This is a guest blog from attorney, Amarbir Singh Shergill, a Private Legal Practitioner in the Hon’ble Punjab and Haryana High Court at Chandigarh, India since 2019. He earned his B.A.LLB (Hons.) and LLM (Criminology) from Panjab University, Chandigarh, India. His website, The Half Said Blog, is a space where he “confront[s] the difficult, the unspoken, and the complex issues that shape our lives but rarely get the attention they deserve from mental health & wellbeing and societal issues to love & relationships.”
INTRODUCTION
Millions of lawyers in India rush to court every day in the hope that today will be different, praying to their respective deities that a client will walk through their door—if they are privileged enough to have a chamber—or simply bump into someone needing legal advice. And each day, a majority of them return home with the hope that perhaps tomorrow will be different, repeating the same exercise of faith in perpetuity.
This routine of endless hope is not just a professional challenge but an emotional burden. It is the slow yet sure realization that their aspirations might never materialize. The Indian legal system, festered with rewards for the privileged and resourceful, amplifies this harsh reality. This realization itself triggers a spiral of doubt, low self-esteem, lack of confidence, and mental health challenges.
REWARDING PRIVILIGE VERSUS MERIT
As a fresh graduate from law school, I was full of zeal to aid the delivery of justice and use the courtroom to make law and justice accessible to those in need. Guided by principles such as “the law is equal to all,” I toiled during my initial years as a Junior Associate, holding onto the hope that my time would come.
Long working days were the norm. Often working for a minimum of 12 hours, I would stagger home to my rented accommodation, too tired to arrange dinner at times. Despite my efforts, it was evident that my professional value far outweighed my remuneration.
The hope of achieving success through hard work began to falter as I confronted the reality of the deeply ingrained nepotism and preferential treatment that permeates the legal profession. Sons and daughters of second- and third-generation lawyers or judges were effortlessly granted opportunities. My unwavering conviction to work hard gave way to doubts, leading to an internal battle of low self-esteem and self-worth.
This discrepancy in opportunity raises profound questions about equity in the profession. Does merit even stand a chance? And if not, what does this signify for the countless lawyers who do not come from privilege?
