Indian Penal Code not, Colour Code bright,
Infringers in red while right in white.
Judgments are grey and grey is the law,
Still all are hoping for justice just raw.
Now, dear readers, before you must be wondering as to "Why these courtroom characters named after colours and not real people?"
Let me clarify.
Though I admit, when you hear names like Mr. Black, Mr. White, Ms. Grey, and Mr. Yellow etc, it might sound like a box of crayons had a legal degree and decided to sue each other. But believe me—these are real people.
These colours represent actual beings—learned lawyers, Hon'ble Judges, overworked clerks, anxious clients, and the occasional reporter for whom courtroom proceedings are just live theater without popcorn.
Now, I didn’t pick these names because I do not want to hurt any body's emotion in any manner whatsoever.
Ever heard someone say, “He’s feeling blue”? Or “She turned red with anger”? Or, my personal favourite, “He’s a bit grey in ethics, but golden in billing”?
Exactly. I picked them because colours can reflect many thing but seldom offend any body. See, in this courtroom drama, names can’t capture the essence, which I wish to. Mr. Sharma or Advocate Rao wouldn’t tell you what kind of vibe they bring.
Now, let me introduce them to you, one by one. But keep your imagination open and your sense of humour sharpened—We’re entering a world where justice is blind, but the characters are anything but colorless.
Mr. Black (One of amongst many lawyers) "The One who seldom cares legality and often immoral."
Let me introduce you to the one and only Mr. Black—the courtroom legend, the legal wizard who never uses Google Maps but knows the shortcut to victory.
Now, Mr. Black is not your regular, boring, file-hugging, straight-faced lawyer. While most lawyers open heavy books and quote law like they’re reading from the Bible, Mr. Black walks into the courtroom like he owns the place—smiling like he knows a secret that the rest of us missed in law school.
Following the law? Ha! That’s for amateurs.Mr. Black doesn’t follow the law in a straight line—he zigzags, moonwalks, and sometimes jumps over it entirely. And yet, when the final verdict comes, guess who's standing there with a grin, a client in tears (happy ones), and a group selfie with the interns? Yep—Mr. Black. Again.
The Worshipped One (By Clients):His clients don’t just respect him—they treat him like " the god of Guaranteed Bail and Bonus Smiles.” They come with hopeless faces and leave with chai, confidence, and a belief in the Indian judiciary again—because “Aapko toh Mr. Black mil gaye!”
One client said, “Sir mere bail ke liye toh Bhagwan bhi shayad naa maan jaate… par Mr. Black ne toh judge ko ‘feeling’ karwa di!”
The Feared One (By Opponents): Other lawyers? Oh, they fear him like schoolkids fear surprise math tests. They read 400 pages of case law, highlight 37 judgments, and prepare speeches like it’s the UPSC interview.Then Mr. Black walks in, says something charming like,
“My Lord, this case is simpler than a samosa—crispy from outside, but full of layers inside…”
And boom—Most of the time, he is ahead in the race.The opposing lawyer flips pages desperately trying to find the legal response to "samosa logic." Spoiler: there isn’t one.
The Judges? Now, judges are very wise, very experienced, and very professional. But Mr. Black has a special talent: he makes even the judge raise one eyebrow and ask themselves, “Wait… how did he just win that?” It’s not that he breaks the law. No, he just… bends it like Beckham, with better vocabulary.
Mr. White (One of amongst many lawyers) "He often cares about legality and rarely immoral"
Meet Mr. White. No, he’s not a toothpaste model or a spiritual guru—though his clients often say, "Sir, aapke paas toh ek alag hi noor hai." He is that rare species of lawyer who still believes that truth wins, honesty matters, and hard work pays off.
Unfortunately, in the real world (especially the courtroom world), these beliefs are treated the same way we treat those motivational WhatsApp forwards—nice to read, but not always practical.
He’s the Guy Who Actually Reads the Law. Word by Word. While others bring shortcuts and jugaad to court, Mr. White brings: Clean files, Neatly typed arguments, And five highlighters (each with a moral purpose), He quotes old legal judgments like he's reciting romantic poetry.
