Excerpts from the book for your reading pleasure. Matter copyrighted. (C) Dr L.Prakash. For permission to copy for review, or other uses, please email the author at drlprakash@gmail.com
1 The Young Lawyer
Matunga in Bombay is a busy residential locality, which has a preponderance of South Indian Settlers. Collectively referred to as ‘Madrasi’ or ‘Baharwala’ (outsider) by a local Mumbaikar and a, Shiv Sainik, the entire ethnic Dravidian population below line drawn in the lower fourth of the Indian map, and belonging to the four states of Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh were collectively referred to as such.
This group of the so-called Madrasi population, ranged from the toilet cleaners and bhangis from coastal Tamilnadu and living in the slums bordering the railway tracks, to the sophisticated baboos and IAS officers who lived in the posh administrative officer’s colony in Matunga. And between these two ends, the Madrasi population included rowdies and goondas (Vardha Bhai group) peons and tea shop owners (Mapillai’s from Kerala), corner shop Tamil Bhais selling every thing from Cigarette to a pack of Smack (Kellakarai Tamil Muslims), clerks, stenos and typists in the myiarads of government and private offices (mostly Brahmins from Kerala, Karnataka, and Tamilnadu), financial analysts, insurance salesmen & sub brokers (spectacled Iyers from Palaghat and Iyengars from Kumbakonam), middle level businessmen (Opticians, Pharmacists and wholesale distributors for Godrej and Boyce and Hindustan Lever), and finally the young second generation youth, the future of today and tomorrow, the second generation Bombayite (who abhors the word Mumbai) and who dislikes being called a Madrasi.
This last mentioned group consists of young ladies and gentlemen, who are tellers in banks, computer programmers, animation programmers, movie sound technicians, commission agents, young lawyers, younger engineers and freshly qualified doctors. This group has been born and brought up in Mumbai, soaked in local culture, forgotten to read or write Tamil, spoke a smattering of Tamil with one Hindi and two English words per sentence, and called themselves as plain Indians. Our hero belonged to this group.
Tanjore Ganesh Swaminathan, was twenty seven years old, and a Junior Advocate working as the left little finger, to Mr. Makhija, MA., LLB., BL., PhD., PhD (Criminology), ML – Senior Counsel and Bombay’s leading criminal advocate. Left little finger, because there were ten assistants employed by his firm. The five Senior Assistants, were keenly competing with each other for the post of Mr. Makhija’s Right hand man.
He was the juniormost of the remaining five and hence could only justify a ‘left little finger man’, rather than a right hand man. Swami, as he was called by his friends, had completed his bachelor of law degree, from the Ambedkar Law College four years ago. The first two years after graduation, were spent as a salaried employee of M/s. Cookson & Richardson – Attorneys – specialist in marine insurance claims, who had their offices not too far away from the docks.
He had been given a lovely office, on the sixth floor, with a window that would face the harbour. There was nothing lovely about the view, because it faced the coal yard of the harbour, and the outside of the window (which had remained unopened since the day thirty six years ago, when it was plastered into the concrete opening) was coated by such a coat of coal dust, that if he strained hard, he could make out the vague forms of black ships, in the black Arabian Sea, unloading black coals, into large mountainous black heaps.
But apart from the view, he had a perfect job and a perfect life. He carried home a handsome salary (twenty two thousand rupees a month. Six hundred rupees more than what his father made after a twenty-five year service) a spacious cabin (Nine feet wide by twelve feet long with a wall sized window. But the window is not too competent to perform its assigned duties of allowing clean air and bright light in, as has been already described), a cute Anglo Indian Secretary (Miss Minny Fernandez, whose low cut blouse would display the bra edge or the short skirts her frilly panties at least three times a day, to keep his spirits buoyant), a lovely Computer (Pentium IV with a broadband DSL internet connection) and a job without pressures and deadlines. (Your client does not die, if the Insurance Cheque is delayed by a few days).
Swamy lived in Matunga with his parents, (Mr. Tanjore Raman Ganesh and Mrs. Arundhati Ganesh) married sister (Mrs. Godbole. Yes! Don’t be surprised about a sudden change of names from an Iyer to a Maratha. We would come to it at the appropriate time in the narration), a married elder brother with his family (Tanjore Ganesh Sreenivasan alias Durai, his wife Sweety Ganesh and their two year old son Paramashivam alias Pappu Ganesh and a brown terrier Casper) (again don’t ask me where is Mr. Godbole, or what happened to her kids. Of course you would have not lost the thread due to long sentences and forgotten by now, that she is Swamy’s sister. But as promised earlier I would come to it at the appropriate part of the narration. Wont do to put a cart before a horse and all that) and finally Narayanan a domestic servant from native Kumbakonam. An observant reader with an adequate expertise in his third ‘R’ would justifiably presume that the above listed members of a mega joint family, would be living in a palatial bungalow in Matunga. (The observation would be reasonable because with nine occupants – Parents, Swami, brother, sister-in-law, kid, dog, servant & sister – one has to Calculate the area needed for accommodation)
But the real facts run contrary to such presumptions, because the fourth floor flat in Matunga, was all of seven hundred and sixty sq. feet in size, with one drawing cum dining room (large enough to swing a cat), one big bedroom (same size as Swamy’s office cubicle) one small bedroom (cant swing even a mouse without hitting the walls) a kitchen (even smaller, like a big broom cupboard) a common toilet (medium broom cupboard) and a small toilet attached to the master bedroom (suitable for people below four feet height and 40 kg. weight). The two balconies had been grilled and walled to make two additional prison cell sized sleeping areas, one occupied by the married sister – Lalli Godbole and the other by the dog Casper. (No! please have a little patience. I know that your imagination is running wild, such a small balcony and how can Mr. and Mrs. Godbole squeeze in! Patience dear reader, you are running too fast. Mr. Godbole does not stay in this Matunga flat, and thus though cramped and tiny, the walled up verandah is adequate for Lalli! More about Mr. Godbole at an appropriate time).
The living arrangements were thus quite uncomplicated. The big, ‘toilet attached’ master bedroom (yes the one that is the same size as Swaminathan’s office cubicle) was occupied by the parents. The small bedroom was the domain of the sister-in-law. Swamy’s brother occupied it. The servant Narayanan slept in the kitchen, while Swamy used the drawing room sofa, which could be opened up to a bed.
Thus about two years prior to the start of the story, Swamy would get up at 6.00 a.m., get ready by 7.00 a.m., eat breakfast of idlies and chuttney and leave his house by 7.30 a.m. The Matunga railway station was not too far from his house. A forty minute ride by a suburban train got him to Mazagoan and his office, where he would spend a leisurely day. He stayed in his office for ten to twelve hours, and appeared to be busy on his computer. But in actual fact, his real job would only be a couple of reports a day, and that too he could generate with a half an hour of cut and paste activity.
The rest of the time, he spent surfing the net, forwarding dirty jokes & mails, Yahoo chatting friends and generally browsing the net, because internet research was one of his assigned job duties. In between, he would get a BID or TID dose of a flash of cleavage or a panty-line through a raised skirt, as Miss Minny Fernandez, shamelessly flirted with him. Minny was of Goaneese origin with some Portuguese blood in her, and was built as if she was destined to act in triple X pornographic movies. Her body language and gestures towards Swamy, seemed to reemphasize this idea. It was clear that, if Swamy wanted to show her his stamp collection, or the stickers in his bathroom mirror, all he had to do was to ask.
However, Swamy did not collect stamps, and the sofa cum bed in the drawingroom was too tiny even for one person. Furthermore he could not imagine testing the cushions and springs, because the sofa creaked loudly. As it is, the walls in the flat, were so thin, that Swamy would clearly get the sounds from either of the bedrooms, as the couple in there went about with the nocturnal aerobics.
