experts who got their law degrees from WhatsApp University. Each question weaponized by someone, somewhere, with a Twitter handle and a grievance.
Think about it. In our country, with the volumes they handle, judges sit from morning until evening, drowning in files and arguments. Constitutional courts tackle PILs filed by people who confuse public interest with personal vendetta. Aggressive lawyers perform for wider audiences, online promoters, and dangerous reporters from Livelet, Lawlife, Box n Burn et al. The system groans beneath this weight on its arthritic shoulders.
If you’ve sat through an entire day’s proceedings—not just consumed masala highlights—you'd understand. You might develop enough humility to pause before declaring what "judge sahab should never have said." But we don't watch hearings anymore. We consume clips like hors d'oeuvres of justice, form opinions from fragments, and parade our indignation as insight.
Re: The Show Must Go On
Let me be clear: I’m not making a case for banning judicial criticism. God knows we need it. What I’m praying for is better context.
Maybe what we need isn’t Big Boss: Courtroom Edition. Maybe it’s live sports with regulated commentary. Picture Ravi Shastri presiding over the reel of constitutional bench hearing: “That argument has gone to the bench like a tracer bullet!”
Text without context is just noise. Context without understanding is just gossip. And gossip in the temple of justice? That’s just another “bundle of papers” waiting to fly.