Lonely Knights

THERE’S A VIDEO doing the rounds of a young lady with a mic making jokes about lawyers and loneliness. She says we’re makers of our own mischief, drowning in our briefs while searching for meaning in legal precedents.

We’ve become soft targets, it seems. Someone wants to talk about depression amongst lawyers, another about our angst and irritability. ANGST – that old friend – the kind that gets seniors to raise their voices – just a little – on their juniors. Maybe once in a while there's a theatrical slam of files on desks. I hear iPhones and iPads are being used as ammunition around these days.

It's all part of the learning process, after all. You’re incomplete if a caustic commentary hasn’t been flung in your face, or you haven't watched your research work flutter to the floor.

As you collect those scattered pages and pieces of your shattered self-esteem, you ought to thank your stars – you got the opportunity to have doors slammed in your face by people who matter. They're always polite about it, of course. The rich and elite usually are. Screaming is for the lower-income masses. We prefer our cruelty refined, served with a side of public law and a garnish of precedent. 

Mubarak ho – Exposure hua hai!

Meanwhile at a Tier 1 office in South Delhi

She's sitting in the glass lit cabin at 10 PM, again, watching the security guard make his rounds. The building empties out around 7, but there they are - the lonely knights of the legal realm, keeping the wheel turning – one keyboard thump at a time. The senior partner left at 6, naturally, after dropping the “urgent opinion” on her desk that needs to be “looked at by tomorrow morning.”

The matter, it turns out, involves reading through 400 pages of case law to find a single citation that may or may not support an argument in a case that may or may not be filed. But hey, it’s urgent. Everything’s urgent in this profession.

Her junior colleague – let’s call him Optimism Personified - is still here too, hunched over his laptop, eyes bloodshot from staring at legal databases. He's been here since 7 AM, survived on machine coffee and the dream of making it big in litigation someday. Poor kid still believes that working 16-hour days will translate into recognition, respect, and maybe even a liveable wage. Maybe the last one will happen. Only not as quick as he wishes it will. The back pain will come for him first.

But she won’t tell him that. Because she was him once. Because hope dies hard in this profession. Because someone needs to keep believing that suffering is just the dues you pay for eventual greatness.

Her phone buzzes. A message from her law school batch group: “Anyone free for drinks?” It's 10:30 PM on a Tuesday. She doesn't remember the last time she said yes. Parties are for people who have signed to mediocrity. 

The junior associate finally looks up from his screen. Dark circles under his eyes. "Ma'am, I think I found the case," he says with excitement.

"Great work," she tells him, and she means it. Because in this profession, small victories are all they have. Finding the right precedent. Getting the formatting right. Surviving another day without a public breakdown. She knows she’s almost there. Not near the breakdown. That due has been paid. She’s almost reached her goal. Almost. Just there.