Of the proposed activities in his brother’s room, he would get advance notice, when his nephew Pappu was sent to sleep with him. But he could never predict about the activities in his parent’s room. His father would be about fifty-five, while his mother was forty-six. Despite this, their love making sounds seemed to be louder, shouts more energetic and the cots more creaky, than his brother and sister in law. And on the nights when both couples decided to take a furlough, the collective noise, would be loud enough to wake Pappu, who would insist on going to his parents.
During these times, he would get irritated, dump the boy with Lalli, and get back to sleep. And thus when he thought of simultaneous yogic excises, in a paired or bonded position with Minnie, he had to discard the drawing room sofa, for a lot of reasons, least of all logistics. He could of course take her to one of those seedy rooms by the hour lodges in Colaba (one hundred and fifty rupees per hour, one towel, one small Hamam soap and one packet of deluxe Nirodh-courtesy of the management ) and knew that he would not have to ask twice. But Swaminathan was not too impressed by her brains, and was afraid of complications. He could imagine a scene in which she would smile at him playfully and say,
“Swami darling! You remember that RK lodge about two months ago! Yes! Yes the same time when you burst the condom in you eagerness and over enthusiasm! Well! I think that you have scored a target. Ohmigosh yes! I have missed my period! Isn’t it wonderful? I have already confessed to the pastor. When are you coming home? Mama will be terribly pleased to meet you. And she makes such lovely fenny. And she will be so glad to know about this! We would no longer have to go to seedy lodges. The master bedroom in our Colaba flat is lovely!.”
Mr. T.G. Swaminathan, Advocate, would not have minded too much, if Miss. Minny Fernandez had been one of those fire band feminist women, like her seventh cousins in Portugal, who believed in free love and single parentage. Not only her bedroom, he would have been glad enough to use her dining table too. And he would not mind a voyeuristic mother-in-law watching from the kitchen door.
But No! Swamy, was more worried of the closer cousins, first and second, who would be her Goaneese fisherman brothers, with anchor tattoos on their bulging biceps, and would smoke smelly pipes like Popeye. It would be a different matter altogether, that they would prefer sugarcane navy rum to a tin of spinach, and would take less than ten seconds to dress up a reluctant Swami in a three piece suit like Amitabh Bachan in Amar Akbar Anthony, and physically carry him to the catholic church, where to a priest’s question, the dozen drunk sailors would chorus “Yes indeed He does!” He does!” These were the considerations that stopped him from proceeding beyond eye tonics, while he continued to live his mundane and meandering life, as a junior legal officer, (claims adjustment) in the old firm of M/s Cookson and Richardson, when he suddenly stumbled on a book that changed his entire life.
Swaminathan was not a reader of fiction. Thus, if he had seen this book in a book shop, he would have given it a wide berth, and gone to the magazine section, from which he would have picked up a Computers Today, Outlook, Debonair and a copy of Penthouse, if it had not been already sold out. However fate plays strange tricks, and tiny events produce such a dramatic deviation in our life, that its course is changed forever. And some such thing happened to Swaminathan in the suburban train. Normally women do not board general compartments in Bombay local suburban trains. This is not because the general compartments do not reach their destination while a woman’s compartment would. This is because of GFTSBF syndrome, that afflicts the Bombay males, between the ages of ten and eighty, especially when traveling by suburban trains. And this complex acronym GFTSBF is not a serious medical condition. It can be expanded to Groping, Feeling, Touching, Sliding, Brushing and Fondling Hands syndrome.
This is not to imply that such a phenomenon is totally unknown in the ladies compartment. It is there, but as the percentage of dykes or lesbians amongst the female population in Mumbai was less than seven point six percent (Femina/ORG survey 2002), the GFTSBF incidents in the ladies compartment, were lesser. Thus, it was unusual for a girl or a lady to enter a general compartment, unless she was a part of a group.
Occasionally, the train would have already started leaving the platform, as a commuter enters, and such a commuter, is forced to board the first compartment, that he or she faces. And in this case, if the passenger is a knock out drop-dead gorgeous female, and the compartment is a general one, there is a sudden outbreak of the Groping, Feeling, Touching, Sliding, Brushing hand Syndrome, which was what assailed the pretty young lady, who boarded Swaminathan’s compartment on that Monday morning.
Of course, T.G. Swaminathan (Lawyer), did not own that coach, nor did his father own shares in the Indian Railway. We have used “his compartment” because he had been occupying it at that time. And he was concerned at the discomfort, that this pretty blue sareed girl, was facing at that moment. He caught her eye, gave her a nod, and vacated his seat. She gave a smile of grateful acknowledgment, and sat down on the seat vacated by him.
A hundred disappointed hands went back to riffling hairs, holding top bars, and taking out or replacing handkerchiefs, while a hundred angry eyes glowered at Swamy. No! (An observant reader, who pointed out about only a hundred arms for hundred eyes, and concluded that the compartment was full of one eyed kanas, is wrong. You can not use both hands for the GFTSBF game, because a standing passenger, needs at least one hand to retain his hold on the ceiling bar or ceiling straps)
It was too crowded, and the train was too noisy for them to talk. They just kept smiling at each other, as the train rocked, and she got down at the next station, to board the ladies compartment. Swamy sat down on the empty seat, and felt a bump under his bum. It was a book!
2
Resignation
The train surged ahead at a great speed, and Swami put his hand on the seat below his buttock to feel the object that was digging into him. He pulled it out and it was a Novel. A paperback novel. He glanced at the cover. It read “A STREET LAWYER, JOHN GRISHAM “
It was a thick book with fine letters. He riffled it and looked at the close print. He realized that the girl had accidentally left it. Swamy gave a smile. This was exactly as it would happen in a Subash Ghai movie. A Damsel in Distress, (lady in blue saree being touched by a hundred eager GFTSBF hands), a knight in shinny Armour who helps her, (Swamy who has given her his seat), a forgotten novel and a romantic situation.
He would look at the first page of the novel and identify her phone number. He would then make a call to her. The first call would be on ordinary “I found your book – when shall I return it” call. She would of course tell him the date time and place and the movie could race ahead thereafter.
A villain could be introduced, (The girls’ brother! If she has no brother, she could borrow Minny Fernandez’s cousins). Certain confusions and misunderstandings added, (He sees her kissing a guy who later turns out to be her brother and she sees him in the park with Lalli and Pappu and misunderstands them for his family before knowing the truth that the girl was his sister, (despite having an odd name like Mrs. Godbole) and the child his nephew, (notwithstanding the fact that he calls Swamy Daddy. He calls his father as Appa) and all would sort out in the end. Before the train could get to the next station, Swaminathan’s mental DVD had already imagined the seventy-sixth scene – Honeymoon in Kodaikanal. No! Why Kodaikanal! If Subash Ghai makes the movie, it would be in Switzerland or Finland.
He realized that he could not contact her, unless he knew her name and telephone number. He quickly turned to the first page. The only writing on it was in pencil which said Rs. 395/-, below this was a seal of India Book House, Churchgate – Bombay. He quickly flipped to the second page. No writing. Last page – None either. He then riffled the whole book, but found that it was unmarked.
The train was slowing towards the next station, when he had his brainwave. He would get down at the station and locate her in the ladies compartment. He would then hand her the book. As she thanked him, he would ask for her phone number. Yes! That is better. That is what the hero would have done in the movie. He would have improvised on the script. He would have got down, located her, returned the book and got an introduction. He looked at the book once again. Street lawyer. He had heard of civil lawyers, criminal lawyers, appellate lawyers, family law and divorce lawyers, and even mundane and boring insurance lawyers, but had not heard of a street lawyer. Colloquial American slang was not one of his strong points.
