Heart and Soul

Editor’s note: The daily grind of the court, its hits, its misses, the momentary celebrations of justice and the exasperating days where fate of life and liberty seems bleak might sometimes be a little alienating, for those of us hustling on the corridors, or researching, reporting on it. It might also not be fully reflective of the complexity of what the courts represent to those who work, hustle, worry and even laugh within the life world of these Kafkaesque institutions. To try to humanise our experience of the law, I think is a beautiful thing, and few things allow that capability, that lens of humility as satire. Abiha is a wonderful writer and thinker. She has often told us that she is an advocate on record (let’s always remember that) by day, and a satirist by evening, and it’s wonderful that her ruminations may find a space through this new column - ‘The Bitter Brief’. Thankfully, (and inevitably), there will be more of her!

IT’S TURNING OUT TO BE A GOOD DAY. You came to Court early. You even secured a great parking spot around one of the Bapa Nagar parks. You hate parking in the underground tunnels. It's too long a walk back to Court and you always forget where you parked. You like this informal situation better.

You are item number 11 in the advance list — effective 33 though. Some 22 supplementary matters on board before you. When you were new here, you would get lost in the cause lists ever so often. Now you don't. Took you 10 years — that's alright. You were never a quick learner anyway — you are a hustler, remember. Also, you're having a good day, remember!

Security didn't screen your ID at the entrance today. It happens whenever you wear one of those sarees. Power dressing, they call it. Walking oven, you feel — but you have started loving the aesthetic. You even wear bindis now. Anything that can make you look less "young lady" and more serious "advocate madam". Clients don't call you 'little girl' anymore. The one time they did, you milked it for a few years — not by charging them a higher fee — but by telling the story time and again at parties for laughs. D'uh!

You get to Court. This is one of the fancier courtrooms — the new building with granite finishing. The fancy escalators always give you that T3 feeling — because you are around this wealth, you must be doing well too. Maybe you are! You'll never know. Ambition is a hamster wheel. 

You don't think too much about all the struggle these days. You just go from one day to the other, enjoying yourself. Muddling your way through.

After all — You have to imagine Sisyphus happy.

A friend gifted you this book a while ago. Back then you were going through depression — or anxiety, was it? They aren't the same — you know that now. Wanting too many things too fast can do that to small-town girls living in big cities. Your twenties were an angsty period — whose aren't? Albert Camus's reading was the friend's way of bringing you some peace. Friend and you have drifted now. But those were good days.

Camus always calms the nerves. Especially on difficult days. Days when that one client rejection brings your entire self-worth crashing down. Or days when the judge dismisses your strongest point on a whim and asks you to move along. Those are bad days. You banish negative thoughts — your therapist told you not to spiral. You don't have a therapist, but you like to talk about the fact that you do. It's a good conversation starter.

Court has assembled. You stand up and bow with all the others. You love these little remnants of tradition. They make you believe that what you do for a living is somehow different and noble. On a humid day you may have cheated on the robe and called it a post-colonial hangover, but you secretly love your uniform. The marginal utility of legitimacy is too high; it trumps inconvenience each time. Remember power dressing — your saree et al.

Item 36 (effective no. 2) is being argued. It's the famous judge's son again. He does counsel practice these days. Briefs are for hustlers. He's doing well though. The hares that never sleep. You don't ponder about this anymore. This is not your lane — not your competition. You are doing well in the tortoise lane.

Pricing in your lane has been tricky though these days. A few weeks ago, you had that lightbulb moment of despair when you realized you aren't competing with the lowest bidder, not even the pro-bono king. Your competition now is someone who pays to get on matters. There are also whispers of some direct cash transfer scheme. You never had that kind of money — or courage. These conversations take courage — to gamble your reputation away on a potential chance of success. Your father always told you to safeguard your reputation. It is the only asset of middle-class people — samman, he used to say.