“My Lord, as Hon'ble Justice Grey White once said in 1973...”
Meanwhile, the courtroom watches him like he’s reading Shakespeare at a wedding—beautiful, but slightly out of place.
Justice Keeps Saying “Please Hold…”
Mr. White genuinely believes that the courtroom is a temple of truth. Sadly, truth here often takes a lunch break and forgets to come back.
He files the perfect case, makes the perfect argument, and wears the perfect tie. And yet…most of the time he loses.
But does he scream? Does he tear his coat or threaten contempt? No. He bows politely, thanks the Hon’ble Court, and leaves—like a man who just lost a cricket match but still claps for the winning team and prepares for Appeal.
His Worst Enemy? Luck. His Best Friend? His Conscience. Luck has never been on Mr. White’s side. He once got delayed because he helped an old lady cross the road—only to reach court and find his matter dismissed because he was late.
But his conscience? Always on time. Sitting on his shoulder like a full-time moral assistant.
Even when he knows he could twist the facts a little and maybe win—he won’t. He says, “What will I tell my inner self?” People around him reply, “Tell your inner self to pay your rent.”
He Doesn’t Lose Cases. He Gains Moral Victories. (Which Can’t Be Deposited in Banks.)
He's like that clean, ironed handkerchief in a world full of wet wipes. Nobody uses it, but everyone respects it.
Mr. Grey Black (One of amongst many Hon'ble District Judges):"Highly technical, rarely liberal, Provision oriented."
Fresh out of the Judicial Service Exam, with the ink barely dry on his appointment letter and his hair a fashionable mix of grey and black (half experience, half excitement)—meet Hon'ble Mr. Grey Black, the Hon'ble District Judge.
In his court, there’s one mantra: “Feelings are optional. Sections are mandatory.” Bare Acts Are His Best Friends.
While others his age are busy quoting motivational Instagram reels, Hon'ble Mr. Grey Black quotes Bare Acts—with section numbers, sub-sections, provisos, and even obscure footnotes that normal people skip.
If you walk into his courtroom thinking you’ll win by emotional storytelling ("My Lord, his cat ran away, his wife left, and his tiffin got stolen!"), you’re in for a shock.Hon'ble Mr. Grey Black will adjust his glasses, give a kind smile, and politely ask,
“Please show me the provision where tiffin loss is recognized as a legal injury.”
At that moment, you’ll realize—you needed a citation, not a violin.If You Don’t Know Your Section Number, May God Help You.
Forget big emotional speeches. Forget dramatic pauses. In this courtroom, if you can’t say, “Section 14(2)(b) proviso second explanation clause (iii)” without blinking—you’re basically unarmed.
In fact,Lawyers now come with Bare Acts under one arm and prayer books under the other.Interns are seen whispering, “Quick, find the section number or we are doomed!”
Even Mr. Black double-checks his notes before speaking here.
(Spoiler: There isn’t one.) Hon'ble Mr. Grey Black’s Golden Rule: "No Section, No Submission."
Forget about dramatic dialogues or “My Lord, mere client ka dil tootta hai!” Here, the rule is simple:
Speak the law.
Stick to the law.
Win by the law.
Otherwise, you'll be politely thanked, and your case will be directed towards the mythical land called "adjournment."
Mr. Grey (One of amongst many Hon'ble High Court Judges): "Sometimes technical, sometimes liberal,depending upon his mood, Judgement oriented."
Once upon a time, he was a lawyer, — passionate, precise, and probably addicted to paper and post-its. Now he’s elevated as a judge. Meet Hon’ble Mr. Grey (Obviously matured one having grey hair) — a man whose courtroom is governed by the Constitution… and occasionally by Delhi’s traffic and his weather like mood. Some judges are consistent.Not Hon'ble Mr. Grey.He is a judicial weather system.
Sunny Mood: Cracks a joke before dismissing the case.
Cloudy Mood: Listens silently, stares deeply, makes you sweat.
Stormy Mood: Asks “Where is the law?” in a tone that melts senior counsel like butter on paratha.
Every lawyer entering his court first whispers at the door:“How’s his mood today?”