Then a thought struck to him. It could be a book about law and lawyers. And she too could be a law student or even a recently enrolled lawyer. The possibility was dreamy, and romantic. They could team as professionals as well. They could even start a law firm together. Swaminathan (Mr.) & Swaminathan (Mrs.) Attorneys at law., Civil, Criminal and miscellaneous. The train gave a lurch and he realized that it was starting. In two steps, he bounded out and jumped on the platform, before the train could catch speed. He was left holding the book in one hand and his brief-case in the other, while the train gradually picked up speed. He gazed at the window of the three ladies compartments as they sped bye, but by then the train had picked up so much of a speed, that all he could see, was the faces as one blended to the other.
In a minute, the train had crossed, leaving him on the platform staring at its disappearing rear. It took him a minute to remember, why he had got down. Yes the goddess in blue saree. The second half of Swaminathan and Swaminathan associates, Attorneys and Lawyers. But then his imaginations had kept him so occupied, that he had missed her. Right from childhood, people have called him non attentive, attention deficit, vague, disoriented, confused and later as he grew up-absent minded. But what people did not realize was that, what appeared as absent mindedness was actually as a result of his vivid imagination.
His mind abhorred the straight and narrow path of mathematical logic. His was more creative, vibrant and imaginative, which used to get into a visual graphic array, and traced it as a movie to it’s logical conclusion. It was while he was meandering in the convoluted pathways of his psychic gardens, that his eyes assumed a glazed, unfocussed, seeing but non seeing expression, that made people refer to him as an absent-minded professor. And it was this vivid imagination, that had taken him from a street lawyer to a “Mr. Lawyer and Mrs. Lawyer associates”, that had left him on a platform, vaguely staring at the empty tracks.
This brought him back to the book at hand. He looked back and saw an empty Railway bench with a Western Railway symbol. He briskly walked towards it and sat down. During peak hours, you would get a train in every ten minutes, and Swamy decided to wait for the arrival of the next train. As he waited, he casually flipped the book and started reading it. The first sentence itself was so gripping, that he got engrossed in it, and started reading it. Reading fiction is an art in itself. Different people read fiction differently. English is not a mother tongue of the Indians, each of who, learns it as a second and third language. Thus, when an average Indian reads in English language, it is a complex three steps process. The person first reads the sentence in English as it is written. He then translates it in his own mother tongue, be it Hindi, Marathi, Malayalam, Tulu or Tamil. Once translated, it provides a mental visual image about the scenery. And once the mind has pictured the scenery, it goes on to the next sentence. The process happens continuously, with some degree of overlap, but gets sudden brakes or pauses, when the reader encounters a difficult word or a phrase, out of his social context.
Swami was however totally different in this regard, because his situations had placed him in a strange position, in so far as his languages were concerned. His mother tongue was Tamil, but as he was in Bombay, he had absolutely no chance to learn Tamil at school. English, Hindi and Marathi were his languages in primary school. In middle and high school, he switched to Sanskrit from Marathi. Sanskrit was a lovely language, but he had started learning it too late to start thinking in it. Thus Swami developed a mindset, when he thought in English. He found it to be a lovely language, with an extensive vocabulary. He adored the language, and its sentence formation. It was unfortunate, that he was not exposed to the pleasures of English fiction, and thus had been away from stories and novels until then.
But when he read the book, he was suddenly transported from a suburban station in Bombay, to the United States of America, and its complex legal system, where the lawyers exceeded the doctors, dentists, engineers and accountants combined. It was an extremely well told story, about a young lawyer, who leaves a cushy job in a large firm, with a steady salary, and plunges headlong into street work, defending murderers, rapists, pick pockets and dope peddlers. Swaminathan’s novel reading skills, were growing by the minute, and as he read the novel, he was almost transported across the world, as he lived and breathed with the characters. Unlike a movie or a television serial, where the visual images are fixed and there is absolutely no role for imagination, Swamy found the book a totally different kettle of fish. It was far more vivid and visual.
But one thing Swami did not realize was, that having transported into the pages of the novel, he had totally forgotten about his current surroundings, and was suddenly brought back to the present by the faint rumbles in his stomach, that told him that he was hungry. But then he was a disciplined chap. His stomach was a disciplined stomach. Once he had his breakfast at 7.30 a.m., it would stay quiet till 1.00 p.m. Why should it rumble so soon, and that too in a suburban station? He was brought back to the suburban station, and saw a train entering in. Mechanically he got in, and occupied the first empty seat. It was not the only empty seat, because the whole compartment was practically empty.
It was a strange spectacle. How could Bombay suburban trains be empty during office hours? That too during peak hours? He looked to his wristwatch and shook his hand. The watch was showing a time of 12.40 p.m. He was a little confused. He tried to get his mind back to what had happened, and then realized with shock and horror, that he had been reading the book for the last four hours!
He quickly opened his briefcase, and placed the book inside. On reaching his office, he did not go straight to his cubicle, but went to the basement canteen and had his lunch. After completing his lunch in a very mundane and monotonous way, he got to his cubicle, still thinking about the story, that he had read. Minny Fernandez waited for him anxiously. She told him that he had six memos. The Senior Partner had asked for him four times. The Vice President was working on a report, which needed his inputs. The Vice President’s Secretary had called him four times. His house told them, that he had left for work. His mobile was not working or not reachable. And Minnie was sure, that he would have his “balls chewed up” by the VP or the Senior Partner.
But, Swamy’s mind was not at it. Behind his glazed and unfocussed eyes, his mind was dreaming of a different life. The life of a street lawyer. A defender of the poor. A filer of Habeas Corpus Writs. A sharp legal eagle. He had come to a conclusion, that he was wasting his life tapping out reports, in a small cubicle, for ten hours a day. He was made for better things.
A lawyer is meant to go to court halls and try cases. Say “Yes my lord” and “No your honour”. He should be in the field with the sleeves rolled up, and a fighter’s gleam in his eyes. He should not be alternatively looking at black ships, unloading black coal mountains, beside a black sea, seen though a soot coated window, to the left, and a white 23% peeking left breast, a white 32% peeking right breast, and a creamy white buttock (left with yellow laces of knickers) to his right.
No! T.G. Swaminathan was meant for a lot more things in life. He made up his mind suddenly. He did the unexpected. He patted Miss. Minny Fernandez on her rump, while he ran his hand over the knickers lace. He was not worried about a sexual harassment suit, because he had decided his final course of action. In a soft voice full of cheer and enthusiasm he said,
“Screw the Senior Partner. Screw the Vice President and Screw you! I have found my destiny. I am not going to be a keyboard tapper for the rest of my life. I am going out in the field. I am resigning from my job! I am bidding my farewell to the great grand firm of Richardson and Cookson right away!”
Miss. Minny Fernandez, did not appear like on employee who would bring about a sexual harassment suit. Rather her unexpected reply was “I don’t know about the other two darling, but I am ready!”
The talk about his own private practice already had him into the court hall of Bombay High Court, where he was thundering his argument in a Court, with a pin drop silence, while a white haired Judge on the podium, was nodding his head appreciatively. But Minnie’s statement brought him back to his coal dump facing office. In a perplexed tone be asked,
“You are ready for what?”
In a manner suggestive enough not to need anything to be left to imagination, Minny replied in a husky voice,
“You were planning to do something first to the Vice President, then to the Senior Partner and finally to me. I do not know about how they feel about it, but I am ready”.
Only thoughts about her sailor brothers and the church, kept him from accepting her offer.
