When a Former Chief Justice Reminds Us What the Law Is Really For
Listening to former Chief Justice of India Dr. Justice D.Y. Chandrachud felt, to me, less like an interview and more like sitting in chambers with a very candid senior.
As someone who has watched the justice system up close for over two decades—both as a lawyer, I wasn’t just hearing anecdotes. I was hearing a quiet but firm reminder of what Indian law is supposed to stand for, and where we, as lawyers, often drift away from it.
This article is my reflection after listening to that conversation—what it stirred in me as a lawyer, a citizen, and someone who has spent 25+ years trying to democratise legal knowledge in India.
“Justice Above Client” – A Principle We Repeat, But Rarely Practice
Right at the beginning, Justice Chandrachud said something that should be printed and pasted in every chamber:
“Ultimately the cause of justice must rank higher than the interests of a particular client in court – and more so when you appear for the government.”
This is not just a moral slogan. Under Indian law, law officers—Attorney General, Solicitor General, Advocates General, Additional Solicitors General—are not mere mouthpieces of the government. They are officers of the court. Their first duty is to the Constitution and to justice, not to the political convenience of the day.
We all know this in theory. But in practice, especially when it comes to government litigation, we often see the opposite:
- hopeless cases defended aggressively only to “avoid adverse orders”,
- repeated adjournments to delay the inevitable,
- reluctance to concede obvious illegality even when the file clearly shows it.
When Justice Chandrachud recalls that he and others were taught “never to defend the indefensible”, that’s not just personal style—that is, in my view, what Article 14 and Article 21 demand from State litigants. A government that litigates unfairly is not just a “tough opponent”; it is violating constitutional morality.
If the State is the largest litigator in the country—and it is—then its conduct in court shapes the public’s faith in the entire system. A fair law officer, who admits error, agrees to correct injustice, and presents facts honestly, does more for the judiciary’s credibility than a hundred seminars on “access to justice”.
As someone who has run a public legal information portal since 2000, I can say with some confidence: ordinary citizens don’t read judgments; they experience justice through how the State behaves in their individual case. And much of that experience is filtered through government counsel. Their responsibility is far greater than a private brief.
From the Bottom of the Ladder to the Top of the Institution
I was struck by how frankly he described coming back from Harvard with a doctorate in law—and still being at the “bottom of the ladder” in practice.
In a profession that often confuses degrees with competence, that was refreshing.
What stayed with me was the way he described watching seniors like Fali Nariman and Soli Sorabjee argue—how much he learnt not just from law, but from courtcraft.
One small moment he described said a lot:
He tried to fill the silence when judges were conferring on the bench by whispering the next citations to Mr. Nariman. Nariman gently told him: “Quiet. When the judges are talking, watch them.”
That is a masterclass in one line.
As a bar, we underestimate how much of advocacy is emotional and human intelligence:
- reading the court’s mood,
- knowing when to push, when to stop,
- when a one-line concession will do more for your client than a 20-page written note.
Indian law gives lawyers enormous power. A writ petition under Articles 32 or 226, a public interest litigation, a criminal appeal—these are not just files. They are people’s lives. And yet, we often treat hearings like performances rather than conversations with the court.
Listening to him, I felt something else too: you cannot be a good judge without having been a serious lawyer first. And that leads to his next big choice.
Saying Yes to the Bench: Judgeship as Service, Not Promotion
One thing that struck me deeply was how he described being invited to the bench.
There was no drama about “whether I should become a judge for prestige”. He spoke of it almost as a duty—but also acknowledged the very real sacrifices: financial, personal, social.
He also mentioned something important: at one point, because of delays in his appointment and a serious illness at home, he almost withdrew his consent to judgeship. That honesty about vulnerability is rare among judges.
What persuaded him to stay the course was an idea I strongly agree with:
The bench offers a unique ability “to speak for the future” and to help shape “a just and humane society”.