It’s courtroom code for survival. Morning Vs Evening Mr. Grey – Two Sides of the Same Bench.
In the Morning:He’s strict, sharp, and scanning your pleadings like Sherlock Holmes on espresso.
If your petition has a spelling error? “Is this how you assist the court?”
If you misquote a section?“Do not waste judicial time, counsel.”
Post-lunch, he transforms.Soft eyes. Softer tone. Possibly daydreaming about samosas.
He may hear a long emotional argument and nod slowly. He might say, “Okay, let’s consider this humanely…” He could even smile — a rare judicial phenomenon.
The same judge who grilled you at 11:00 a.m. might grant relief at 4:30 p.m. with a gentle, “Hmm, alright.”
So if you ever appear before him—Bring your law, your logic… and maybe a plate of intriguing arguments. Because in his court, justice is not just delivered —It is timed between lunch breaks, traffic updates, and unpredictable brilliance.
His anger may last five minutes; his wisdom lasts a lifetime.Strict But Fair. Moody But Wise.
Mr. Grey White (One of amongst many Hon'ble Supreme Court Judges): "Highly Liberal, rarely Technical, Justice oriented."
Aged? Yes.
Experienced? Beyond measure.Hair? A majestic combination of grey, white, and wisdom—the kind of hair that makes you want to stand up and say “Yes, My Lord” before he even walks in.
Once a fiery trial court judge, then a High Court heavyweight, and now recommended to the Supreme Court by the Collegium.
His Judgment Is Final. His Patience Is Not.
He’s read thousands of files.He’s written hundreds of judgments.And now, he reads fresh petitions like a school principal checking last-minute homework.If he raises one eyebrow at you, even your most confident argument might start stammering.
He doesn't need to say “Order reserved.”His silence itself is a judgment.
He’s Seen the Whole Drama: Appeals, Reviews, Regrets, Repeat. Over the decades, Hon’ble Mr. Grey White has seen every version of Indian legal cinema:
The Emotional Petition: “My Lord, my family has suffered for 47 years…”
The Repetitive Review: “Same facts, just a fancier font, My Lord.”
The Regretful Apology: “I deeply regret my earlier regret, My Lord.”
The Reformed Accused: “Now I’m running a yoga center, My Lord.” (who was earlier running a smuggling ring.)
He’s seen lawyers cry, clients collapse, and even junior counsels faint (mostly from caffeine withdrawal).Nothing shocks him anymore.Law Is Long. Life Is Short. Orders Should Be Shorter.
Once upon a time, he wrote 300-page judgments with footnotes, charts, and philosophical quotes. Now?He simply says:“Writ petition disposed of with liberty.”
The man has discovered the magic of brevity.Why?Because he knows:
Litigants can’t afford ten hearings.Lawyers charge by the hour (plus GST).And court files have started resembling ancient scrolls.
So, he focuses on “justice with economy of words.”The Only Thing He Has No Time For: Nonsense.
He knows:When a sob story is genuine.When a delay is deliberate.And when a “technical glitch” is just code for “I forgot the deadline.”
He might grant relief.He might pass a strong order.But above all, he will make sure truth is not lost in legal gymnastics.He Has a Secret Question: How Are Litigants Still Affording All This?
He has no time for drama.No love for delay.And no tolerance for weak arguments dressed in strong perfume.What he truly wants is simple:
“Come prepared. Speak the law. Respect the process. And keep your petition shorter than a movie script.”
Mr. Yellow (One of amongst many junior lawyers) "He is young,He is tired,He is unpaid, Recently hired, in the fear of being fired."
He is the Baby of the Courtroom — fresh out of law school, still figuring out how to tie his band properly. He may not know much about CPC, CRPC, or Life,but he definitely knows where the canteen is — because that's where broken dreams get some samosa therapy. Slow in Learning, Low in Earning, and Always Running.
His legal knowledge is solid… in theory.He knows Article 14 guarantees equality.But in real life, even the chaiwala doesn’t treat him equally — because he still pays in coins.
He is Target Practice for Everyone.Judges. Seniors. Clients. Security guards. Photocopy guys. Everyone takes a turn:
Hon’ble Judge (mildly frustrated): “Are you even a lawyer or just lost on your way to DU campus?”