3 What to do?
Our readers would have by now realized that Swamy was an impulsive person. Who else would resign instantly, less than four hours after he read a novel? He did not want any references, because his civil experience would not be worth the paper on which it was typed.
He had typed a resignation, deleted his personal files, forwarded the dirty jokes to his MSM mail box, deleted his chat messages, erased his dirty picture collections, patted Minny’s rump once again (to her great delight) and walked out of the office.
As he walked to the station, he did not have the foggiest idea, as to how he would go about starting his criminal practice! It was then, that Swaminathan realized, that he had lived a very sheltered life in so far as a job and career were concerned. He had passed his finals and enrolled to the bar. His father’s company was life long clients of Richardson and Cookson. His father had spoken to his company President, who had spoken to Richardson and Cookson.
The interview had been a formality. The company billed its clients as per man-hours, and the reports generated by Swaminathan would be billed for five to ten times what they paid him. They were satisfied with a mechanical keyboard tapper, who could quote proper judgments and do a little bit of research. He was satisfied with the room though the view inside (Minny Fernandez) was a lot better than the view outside. (Coal, Coal and more Coal)
Thus in his two years at the firm, he had led a peaceful existence. He had a few friends in Matunga and Sion. He would join them for a beer on Saturdays. He would go to a movie on Sunday. He left home at 8.00 a.m., and got back at 10.00 p.m. Thus when he so carelessly tossed his job on that Monday two years ago, he had absolutely no idea as to how to go about practicing Criminal Law. He could not follow the techniques followed by the Hero of the novel, that he was reading. The American Criminal Defense System, was so totally different from Indian systems.
He was about to walk into the suburban station, when he realized that it was not quite three in the afternoon. What would he do if he got home so soon? He then remembered. Appa! His father. Here was a man who was a magician, who could always make wrong things right. He was one who had a solution to all problems.
Appa would be at the office. He would have an answer. Swami pulled out his mobile phone and was about to dial, when he realized that it was switched off. So it was the switched off phone that had made him quit his job! His battery had drained fully last night and the phone had switched off. After the overnight charge, he had forgotten to switch it on, before putting it into his pocket. That was why the Secretary was not able to contact him in the emergency.
He wondered if the phone had been remained switched on, would Minnie have caught him in the station as he was reading the book? If she had given him the desperate message before he had reached the interesting parts in the book, he would have rushed straight to the office forgetting both about the street lawyer the book, and street lawyer as a career.
And so in a way the phone had made him choose a new career. He was standing on the footpath while a huge crowd of humanity surged in both directions. He moved a little to the rear and switched the phone on. He dialed Mr. Ganesh at his office.
The Secretary connected him to his dad, but told him that he was in a meeting and a little busy. Mr. Ganesh was busy and did not listen to his son with a great enthusiasm. He did not seem to be too worried or upset about his son’s resignation. He agreed that criminal law had scope too.
He then gave Swamy the phone number of Mr. Salve their legal officer, he said, “Salve is our Senior Lawyer. He would be at least sixty. He would be the right man to give you advice. I will transfer back to the Secretary, who would connect the call to him. You could ask all you doubts to him”.
Swamy thanked his father and held on. A minute later the line got disconnected. He was not too surprised. His father was like him. Imaginative and absent minded. It was no surprise that he had promised to connect the line back to his Secretary. The moment his son had said Good-bye, he had disconnected the phone and gone back to the meeting. Swaminathan had gone to Appa’s Office once and could imagine his father at the head of a table surrounded by six chamchas around him.
He would be displaying his transparencies on an overhead projector and making single line statements, which would be greeted by simultaneous Yes sirs! from those assembled in the crowd. By now, he would be deep in to the figures for the third quarter and would have totally forgotten about Swaminathan’s phone call.
About six months later, he would find his son’s mobile switch off, and call the offices of Richardson and Cookson, only to be told that Mr. Swaminathan has resigned about six months ago. It would be now, that he would remember that his son had told him some such thing and would start riffling his memory to try to locate his son’s current whereabouts about which he will not have the faintest idea.
He told himself “Like father like son!”, as he turned to walk towards the entrance of the suburban station. He then paused. He was supposed to be thinking of doing something just as he disconnected the phone. He thought hard but could not remember it at all.
He shrugged his head, scratched his ears, replaced his mobile phone and entered the platform. The afternoon traffic had started and it was getting crowded. He squeezed himself in and at Matunga, allowed himself to be pushed out along with the crowd.
Still thinking about a wonderful career as a criminal lawyer, he entered his flat complex. His mobile beeped with an SMS. It was from Minnie Fernandez
HPE U SKSS CRML LYR
JOIN SEN LAWYER?
Ready for what you wanted in the office!
The last line was not abbreviated. He could understand the first two lines
Hope you succeed as a criminal lawyer
Are you joining a Senior Lawyer as an assistant?
And then he remembered. He was supposed to talk to Mr. Shinde, his fathers’ firm’s legal head. This Shinde would give him an advice as to how to go about with launching his brand new career as a criminal lawyer.
He decided to use his landline from home. He found the house vacant, except for Narayanan. The maid was washing utensils in the kitchen. He saw a “thief caught” expression on Narayanan’s face. This lad was now about fifteen years old but had been with them for the last five years. The maid was a young Maharastrian, who was married for the last five years but had no children. Colony gossip said that the husband was an alcoholic and impotent. She was a dark, seditious and a lascivious young lady, with enormous breasts. Swaminathan had a serious doubt that Narayanan was learning about birds and bees and tits from Kamlibai and that he was involved in exercising his palms by squeezing something other than a play dough, when his sudden arrival had disturbed the two.
But catching an adulterous servant maid, seducing an underage lad was not high on Swaminathan’s priority list. He had rushed in to do something important and urgent. Well! Well! Well? What was it? Shit! He had totally forgotten. His mobile beeped again with an SMS.
“Now that we no longer work together, it is no longer unethical!”
He could clearly understand that this message too was from Minnie, but was more concerned with the grammar. He was not sure if using “No-longer” twice in one sentence was correct English. And then he got it. Her previous SMS message. He had to join as a junior to a senior lawyer. He should call his appa’s office and ask for Mr. Sathe. Or was it Shinde? Whoever it was, the telephonist would know.
The correct name turned out to be Salve. And Mr. Salve was a very nice gentleman. It appeared that the legal department was not overloaded with work, and unlike his dad, Mr. Salve had all the time in the world for him. The old chap became almost nostalgic and congratulated Swaminathan on kicking a twenty thousand rupees job just like that.
His advice was simple. Join a senior criminal lawyer as junior and spend a few years learning the ropes. And once he was confident, start on his own. Yes! That was the way to go! And his other advice would be not to depend upon recommendations from other lawyers. He must himself find an opening and join the firm. He could recommend a few leading criminal lawyers like Namak Wallah, Isiri Irani, Makhija and Gandhi. But his personal advice was to go to a person of his choice, and make a direct approach. And no problems at all. Was it not his duty and responsibility to help his colleagues son? Not at all. Absolutely no problems. His pleasure really. Okay Bye son and take care.
As he disconnected the phone, Swamy had a feeling that the advice had been more with intent to avoid giving a recommendation letter. He could imagine that if Salve wrote a letter say to Makhija asking him to employ Swaminathan as a junior, the criminal lawyer could not refuse. But it would be a favour to be repaid.
Makhija might come back to Salve a few months later and say,
“Hey Salve! My son has just been acquitted in the rape and murder case. I also hope that he would get his acquittal in the bride burning case in a couple of weeks. I think that it is time for him to marry again. Six weeks have already passed since his last wife died, when a Kerosene stove burst. I have heard that you have a pretty daughter, who had been a runner up in a Miss Bombay competition. Why don’t you allow your daughter to marry my son?”