Under our Constitution, judges aren’t just dispute-resolvers; they are constitutional trustees. From Kesavananda Bharati to Puttaswamy, the judiciary has effectively told the State: “There is a minimum below which you cannot fall, even with a majority.”
It is fashionable these days, especially online, to reduce judges to ideological labels. But listening to him talk about:
- sitting late in vacation to decide a censorship case on a play,
- the elderly mother singing a devotional song in court after a family settlement,
- dictating judgments on the spot instead of letting them linger for years,
you could see a different side of judging: the grind, the loneliness, but also the deeply human satisfaction of resolving real conflicts.
I was reminded that for every “big-ticket constitutional judgment” we debate on social media, there are thousands of quiet orders that decide:
- whether a worker gets their salary,
- whether a tenant is evicted,
- whether someone’s land is taken,
- whether a small business survives.
Those don’t make it to prime-time debates. But they are the true daily face of Article 21.
Allahabad, Lucknow and the Heartland: A Judge Steps Out of the Metropolitan Bubble
I particularly liked his description of going as Chief Justice to the Allahabad High Court.
Within the profession we all know the whispers: “tough court, complex bar, difficult place.” He admitted he and his wife had a “silent dinner” the night he heard.
But what followed is, to me, a practical lesson in judicial statesmanship:
- He didn’t try to bulldoze local traditions.
- He insisted on incremental reform.
- He treated the bar with respect, and in return, they accepted modernization—from infrastructure to case management.
For all of us sitting in metros, his comment stayed with me:
“There is so little that you need in life to be happy.”
and
“You learn what the heartland of India is all about.”
As a lawyer based in India and running an online legal platform, I’ve always felt that our legal culture is far too Mumbai–Delhi–Bengaluru-centric. But the soul of Indian law actually lives in mofussil courts, in district judgeships, in places where there may not even be stable electricity, let alone fast internet.
When a Chief Justice of India says his education as a judge would have been incomplete without Uttar Pradesh, we should listen carefully. Because many of our debates on “reforms” forget that any solution that works only in South Mumbai or Lutyens’ Delhi is not a solution for India.
Privacy, Puttaswamy and the Digital Indian
As someone who has watched the evolution of Indian constitutional law closely, I couldn’t help but lean forward when he spoke about the right to privacy and the landmark Puttaswamy judgment.
Here was a nine-judge bench of the Supreme Court of India unanimously declaring that privacy is a fundamental right—even though the word “privacy” doesn’t appear in the Constitution.
What I liked in his explanation was the clarity of the chain:
- Privacy flows from human dignity.
- Dignity underpins Article 21 (right to life and personal liberty).
- Therefore, privacy is not a luxury; it is intrinsic to a meaningful life.
He also went beyond abstract theory and tied privacy to:
- bodily autonomy of women,
- reproductive choices,
- informational and digital privacy,
- data security in an age where algorithms can reconstruct our lives from our digital footprints.
As an Indian who has watched technology platforms explode in reach—especially post-2016—and as someone running an online legal resource, I see every day how casually people surrender their data and how opaque the terms of use often are.
Justice Chandrachud’s point was simple but powerful: AI and data-driven systems do not make privacy irrelevant; they make it more urgent.
Indian law now has to perform a delicate balancing act:
- encourage innovation in AI, health-tech, ed-tech and fintech,
- while ensuring that basic constitutional values—dignity, equality, non-discrimination—are not traded away in the fine print.
We often think of “fundamental rights” as something that protects us only against the State. But in the digital economy, private entities can be just as intrusive and powerful as governments. Our legal framework must keep pace with that reality.
The Age of AI: Lawyers Cannot Sit This One Out
There was a striking moment when he mentioned that India has hundreds of millions of users of AI tools like ChatGPT.
Whatever the exact number, the point stands: India is not on the sidelines of the AI revolution; we are at the center of it.
As a publisher of legal knowledge online, I already see:
- AI tools summarising judgments,
- drafting basic contracts,
- helping laypersons understand legal concepts that used to be “chamber secrets”.
For the legal profession, this is both an opportunity and a threat.