Senior Advocate (very frustrated): “Why haven’t you typed the brief yet? It was due last night!”
Client (totally confused): “So you are the main lawyer, right? Or the driver?”
His smile? Still intact.
His soul? Slightly cracked.
His bank account? A horror story.
Knows the Law. But Law Doesn’t Know Him Yet.
He has memorized every important case law from college days.Keshavananda Bharati? Yes.Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India? Of course.How to file a rejoinder in 17 copies before lunch? No idea.
Every time he tries to help in court, he gets that look from seniors — the look that says:“Don’t touch anything. Just breathe silently.”But He Has Dreams. Big Ones.
He watches Mr. Black walk into court with swagger, quoting confusing laws and still winning.He watches Mr. White charm the judge with soft words and strong points.And he thinks:
“One day, I’ll be like them. But richer. Definitely richer.”
Every time a case is adjourned, he sighs.Every time his senior says “Draft it again,” he cries inside. Every time the client ignores him, he pretends he didn’t notice. But he never quits.
He stays.
He listens.
He learns.
And slowly, painfully, he grows.
From carrying bags…
To carrying files…
To carrying arguments…
Someday, he’ll carry a full-fledged case.And maybe… just maybe… he’ll carry the day in court.In Conclusion: A Junior Today, A Legend Tomorrow (With Better Shoes).
He may be laughed at now.He may be ignored today.But the baby of the courtroom has one thing no one can take —Unpaid optimism and unlimited chai-fuelled dreams. And who knows?
In a few years, he might be the one shouting at juniors, confusing judges, and sending bills that look like Supreme Court volumes.So if you see him in court, struggling with a giant bag and a tiny voice, don’t laugh.
Because hidden under that overstuffed black coat…is the future Mr. Black.
Mr. Brown (One of amongst many court clerks)"Also known as : file kahan hai? guy."
He doesn’t wear a black coat.He doesn’t say “Your Lordship.”He doesn’t shout “Objection, My Lord!” But make no mistake—he is the unofficial manager of the courtroom.If the Hon’ble Judge is the brain, and the lawyers are the mouth, then this man is the spine—slightly bent, overworked, and holding everything together with binder clips.
He is The Clerk, Looks pale yellow? That’s Just His Default Setting. Yes, he looks like he hasn't slept since the GST Act came into force.But that’s just because he’s been chasing paperwork that mysteriously disappears and reappears like magic.
His uniform is simple:
Faded shirt
Ink-stained fingers
Face like a man who’s read 10,000 names today and forgot his own
People assume he’s slow.They assume he’s just “a file guy.”But only a fool underestimates the man who knows where the file is buried—sometimes literally. Brown, Not From Sunlight—But From Courtroom Survival.
His complexion?A unique mix of dusty file brown, photocopy black, and chai-stain beige.He breathes in file dust instead of oxygen and swears he once coughed out a photocopied page of a 1987 judgment.He Knows Every Code—But None of Them Are Legal.
No, he doesn't know Section 420 IPC.But he knows the exact shelf where that old eviction file is hiding, buried under a mountain of case laws and one leftover samosa wrapper.
He speaks in a unique code language:
“Bundle 19A-Upper Shelf” = Civil revision matter
“Red thread wala” = Urgent case
“Woh file jo madam ne last week li thi” = Missing forever
And when someone dares to say, “The file is missing,”he doesn’t panic.He just adjusts his spectacles and whispers:
“Chamber ke peeche dekho. Third drawer. Behind the Election Commission folder.”
Boom. Found.He’s Not in the Bar or on the Bench, But He’s in Every Movement.He doesn’t argue cases.
He doesn’t pass judgments.But the Judge doesn’t start court till he nods that everything is ready.
Without him, the courtroom is like a Wi-Fi printer—expensive, overqualified, but totally useless without the right connection. Master of Time (and Delay).He can make time move.Not metaphorically. Literally.
Want your file to reach the Judge today?Smile, say please, and maybe offer a biscuit. Want to delay your case for a week?He knows which pigeonhole to "accidentally" drop it in.