Swaminathan could imagine the shock, horror, and repugnance on Slave’s face when he heard this. He would say,
“But! I have already got my daughter engaged to a young lawyer in USA!”
Smiling like Amrish Puri, Makhija would say,
“Engagements can be broken. Tell this US lawyer to get lost. After all it is my son!”
Salve would stutter “B---“
Makhija would thunder
“No ifs and buts. I am not asking you this favour for free. Did I not respect your recommendation letter and give that Swaminathan fellow a job? It is besides the point that he is worth ten times his weight in gold. I have done a favour for you, and you have to repay it. The accounts have to be squared!”
Swaminathan nodded his head in a total, absolute and complete understanding. Obviously, this Shinde could not tell him the whole truth. No one would want his daughter to be the next victim of a sadist husband who is fond of Tandooring his wives. No wonder he put it in a different way. He advised Swaminathan to join as a junior lawyer. Yes this Shastry guy had even told him a couple of names What were they? Shakker Walha, Iran Iraqui, Nehru and who else?
He searched the phone book and could find none of the names. And then he remembered the name of the guy who wanted Salve’s daughter. – Makhija.
4 R.L. Makhija
The entry was there in both the yellow and white pages, though the yellow pages entry was almost a quarter of a page. It read
R.L. Makhija
MA, LLB, BL, PhD, PhD (Crim) ML, Senior Counsel.
Criminal – Civil – Corporate – Insurance
Then was an address in Churchgate with about a dozen phone numbers, faxes and emails. A look at the advertisement did not impress Swaminathan too much. He was looking for a 100% out and out Criminal lawyer. But his ad said everything including Insurance, from which he had run away. Nevertheless, he told himself that he would not know until he tried.
He looked at his watch and found that it was 5.10 p.m. He dialed the first number and a brisk voice answered,
“R.L. Makhija good morning!”
“Good evening Madam”
“Old client or new? If old client, please tell me your registration number please”
“I am not a client. I am a lawyer. My name is T.G. Swaminathan BA BL”
“Oh Hello! Mr. Swaminathan! Are you referring a case to Mr. Makhija?”
“No Madam, I am calling for a job”
“Has the boss asked you to call?”
“No Madam!”
“Has any senior advocate given you a recommendation letter?”
“No Madam!”
“Then I am Sorry! We don’t have vacancies. Boss already had a dozen assistants and most of them don’t bring in any cases. Are you sure you don’t have a case with you?”
“No Madam, I was in Civil work! I have resigned only today!”
“And what was your last salary drawn?”
“Twenty thousand odd!”
“Annually?”
“No Madam, monthly!”
“AND YOU RESIGNED FROM THAT JOB AND WANT TO PRACTICE CRIMINAL LAW?”
“Yes Madam!”
“Even if Mr. Makhija would want to appoint you, I would strongly recommend him against hiring such clowns like you! Bye!”
Click.
The call told Swamy two things. Mr. Shrivastava was not correct. A reference letter did help. And the second thing was that, the secretary did not think too much of his resignation. She seemed to think that twenty thousand a month was too high a salary. Actually Swaminathan thought so too! All his expenses were taken care off and his personal expenses including a weekly beer and Sunday movie hardly exceeded three to four thousand rupees.
Thus a substantial portion of his salary drawn over the last two years, lay in the bank forming a tiny nest egg which would serve him on a rainy day. A rainy day like tomorrow, if he was not able to wrangle at least an interview with a senior lawyer. Makhija’s name he could remember because the yellow pages lay open at a page displaying his bold entry. Nevertheless, of the other leading Criminal Lawyers in town, he had absolutely no idea. No! It had to be Makhija under whom he had to join as a junior. And as advised by Sreenivasan! No, It was not a South Indian name. Well! Whatever it was, it started with an S! Yes Siddiqui. Yes! As advised by Siddiqui, he would use his ingenuity to wedge himself into Makhija’s law firm.
He thought back about the conversation he just had with the lady on phone. That time he was a young out of work lawyer seeking job. When he phoned next, it would be as a rich client seeking a lawyer to protect his property, which was being encroached by slums. This time the conversation was a lot different. The sarcasm in her tone was replaced by a diffidence and she was willing to fix up an appointment with one of the associates right away or whenever convenient to him. Swamy took next day’s time and gave the name as Tanjore Ganesh. The first two letters of his initials expanded.
He was given a nine o’ clock appointment with Mr. Mahadevan in their Churchgate Office. The lady assured him that Mr. Mahadevan was an expert in property disputes and would handle all his problems well. If needed, he would also fix an appointment with Mr. Makhija himself.
The way she spoke the last sentence, it appeared as if she was allowing him to meet God himself. He thanked her and asked her name. Sweety. A really sweet name! As sweet as your voice. He could imagine her blush as she disconnected the phone. Step one crossed. He would do step two tomorrow. He left home early the next day and was in the office of R.L. Makhija Senior Counsel at 9.15 a.m., He was in Church-gate at 8.00 a.m., itself, but as it would not do for a rich client to go to his lawyer’s office before his scheduled appointment, he waited till 9.15 a.m. A few minutes late would be the right thing.
The Sweet voice Sweety seemed to be at least thirty five years old and weighed at least a hundred and fifty kilos. Shops selling extra large clothes would not be able to fulfill her sartorial needs and she would need the services of upholstery stitcher rather than a tailor.
She was fair, partly grey haired and had about a dozen chins. It was a startling contrast, this water balloon like face, producing such a sweet and melodious voice. She pointed him to a cubicle on the right. Mahadevan was a dark south Indian with three transverse stripes of vibhooti on his forehead. He would be about thirty-five years old and was an intelligent and perceptive fellow. Swaminathan decided that there would be no point continuing this charade further and decided to come clean.
He told the whole story. How he rescued a girl, who forgot a book, which he continued to be read non stop, due to a switched off mobile phone, resulting in his sudden and abrupt decision of resigning from his steady job in favour of a career switch into criminal law.
Mahadevan gave a loud laugh and said,
“You must be one of the most lucky chaps in existence. You could not have come at a better time. I was planning to leave today. I will take you to the boss, introduce you and tell him that you would take my place!”
To say that Swaminathan was surprised would be a clear understatement. How could he join just like that? He did not have an interview. The salary had not yet been fixed. How could he suddenly start? Furthermore, his knowledge of criminal law was a big zero. Looking at the wide opened mouth of Swamy, Mahadevan asked
“And what was the last salary drawn by you?”
“Twenty one thousand six hundred and forty including all allowances”
“Hence it is one eight but a thirty three percent or one third cut!”
Swaminathan mistook one eight for eighteen thousand per month. He was willing to take a two thousand rupee drop in his salary to get into criminal law. But he did not have the foggiest idea as to what this one third cut was. He said
“I don’t understand what this one third cut is!”
Mahadevan gave out a loud laugh and said “Oh Swamy! You are too wet behind your ears! Every senior expects you to canvass clients for him. Whenever you get a case into the firm, you get one third of the client’s fee each and every time he pays something. For example if you get a client for a bail, who pays a fee of three lacs, two lacs goes to Makhija and one lac goes to you!”
“What? Three lacs for a single bail? I thought the bail arguments do not take more than half an hour even in High Court. Three lacs for a half an hour job?” Asked Swaminathan in total surprise.
