Internship Diaries...

‘This is it?’ This is the first thought that struck me, as I entered into the Courtroom. It’s a haven, a place that’s almost sacred for the students in the legal field. So when I entered a Courtroom for the first time in my life, I had expected some intense feeling to overpower me. Some ancient wisdom to whisper in my ears. Some wonderful sensation to wash over me, to tell me this is where the greatest miracles take place. But all I thought was- ‘This is it?’
Bollywood is a bad teacher. So are, in a way, law schools. It impresses on your young little head that Courtrooms are huge rooms, furnished with large spacious seating arrangements and perfectly polished hardwood podiums and witness boxes. And of course, with lots of AIRs and SCCs in neatly stacked piles and the formidable white clock and the Father of the Nation staring down at the proceedings. Somehow, however, the Sessions Court is nothing like this. Mahatma Gandhi may have a road named after him in almost every city in India, but I am yet to meet him in a Courtroom. The podium is old, wood chipping out at odd angles, making me worry about the expensive blazers of the lawyers. The seating is limited, and by it, I mean you have to seriously consider the number of family members you’re planning to bring in for support, unless they’re cool with sitting on the crooked benches outside. The concealed wiring is all over the walls, questioning the ‘concealed’ bit of it. The method of escorting accused persons to their respective Courtrooms- by tying a thick rope on their arms and a Police Officer clutching the other end of the rope- reminds you of the way cows and buffaloes are treated, making the system plain inhuman. In fact, on Day One, the sheer number of criminals and Policemen around freaked me out. The cops on the other hand, are never the lean and mean types. They appear like contestants for the show ‘Biggest Loser Jeetega’ and the tight belt stretched across their Santa Claus bellies is almost painful to watch. Then again, lawyers aren’t the short and crisp types, like their B-wood counterparts. Moots have got this part right. Lawyers are a talkative lot. Their opening statements, final arguments, bail applications are all long winded and its funny to think that the material they base their talks are on are known as ‘briefs’.
Another thing that I learned in my internship is that real-time is scary. In the safe confines of fake cases, blood and gore might seem to be my bread and butter. Mohan the servant and Anamika the accused might seem to be fun to cross-question because I know once the court official raises the ‘TIME UP’ placard, Mohan and Anamika will become Sushant and Ritika, the first year-ites whom I absolutely adore. But in the Court room, Varsha (name changed) will always remain the woman whose husband was killed was by his own brother-in-law in a marriage function. So I wile away time with Sushil, a guy who has been accused under the Domestic Violence Act. It’s easier to ask him what was wrong with the marriage, instead of posing the same question to Varsha. It is somehow comforting to go through the Applicant’s reply and point out the flaws to him than to simply meet her and get an affidavit made. When its real life, even the thought that murder is sensational and interesting feels cold and lifeless.
The Family Court has been the other place that I have frequented in the past few days. This place, again, has a character of its own. I am not yet adept at finding my way around the premises, but FC is the easily identifiable, distinct area with green shades. What is alluring about FC is the high performance drama which forms a part of the staple diet of the hearings. One of the Court Officials here has a ridiculous sing-song voice in which he announces the names of the cases up for hearing, as if it’s his own little mechanism of beating the boredom in a place where he has to call out random names all day. Then again, the names are called out as ‘Rohini-Sohan’ or ‘Shirish-Manasi’. It feels strange when people who have lined up for divorce or to fight for custody have their names called out together, leaving out the ‘versus.’ It’s almost like a strange intimacy still remains between them. Everything in FC has way too much emotion. Lawyers arguing here ask for custody urging the Court ‘to understand the emotional condition of the child’; parties often break down in full view of the Court; wife accuse husbands to be emotional torturers and husbands state that their wives are mentally unstable.
In fact, these savagely fighting couples make me question the entire purpose of counseling. That reminds me, the Counselor’s office has a story of its own. The outside board proclaims lunch hour in bold letters, making it clear that between 1:00-2:00, we don’t care what happens to your marriage. You have been fighting for a year, another hour won’t kill you. There also happen to be a number of married women who work as councilors. I wonder what they counsel on the days they have a heated argument with the hubby!
Finally, the notice board outside the office states ‘Papa, Mummy & kid create family, Missing any of them, Makes picture incomplete.’ Maybe this explains why arguments in courtroom seem like a constant flipping of channels between Star Movies and Zee Marathi. The fat Court diaries, the faded files, the-ten-rupees-a-bunch tags and the white collar that strangely resembles Veet waxing strips may not conform to our beliefs of the classic Courtroom setup we’ve grown up with. But as days go by, I realize that for all its faults, it actually is the place where miracles happen, where people end up getting justice and have their faith rewarded. It may not be perfect, but it is Indian Judiciary in action.
And in it, I see my future.