He doesn’t bend the law.He just… tangles it slightly to teach it patience.He’s a Volcano of Forgotten Deadlines
Inside him simmers a pressure cooker of:
Half-typed orders, Lawyers demanding certified copies “ASAP”,Judges asking “Why is this file not on my table?”,Registry clerks on the phone yelling, “WHERE IS THE ANNEXURE?!”
And through it all, he survives.With only two weapons:A fading rubber stamp, Unofficial power
The Hero Without a Post, But With a Post-It for Everything.
In the hierarchy of court, he may not be high.But in the reality of court, he’s the guy who ensures that anything moves at all. He’s never mentioned in case law.But if courts had end credits, he’d be first in line.
So the next time you walk into a courtroom and wonder how this massive machine of justice keeps rolling—Don’t look at the judge. Don’t look at the lawyers.Just follow the smell of strong tea and the sound of stamping paper.
There, you’ll find The Clerk Who Runs the Show—the silent superhero in a dusty shirt,who files , files faster than a speeding adjournment.
Mr. Green(One of amongst many Right holders)"The Right Holder – Truthful, Hopeful, and Hopelessly Contesting"
Every courtroom needs drama.Every drama needs a hero.And in our great Indian legal theater, that hero is often “The Innocent Party.”
He walks in — not with a lawyer’s confidence, but with documents, hope, and a trembling folder that’s been stapled so many times it qualifies as an antique.
He’s not there to argue.He’s there to beg justice to look his way just once — like a middle-class dad hoping the waiter notices his table.He Believes in Truth. But Truth Has a Busy Schedule. He grew up hearing that “sach ki hamesha jeet hoti hai.”
Well, now he knows — truth does win, but only after 47 adjournments, 12 affidavits, 8 photocopies, and a mental breakdown.
He believes his story will move the judge.He believes his documents will bring justice.He believes the law will protect him. But the only thing that protects him is a cheap umbrella and an expired hope. He Brings Every Document Ever Printed. He places it all lovingly on the judge’s table…only to hear:
“This matter is not listed today. Come back next week.”
His hope? Deferred.
His heart? Crushed.
His file? Still heavy.
But real life doesn’t work like that.You can wave a court order all you want — the shopkeeper still won’t vacate, the police still won’t file FIR, and the builder still won’t return your money. The only thing that disappears is his sleep and peace of mind. He Tries to Speak in Court, But the System Speaks Louder. But before he utters a full sentence:
“Your matter will be called later.”
“Please speak through your counsel.”
“We are not hearing this today.”
“Put up after lunch.”
“Call next case.”
And just like that, he’s muted. By a system louder than his pain.He Tries Every Department. All of Them Try His Patience.
Still, he smiles weakly… because that’s all he can afford.He’s Not a Litigant. He’s a Survivor.
He didn’t want to come to court.
He didn’t want to hire a lawyer.
He didn’t want to know what “Caveat” or “Objection” means.Instead, he got a lesson in law, delay, and despair.
But here’s the wild part—he still believes in the system.He still comes.Still files replies.Still folds his hands before Hon’ble Judges with hope in his eyes. But he understands this:"In court, even the truth has to wait its turn."
Mr. Red (One of many violators) "The law-mis interpreter with Confidence: “Dates Please, Not Judgments”
He walks into court not with fear……but with flair.While most people in court carry a worried face, a fat file, and a prayer—he carries A confident smile,A phone on silent-but-vibrating
And a lawyer who charges more per hour than the flight that brought him here.
He is not a criminal.
He is not a saint.
He is something far more dangerous.
He is... legally flexible.
His favourite line? “Kya date mili?”(Because all he ever came for was the next one.) While Others Bring Documents, He Brings Influence.
You might carry: Photocopies,Affidavits, Notarized statements,Handwritten emotional appeals. He brings none of that.He brings... someone who knows someone who once met someone important.
"You have paperwork.He has network."
His Lawyer? A Walking Armani Suit with Law Degree.He doesn’t hire lawyers. He recruits them like cricket players.No “local lawyer uncle” for him.No junior counsel who forgets the section numbers.He comes with an entire legal orchestra—advocates, interns, coffee boy, and one silent man who just folds papers impressively.