Mahadevan started explaining the facts of life “Well Swamy! You are a real greenhorn. What does it actually cost to file and argue a bail application? A two rupee stamp paper and may be couple of hundred for typing a 439 Cr.P.C. petition. But lawyers don’t have a rate card or a price list. There is not even a guideline for fees to be charged. A novice lawyer may argue a High Court bail for five hundred rupees. Mr. Makhija on the other hand, got an anticipatory bail for an industrialist last week in a rape case. He would have spent about ten minutes in the court to get a favorable order. His fee was ten lacs. At one lac a minute, it is higher than what Bill Gates makes!”
It was all surprising to Swamy. But one thing was clear. He would not be making mega bucks as an assistant to Makhija, unless he was a rainmaker and produced extra income for the firm. However, Swaminathan was not a greedy man. Eighteen thousand was a salary drop, but he would accept it. He said,
“In my case I wont be able to get in any criminal cases, because I don’t have any contacts. I suppose I would have to do with the eighteen thousand that I would be paid by Mr. Makhija”
The laugh was loud, and Swamy did not have the foggiest idea about what this joke was all about. Mahadevan laughed out so loud, that tears started streaking from his eyes. Finally, he explained that criminal lawyers do not employ juniors as employees on salary. It was a loose sort of an attachment, where only a stipend was paid. The stipend was one thousand eight hundred for a beginner, which went right up to ten thousand, for the seniormost assistant.
After ten years of service, Mahadevan was drawing six thousand rupees a month. It was all too perplexing for Swaminathan, and Mahadevan patiently explained the facts of life. The first courts of trial were the Metropolitan Courts. All offences punishable with an imprisonment of five years or less was tried by those Metropolitan Courts.
Petty Offences, Pick Pocket, Theft, Assault, Fraud, and Financial crimes, fell under the purview of the Magistrates Courts. And except for the financial offences, the other clients belonged to the lowermost of the lower rungs of the society, and consequently were not financially well off. Thus, Senior Lawyers including Mr. Makhija, stayed well away from the MM Courts. B and C class lawyers, whose prime job would be to apply for a quick bail in bailable sections, and file Cr.PC 317 petitions for the client’s non-appearance, densely populated these Metropolitan Courts. None of them was either talented or interested in conducting a trial. The clients if any, would be penniless miscreants, who had been “undertrial prisoners” for so long, that these lawyers would file a “pleading guilty petition” and the Magistrate would release them after calculating the sentence equal to the “period already undergone”. Successful criminal lawyers thus stayed away from these courts. Next in line came Session’s Courts, which could pass a sentence of life imprisonment, or even order a capital punishment. Here the real gravy started. Yet not many senior lawyers, did trial work in the session’s court. The closest they would come to Session’s Court, would be the Principal Sessions Judge, for a bail under Cr.PC. Section 437.
Beyond this came High Court, and here is where the real money was. High Court in India is appellate court, and it is in this kind of work, that the real money is. Another paying item was writs. A Habeas Corpus writ against an illegal detention was a money raking opportunity.
A big boss like Makhija would prefer something like bails. It was les than a ten-minute job, and the result was known then and there. In addition, win or loose, the fee was collected well in advance, and so it was one of the most sought after legal fields. After this, came the criminal writs, HCP and Mandamus. Makhija’s association with his juniors was fairly loose. They need not come to the office at regular times. Most of them would be found scouting police stations and court corridors, searching for clients. And a few of them would accompany the big boss when he went into the court hall.
A lawyer had a very fragile ego, and more senior he becomes more fragile his ego would become. Thus, he needed a few yes-men to pamper his ego, and the half a dozen assistants, who would surround him in the court hall, and would shower praises over him outside the court hall, were an essential ingredient, to a senior counsel’s life style.
A thousand eight hundred stipend was no doubt wholly inadequate, but with commissions, and cuts, most people managed to survive. In addition, the experience was so tremendous, that money could not buy it. Criminal law was two parts. On part was court room brilliance. The second part was the outside work, and preparation before a case would be argued. From filing and listing of a case, to getting it numbered, checking up as to which bench or judge is hearing it, and then getting ready for the case.
“The getting ready” part involved a lot of things. If a particular judge had a relative working as a lawyer, he was to be hired. If another judge was known to favour an advocate, that chap had to be hired. If a Senior lawyer had been an erstwhile partner/junior or senior to a particular judge, then he would be hired for face presentation.
The citations had to be collected. The petition drafted and the cue card to be made for the senior advocate. This part was what, Swaminathan would learn. And this was the real value of working as an apprentice to someone like Makhija. Mahadevan was in no hurry and Swamy had the whole day with him. Over the next two hours, the senior taught the apprentice, the high points, and ground rules for the game. He had a few stock aphorisms.
“Even the ugliest woman would have at least one thing that would deserve praise. Likewise, even the most hopeless looking case, would have at last one good point. Focus on that point, and forget everything else”
A little later Mahadevan had said,
“You cannot remain a good guy and continue to practice criminal law. If you are a good guy, people would eat you up!”
One thing could be said about Swaminathan. Despite his wandering mind and a vivid imagination, he had a tremendous grasp and a retentive power. He soaked up information like a sponge soaking up water. One of Mahadevan’s aphorisms that he liked very much was “Every petition or trial has three values. A case value, a face value and a lace value. Case value is the actual merit of the case. Face value is the lawyer and how well known or impressive his face is. And lace refers to the trimming on the judge’s robes.”
At about 11.30, Mahadevan said,
“Come let me take you the boss and introduce you to him. Do not speak much and display your ignorance. Listen and play it by the ear. Do not volunteer any information, that would display your stupidity. Remember that William Boyd has said ‘Mouth is the window to the brain”. You open it once, and everyone knows about your cerebral contents!”
As they walked out, he introduced Swami to Sweety, as the new assistant in the firm. She not only recognized him, but also made a comment “Twenty thousand rupees per month to twenty thousand per annum is quite a quantum jump. Best of luck little boy!” Swamy did not mind the ‘little boy’ because Sweety looked decidedly elder to his mother by a few years.
Makhija was a short individual, with a loud voice. It appeared that he shouted to emphasize his lack of height. He had a stock of bushy snow-white hair and an equally white moustache. He was seated on a swivel chair, while a half-lit cigarette smoked it’s smoke towards the ceiling. The cut glass ashtray was chockablock full of cigarette butts.
The room was air-conditioned and thus was smelling of stale cigarette smoke. He seemed to take an abrupt joining of a new assistant, very casually. Mahadevan proved to be an expert in human psychology as he explained.
“And Sir! This young man was employed till yesterday by Richardson and Cookson for a salary of twenty thousand rupees a month. But young Swaminathan has kicked it away to enter Criminal Law!”
A suitably impressed Makhija said,
“That is lovely, we can pay you only three thousand a month, but that is more like a stipend. Nevertheless every one knows that it is a great pride and privilege to work under me, and a lot of people would be willing to do it absolutely free!”
Mahadevan did the standard Yes Sir, act and concluded.
“And Sir! We must have young blood in our firm. Now that I would start on my own, Swaminathan can fill in my shoes. I am sure he would do well!”
Makhija seemed to be as fond of aphorisms as Mahadevan. He said
“My first lesson in Criminal Law for you is this. There are no good cases or bad cases. There are no good Judges and bad Judges. But there are good lawyers and bad lawyers. There is only one test which distinguishes one from the other and that is winning!”
“He who wins is a good lawyer, and he who looses, is a bad chap!”
Swaminathan nodded as Mahadevan beamed beside him. Suddenly Makhija lost interest in the young man. He gave him a curt dismissal as he said,
“Young man! It would take you a month or two to learn the ropes. For that time just follow me around and watch me work!”
Turning to Mahadevan be continued,
“Any Bench matters for me this afternoon? My wife wanted to go to the temple at 4.00 p.m.!”