I found myself agreeing with his implicit message:
- AI will transform access to law, education and healthcare.
- But AI can also enable total surveillance, algorithmic discrimination and manipulation of behaviour.
Indian lawyers, judges and lawmakers have to design the legal guardrails:
- robust data protection,
- algorithmic accountability,
- transparent disclosures of how data is used,
- strong remedies when rights are violated.
If we leave these questions to technologists alone, we will end up with systems that are efficient, scalable—and possibly devastating for fundamental rights.
The Constitution of India is still the highest algorithm in this country. It is our job to ensure every other algorithm respects it.
Young Lawyers: Read Widely, Travel India, Think Beyond Fees
Towards the end, when he was asked about advice for young lawyers, I heard two things that I wish every law school would frame above its main gate.
1. We Desperately Need Good People on Both Sides – Bar and Bench
He was frank about a serious concern: many good lawyers today are declining judgeship.
Not only for financial reasons, but also because of social media trolling, constant scrutiny and the shrinking space for judges to defend themselves publicly.
Yet, without strong appointments from the bar, the bench will weaken. And without a strong bench, the entire enforcement of rights under Articles 14, 19 and 21 becomes fragile.
As someone who interacts with law students, interns and young practitioners regularly, I feel we need to change how we talk about judgeship. It must not be seen as “retirement with robes”, but as the highest form of public service in law.
At the same time, he rightly pointed out that not everyone must or will become a judge. There is immense scope in:
- trial advocacy,
- appellate and constitutional practice,
- transactional and corporate work,
- policy and regulatory roles.
But whatever path one chooses, a sense of public responsibility must remain.
2. Don’t Live in a Mumbai–Delhi Bubble
His advice to lawyers, especially in Mumbai, was blunt:
Travel India. See the country beyond airports and hotel conference halls.
As someone who runs LegalServiceIndia.com, I constantly receive queries from:
- small towns,
- tier–3 cities,
- rural areas where courts sit once a week,
- people who cannot even draft a simple representation.
The law looks very different from there.
If young lawyers only see:
- high-stakes arbitrations,
- intricate tax planning,
- and complex M&A deals,
they may become technically brilliant but constitutionally shallow.
A lawyer who has seen how a land acquisition displaces a village, how a widowed mother chases pension for years, how a migrant worker is cheated of wages—that lawyer understands Article 21 in a way no textbook can teach.
What I Took Away, Personally
After listening to the interview, I felt three strong convictions harden in my mind:
1. Legal Ethics Are Not Optional “Good Manners”
When a former CJI repeats that you must not defend the indefensible, especially as government counsel, he is not preaching idealism. He is reminding us that the integrity of the system depends on counsel and judges being brutally honest with facts and law.
2. Constitutional Law Is Not an Abstract Game
The same judge who wrote the judgment on privacy also remembers, with emotion, an elderly mother singing in court after her sons’ dispute was settled. That is the real bridge between grand constitutional doctrine and day-to-day justice. We must never let one overshadow the other.
3. The Future of Indian Law Will Be Shaped by How We Respond to Technology
AI, data, platform economies—they are not “tech issues”; they are constitutional issues. If we, as a legal community, don’t actively engage, the rules will be written by those who neither understand nor care about fundamental rights.
A Final Thought
I have been running LegalServiceIndia.com since August 2000, trying in my own modest way to make law a little less mysterious and a little more accessible for ordinary Indians.
Listening to Justice Chandrachud reminded me why I started that journey:
because the law is ultimately about people, not citations.
If judges can sit late in vacation to unban a play, if an overworked Chief Justice in Allahabad can still take the time to win over a skeptical bar, if a former CJI still urges young lawyers to read widely, travel across India and stay humble—then we at the bar, and those of us in legal education and online legal platforms, cannot afford to do anything less.
The cause of justice must indeed rank higher than the interests of any one client.
That may sound idealistic. But in the long run of a legal career—and in the long history of a constitutional democracy—that is the only strategy that truly works.