His brief is never brief.It is typed in gold font, spiral bound, and smells faintly of imported cologne. Loopholes Are His Playground, While others look at the law as rules to follow,he sees it as a maze to escape. He’s polite, smooth, and oh-so-formal.But somehow, the moment he stands up, the judge’s face says, “Yeh phir aa gaya.”He begins every sentence with:
“With utmost humility and deepest respect…”And ends with:“…we request a short adjournment.”
And magically, he gets it. Most of the time.He’s Not the Villain—He’s Just... Exceptionally Creative.Look, he doesn’t technically break the law.He just stretches it, like pizza dough, till it becomes unrecognizable.
He’s not unethical.He’s just “ethically adventurous.”
He’s not guilty.He’s just strategically misunderstood. He’s not here for justice.He’s here for survival. Court is his game.Delay is his victory dance.And “Next Date” is his national anthem.
So, the next time someone tells you, “Justice delayed is justice denied,”just remember—
he’s the one who delayed it… but with a very charming smile.
Mr. Orange (One of amongst many media persons) "He is not a lawyer,He is not a judge.,He is not even a clerk, but often reporting sans, true understanding"
But somehow, he knows everything, questions everyone, and blames someone—all before lunch.
Meet Mr. Orange, the loudest voice in the entire court complex—sometimes louder than the court bell, definitely louder than the facts.
He walks into court like he's reporting from a war zone, whispering into the mic like it’s a national secret, while standing next to the tea stall.Armed with Mic, Cameraman & ‘Masala Vocabulary’
His weapons of choice: A mic that’s seen more drama than Indian TV serials,A cameraman who silently regrets all his life decisions.A dictionary full of dramatic adjectives: “shocking,” “explosive,” “earth-shattering,” and of course, “Constitutional crisis!”
When a lawyer ask for a date?Mr. Orange reports:“In a shocking turn of events, justice was postponed once again, leaving millions heartbroken!” And turns every adjournment into “a threat to democracy!”Where You See Procedure, He Sees Conspiracy.
Mr. Orange: “EXCLUSIVE: Is this delay a hidden plot to suppress the voice of the common man?”
A notice served after two years?He calls it: “Legal Ghosting.”
A client crying outside?He reports: “Judicial heartbreak LIVE – we bring you tears, tension, and turmeric tea!”Always Reporting. Sometimes Understanding too.
Because in the world of Mr. Orange, sensation is more important than sense. He’s not here for accuracy.He’s here for airtime. And even though:
Mr. Orange stands tall, outside the court gate, pointing at the camera and saying: “Truth will prevail… right after this ad break!”
(Mr. A to Mr. Z etc.)"Because alphabets hurt no one, but can reflect all."
As for Mr. A to Mr. Z etc which shall be used in coming episodes, Yes, they stand for people. No, they are not real names. Why Alphabets, You may Ask? Well, because naming people may be risky.If we name a character Mr. Sharma, someone will say, “Why always us Sharmas?” If we use Mr. Khan, someone else will tweet, “Aha! Agenda exposed!” If we say Ms. Iyer, a WhatsApp group will suddenly start discussing South Indian representation.
So instead, we said: “Let the alphabet take the blame.”
From Mr. A to Mr. Z, every character is:
Fake, but frighteningly familiar.Made-up, but very much based on real-life legends.
Symbolic, but don’t lie—you’ve met them. At court, at work, at the chai tapri.
Each Letter is Not Just a Name, yaar. It’s a full-on personality.
A may be a “client”—or so he says, in between selling apples and giving free stock market gyaan. He tells everyone, “I run the apple business,” with Steve Jobs-level confidence. But please, don't get excited—this A sells actual apples, mostly outside court, sometimes suspiciously shiny. He once said, “Next time an apple falls, I’ll file case against gravity.”
B may be one hailing from Benaras and he’s full josh. Spiritual businessman. One day he's filing PILs against DJ music, next day he's selling Ganga jal in tiny bottles calling it “liquid evidence.” He speaks in Sanskrit-laced legalese and for reasons only God knows, always brings a tabla to court. Yes, tabla.