Mahadevan said casually
“Sir! You have a MPOCA HCP at 4.00 P.M. But Rakesh has still not got the citations. I will send John to take a date and we would have everything ready in two weeks time. We would have all the judgments ready!”
The big boss nodded his head but there seemed to be reluctance in his voice as he said.
“This is the second adjournment that we are taking. Justice Chowdhry is a cranky fellow. Our taking repeated adjournments would trigger to him that we have a weak case!”
At this time, Swaminathan did exactly what he was not supposed to do. He opened his month. In a voice saturated with over confidence, he said “But Sir! Fifteen days is too long a time. I can get any reported citations or judgments in fifteen minutes!”
Both Mahadevan and Makhija asked together,
“What ?”
It was a sad fact, that most lawyers were neither Internet Savvy nor Computer Literate. To them, a citation collection, was a manual process, in which a list of relevant judgments was drawn manually and each volume was physically checked to make appropriate photocopies.
And unfortunately, if at that time, that particular issue of Cr.L.J. or Crime or SC cases, was borrowed by another member, then they would have to wait till it was returned.
However, what Swaminathan had mentioned was an internet search. Almost all the High Court and Supreme Court Judgments, especially for the last fifty years, had been indexed on the net. And two pay sites, one from Delhi and the other from Allahabad, had the complete texts of the judgments keyed in a website. Mahadevan realized that Mr. Swaminathan BA BL, had put his foot in his mouth on the first day of the job itself, when he heard Makhija’s excited voice say,
“Oh! I really like it! It is really superb. Do one thiing Mahadevan. Take this young man and tell him what we want. If we get the judgments before two in the afternoon, and if they contain even a single point that I can use, I would like to argue the case!”
Mahadevan looked at Swami with a strangled expression, and the two walked out together. Makhija had started lighting his cigarette with the stub of the previous one.
They both spoke almost simultaneously as they came out into the corridor.
Swaminathan : Does Mr. Makhija have a son?
Mahadevan : How do you propose to get the date and judgment in five minutes?
Swamy : Ha! It is simple. By Internet.
Mahadevan : He is unmarried and a confirmed bachelor. And we don’t have an internet connection in this office.
Swamy : What? What? What?
5 Left hand, Little finger
Swaminathan was aware of two things. The first was that, Makhija did not have a son. At least not a son who was just acquitted in a rape and murder case. So Mr. Subramaniam, or Siddique, or Shinde or whoever else it was, this legal chap in appa’s office, and the father of Miss Bombay, need not worry.
He had been overtly cautious and had erred in not giving a recommendation letter to Swaminathan. But in a way, it was good. At least he had the pleasure of knowing that he had a job in Makhija’s office due to his merit. And this brought him to the second point. He could not be a good junior advocate, if he was not able to fulfill his bosses wishes. After all, he had promised to get the citations in fifteen minutes. Ten of these minutes, had been exhausted and all that he had been able to get, was the correct and precise information, that the office did not have an internet connection. But Swaminathan was a little perplexed. It was not that he had made a sudden statement that he would download the citations. He was reminded of something that he had seen earlier. Then he remembered it. He said,
“But Mahadevan Sir! I had seen a computer in your cubicle. In addition, I also saw a modem over the C.P.U. If you have a modem, you can surely connect to the internet!”
Mahadevan smiled. He said,
“Swami! This is not my cubicle. Only Mr. Makhija has a cubicle in this office. Real estate in Bombay is too expensive to allow a cubicle for each assistant. We have two office rooms, which any assistant can use, depending upon his needs and requirement. Furthermore, I do not know much about computers, to know what a modem is! May be Sweety has an idea. Let us call her and ask!”
Sweety clarified. Yes, they did have a modem. Yes, the P.C. was a Pentium IV and it worked. But no one was too familiar with computers in the office. They had of course employed two typists, who had graduated to word processing, but neither was an expert. About two years ago the firm was sold an internet package along with a modem. It was all installed and ready, but none of them used it. Of course, there was one junior Karan Joshi, who used the internet during his times. After he went away, no one used it. The account would have lapsed. Even if it had a few hours to run, no one remembered the ISP’s name, or number or password. A far as Sweety was concerned; the computer in that room was not doing anything except occupying space.
She then gave a special look to Swaminathan, which seemed to clearly state “Now that you have landed in a puddle of shit due to your own foolishness, don’t expect me to clean it up!”
Like a water balloon rolled out in slushy waves, Sweetie walked out swaying her buttocks, each of which was decidedly bigger than two footballs. Mahadevan gave another laugh. He said,
“Well Swamy! I am reminded of an old American Joke in which a vacuum cleaner salesman drove into a deep wilderness and got to a cottage, which had an elderly lady. The old soul welcomed the salesman, and before she could say anything, the salesman opened a plastic packet full of dust, grime and powdered cow dung and he proceeded to sprinkle over the carpet.”
“The shocked old lady was about to open her mouth while the salesman smilingly stamped on the dust and spread it all over the carpet. He then said “My vacuum cleaner would suck clean in thirty seconds” “But ………” started the lady. “No buts! No if’s! If my Hoover does not clean this carpet like new, I will lick the cow dung!” “But …” started the old lady again, as the youth totally disregarded her, unpacked the vacuum cleaner and unrolled the electric flux”.
“With a confident smile, he said “No buts! Just show me the plug point and I can start”
“But that is what I have been trying to tell you for the last half an hour. We don’t have an electric supply here”.
The moment he completed the joke, Mahadevan broke out into a loud guffaw of laughter. Swami gave a weak smile, but his face was also tinged with a little revulsion when he realized that his mind was running a visual image of a long nosed American Hoover salesman, on a all fours, licking the dirt and cow dung with his long tongue. In Swaminathan’s imagination, the salesman looked surprisingly like the Hollywood actor Jim Cary.
He suddenly had an idea. He switched on the computer and tried to get a dial up connection with his own ISP. He connected to the Richardson and Cookson account using their dial-up code and password. He was sure that Minny was not smart enough to change the password. His guess was correct. He got connected to the World Wide Web and the screen opened to the familiar Dishnet home page. He gave a smile to Mahadevan and started working. Swaminathan got to the site that he was looking for, as a curious Mahadevan pulled the chair and sat beside him. It was an ancient modem, and the dial up connection was at such a slow speed, that it was taking ages for each page to download.
He asked Mr. Mahadevan
“Sir we would get into the search index now. Please tell me what are we looking for? What is the case that the Big Boss wanted to argue and you wanted to take an adjournment? What type of citations are we looking for?”
The senior lawyer said,
“Oh it is a HCP for a preventive detention. A HCP is a Habeas Corpus writ, which has come to us as a legacy from lord McCauley way back in the eighteen hundreds. Makhija is arguing that the detention is illegal and that the client has to be released!”
Swaminathan was about to type ‘preventive detention’ in the search string when he realized that such a vague search would throw up thousands of judgments and most of these would not be relevant to him. Swami wanted a little more details and said,
“Sir! I am absolutely new to Criminal Law. If you could give me a vague idea about what this case is all about, then I would be able to conduct a more meaningful search!”
Mahadevan replied
“It is Sadik Ahmed Vs State of Maharashtra. I don’t have the file here, but I would give you a rough idea. As per our Indian constitution, no one can be arrested, except under the due process of law. Each arrested person, has to be presented before a Magistrate within twenty-four hours of arrest, and remanded to judicial custody. He cannot be detained in custody unless either the magistrate denies him bail or he is convicted of the offence. This is the normal course of Indian Law.”
“But Sir! If this is the normal course, is there an abnormal course as well?” Asked a curious Swamy.