A Lonely Night...

I officially removed the song ‘Lonely’ from my playlist. Whenever Akon crooned that number, it filled me with an intense despair and hopelessness. It was almost like life comes to a jarring halt if you ever end up being lonely. But today, I am considering adding that song to my playlist once again. Because, as I just realized, being lonely is not that hopeless after all…
Today, by some weird twist and turn of events, it just so happened that things didn’t work out and by the time it was evening, I had no idea where or with whom I was going to dine. I, like the innumerable Pune-hostelites-and-sick-of-the-mess students, recognize the greatness of the mess being closed on Sunday evening, giving us some much needed relief. It’s a custom in almost all mess in Pune and therefore, Sunday dinner is a genuine cause of celebration. And as it an be well predicted, away from the shackles of that disgusting food, its another custom for kids here to meet up their friends and load their stomachs with as much McD fries and Dominoes Pizzas as possible; at least enough to help them sustain till the next glorious Sunday. And this has been my routine as well, for as long as I can remember. That is, until today…
I think it goes without saying that I wasn’t thrilled to spend a Sunday evening all by myself. So, I killed time watching ‘You’ve got Mail’, until the rats in my stomach started with the usual trapeze routine. It signaled dinner, so changing into something more presentable than pyjamas, I left the room. The destination? FC Road, of course. It’s always filled to the brim with people and clothes and sandals and ice-cream stalls. It’s just so hard to feel lonely there. And true to its reputation, FC made me feel like a part of a huge crowd.
What surprised me is the number of things I noticed today. They’ve always been there, every time I’ve been to that place. But they never caught my attention. They never seemed noteworthy. I had never been aware of the conspiratory smile the guy from Iceberg soda gives when you ask for a Fruit Beer… of the young girls, who in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation, suddenly notice a clip or a bangle and realize that life is incomplete without that little thing… of the fact that majority of the people sitting in the Chocolate Room wear XL clothes… of the couples, who are like duplicates of each other, sharing ice-creams or holding hands, but still manage to look cute… of the people who are perfectly well-to-do but will still haggle over ten bucks with the roadside vendor… of the momo guy, who has more customers than all the multiplex momo centres put together but never loses his chinki smile… of the weird mentality of people because of which they prefer cheap clothes over cheap books… of the ladies, who are so busy looking at the shoe display on the walls that they often bump into each other… of the fact that people will get hyper irritated in billing lines in malls but are ready to stand for the better part of an hour when it comes to a chocolate toast… of the simple, little things, like paani-puri and chaat stalls will never be passé or go out of business…
I know it’s hard for you to not think that I had a miserable time and I am trying to pass it off as a wonderful day by writing this piece. Truth be told, it’s more like the Pune traffic… If you stand on the side waiting for the traffic to stop so that you can cross the road, you’ll probably end up stranded on the side the entire night. You’ve to have faith and take the plunge. You’ve to start walking and you’ll see the vehicles making way for you. Same way, you’ve to let go of the comfort of your close knit group and spend a day alone. Maybe, like me, you’ll end up seeing the things that were always in front of your eyes but never really made it to your retina…
So now I know, Akon has overrated the fears of being lonely. It’s not even halfway as bad as he makes it sound. Give up the security of your little group and give yourself a chance to become a part of the city, the society and the world as a whole… Because, the most amazing things happen when you are least expecting them…
Hold that thought!!