C may be a Chartered Accountant. Why? Because he once downloaded a CA PDF. Now he calls himself “CFO of A & Associates (only employee: also A).” His balance sheets look like modern art and he once deducted GST from pani puri. He’s also giving legal advice to D. Which is very scary, because...
D may be a driver—but don’t underestimate him. Knows more court gossip than the registry. He reverse parks logic and forwards WhatsApp “judgments” like they’re Supreme Court orders. Spends most of his time in parking lot, playing cards and calling himself “the killer of time.”
E may be an ex-court reader. And by “ex,” we mean he got kicked out for reading Chetan Bhagat during dictation. Now he roams the corridor correcting people’s Latin, and randomly whispers “res ipsa loquitur” behind judges for fun.
F may be the court file. Poor fellow. Mutilated by photocopies, missing half the time, and carrying secrets, soda stains, and 2011 adjournment slips. Smells like paper, stress, and betrayal.
G may be Giant Senior Lawyer. Giant in size, louder in voice, and biggest in fees. Charges by the breath, and files affidavits fatter than the Constitution. Starts every argument with “My Learned Friend...” and ends with a 6-digit invoice. When he walks into court, even the stenographer stands up. Judge sometimes pretends to be on leave.
H may be the Head Clerk—but don’t be fooled by the “Head.” He hasn’t moved from his chair since 1997. Controls case numbers like a DJ controls the beat. Want your matter listed fast? Bring samosa and respect. He types with two fingers and gives side-eye with full power.
I may be the intern—fresh from law college, carrying files, dreams, and confusion. Thinks “mentioning” means name dropping, and “listing” is some kind of online shopping. Drinks more coffee than arguments, and always asks, “Sir, where is Court No. 12?” (Court No. 12 does not exist.)
J may be Judge’s peon—undisputed boss of the courtroom. He decides when fan goes on, when door stays shut, and occasionally, who enters. Speaks only in monosyllables: “Hmm.” “Nahin.” “Baith.” Wields the judge’s teacup like a sceptre. If you’re nice, you get a chair. If not, you stand like statue.
And so it goes on—from K to Z, each one a beautiful disaster in our legal circus.
They’re not just characters. They’re reflections.Cracked by confusion,Twisted by legal arguments,And occasionally wiped clean—when the Hon’ble Judge is not on leave or in migraine mode.
So buckle up.Because coming up are the tales of Mr. A to Mr. Z—each one louder, sillier, smarter, sadder, and more court-kacheri-certified than the last.
(Not to hurt, but to heal the Judgement delivery mechanism)
Let’s get this straight— No, this story is not a personal attack. No, this is not contempt of court. Rather I respect the Law, Lawyers, Litigants and Hon'ble Judges. And definitely It is not here to mock the legal system.It’s here to tickle it. Lovingly. With a feather of satire.
You see, the legal world—our judges, lawyers, clerks, litigants, and reporters—is not just full of rules and robes.It’s also full of drama, delays, deep sighs, and chai breaks.It's serious—but also seriously funny, if you’ve survived a few hearings.
So why not laugh a little?Why Satire? Why Now?Because sometimes, laughter can say what petitions cannot.
Let’s be honest. Some legal realities are too strange for logic and too slow for Netflix. So, we use satire.
It doesn’t insult the Bench.It just gently points out, “My Lord, your Lordship's wifi is slower than the case progress.” When Done Right, Satire Doesn’t Hurt. It Heals. You see, satire is not a slap. It’s a smirk. It doesn’t say, “You're wrong.”It says, “We’ve all been wrong. Let’s do better, but first—have a laugh.”
And no, it’s not meant to offend. It’s meant to reflect.To amuse. Intention is not to ridicule, but to reform. To wake up the sleeping parts of the system with a gentle nudge and a giggle.Because Justice Deserves Laughter Too.
Respectfully Ridiculous And submitted with humor and humility
By The Lawfing Laywer,Advocate Ajay Amitabh Suman
Patent and Trademark Attorney,Delhi High Court
Lawfing Tales of Law, Lawyers and Litigation
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