Mahadevan nodded, smiled and said,
“There is a situation which is a deviation from this. This is governed by article 22 of the Indian Constitution and is called a preventive detention. Our Constitution does allow an arrest and detention without a trial or a magisterial remand in certain cases. This is called preventive detention. The general purpose is to prevent a person from doing crimes”
“Such a law is usually applicable to habitual offenders and others, who are considered to be a menace to the society. By keeping them in prison for a year or two, the government thinks that peace and tranquility would prevail in the society. Various states would have various preventive detentions. And our state had MPOCA. Maharashtra Prevention of Organized Crimes Act. Our client Sadik Ahmed has been detained under this act for one year and we have filed a Habeas Corpus petition, claiming violation of article twenty two of Indian Constitution”.
Swaminathan nodded his head and decided to start his search beginning from the beginning. He typed “Article 22 Indian Constitution”. While the slow Internet connection struggled to get the required data; Swami looked to Mahadevan and asked,
“What are the safeguards in this article, which we claim have been violated?”
“You see! No one can continue to remain in preventive detention beyond three months unless the detention is confirmed by an advisory board constituted of three retired High Court Judges. And no person can be kept under preventive detention unless the grounds of the detention have been served to him at the earliest point of time!”
The screen had now displayed Article 22 and Swaminathan hit the print button. As the bubble jet printer was ditch-ditching the bidirectional printing, Swaminathan said,
“So if I understand correctly, the moment someone is detained, he should be served the grounds of his detention. He should than be placed before an advisory board who would confirm his detention!”
Mahadevan smiled again and said,
“Well! That is exactly what happens. But that is not supposed to happen. In actual fact, our law makers had expected the Advisory Board members to be unbiased and honest retired judges. And the grounds would tell a prisoner as to why he was being detained. The defence could read the grounds and prepare a case himself which he could argue in presence of the three judges who constituted the advisory board. If he was able to convince the board, his detention would be revoked. Else, the board would confirm it. This was what was supposed to happen. What happens is what you have said!”
Swami could not find any difference between what he had said, and what Mahadevan was saying. He sought for a clarification and the senior lawyer explained:
“In real life, an advisory board is staffed by three retired judges chosen by the same government that had ordered a preventive detention. And this is like keeping a fox to guard a hen pen. The retired judges get perks, car, PSO, houses, a meaningful job and money. The state government gives all this to them, and expects them to impartially evaluate a case between it and a poor defenceless defendant, who is not even allowed a lawyer in the advisory board. So you can’t expect these judges to be anything more than rubber stamps, who would confirm every detention. The advisory board in real life, is an eye wash!”
Swaminathan was understanding a little. Mahadevan continued,
“Now here is where we come in. We can file a Writ petition claiming illegal detention. We cannot cast aspersions about the three saints on the advisory board, who would hear not, see not and speak not to the defence, and just affix a stamp on all orders. We have to argue that the grounds are vague, inadequate or improper”
Swaminathan had just collated the print out on article 22 and saw something in the notes that caught his eye. He typed “language-grounds” in the search string under a master heading of preventive detention. In a minute, he got a couple of judgments, which he quickly scrolled through.
Internet searches was something, which Swami was good at, and net revival of a court judgment, was exactly the same, whether it was in a criminal or a civil court. As he read a judgment, he gave a big smile. He said,
“Sir! We have a couple of judgments, which are very clear. In Harikishan Vs State of Maharashtra 1962 and in Sujeet Singh Vs Union of India, it has been clearly stated that the detention was not legal if the detenue was not supplied the copies of his detention order and grounds of detention in a language that he could understand. In both the above cases, the courts have quashed the detention on the plea that the detenue could not understand the reason for his detention to make an effective plea before the advisory board”
Mahadevan was impressed. This computer thing was really something. In just a few seconds, Swamy had got out a lovely point. He listened to Swami continue, “Our client can claim that he does not know to read and write English. He could thus claim that he could not understand his order and thus could not make an effective representation”
Mahadevan nodded and said,
“All this has been thought of long ago! The police too have become really clever. Not only have they served the dentition order and grounds in English, but they have also supplied a copy translated in Marathi. Our man has consulted a lawyer in the early stages, who has given him a wrong advice at that time. If he had kept quiet, we could have claimed that he knew to read and write neither Marathi nor English. We would say that he knew only Urdu!”
“But, based on the wrong advice by the first lawyer, our client Saddik Ahmed had written to the detaining authority, at the time of his detention, that he did not know to read or write both English and Marathi. The police woke up, and in a week provided him an Urdu translation too. And this killed the translation point. We have to now look at some other point!”
Swaminathan nodded his head and asked,
“And what point was our Boss Makhija planning to argue on? If you tell me that point, then I would get the appropriate judgments.”
This time Mahadevan’s laughter was booming, as he said,
“You have still a lot to learn. A boss would never tell you – look into the papers and find out a good point. Then collect all the judgments that would prove the above point. He would say instead – Get me the citations for Saddik Ahmad HCP. It is you and I who have to locate the point and copy the appropriate citations. That is why I was asking for two weeks!”
But the young criminal attorney in making, Mr. T.G. Swaminathan was not impressed by the logic at all. Mahadevan had talked about a two-week adjournment so casually. This was criminal law and not marine insurance. A two-week delay in the insurance cheque would not matter much, but here a poor chap was in prison for God’s sake! But on the first day of his job he did not want to criticize a senior lawyer.
Especially if it was this same senior lawyer, who had given him, his first job and first break. He was still optimistic of finding out something before two p.m. Was it not Mahadevan who had said it! Or was it Makhija? Or was it that Siddique fellow in his father’s office? Well! Who ever it was, had said that even the ugliest dog had some pretty point in it. How true. The Casper in their house was an ugly stinky furry pixy creature, but had a cute nose. Likewise, even the worst case would have at least one good point. And shame on him, and his legal skills, if he was not able to find it. He asked
“Sir! Where are the grounds of detention and the detention order copies?”
Mahadevan said, “It would be with Sweety. Wait I will call her on the intercom and ask her to get in the case bundle.”
Swaminathan had got a list of about six good judgments on translation. One judgment even said that as the Xerox copies supplied to the detenue were smudged, and unreadable, the detention was liable to be quashed. He clicked ‘print’ and as the bubble jet printer started again, he got up and said,
“Sweety would have to waste a lot of energy propelling her bulk in here. Let me go to her and get it.”
In five minutes, Swamy was back with not only the case bundles and files but also with the fat lady who was offered a seat beside him. The wooden chair almost groaned as she sat on it. Swaminathan had found that Sweety was actually a nickname. Her real name had been Shahnaz. And she knew to read Urdu. As neither Swamy nor Mahadevan knew Urdu, he had got along the secretary.
Mahadevan asked,
“What do you want to locate? Do you expect some errors in translation? I am not sure if the High Court would consider minor lapses in translation as valid grounds to admit our petition and allow a release. Justice Chowdhary is a fussy fellow, but would appreciate fine legal points. But the other Judge Hinduja is a clown. Very facile minded. We need a solid point to convince the buggers.”
Swami said,
“If my guess is right, no one has read the Urdu version of the preventive detention order even once. Let us at least be sure if it is translated properly! We would decide about a point later!” He than opened up the English copy and asked the fat lady to slowly read the Urdu text. Spoken Urdu is not too different from spoken Hindi, and both Mahadevan and Swami understood it clearly. Suddenly Swami paused. He asked Sweety to stop and go back a para. It took them about two minutes to realize that the Urdu translation had a whole paragraph missing. He read out the paragraph aloud in English
“Thus I am satisfied that the detenue is indulging the activities which are prejudicial to the interest of peace and tranquility in the society, and deserves to be detained under Maharashtra prevention of organized crimes act. He has a right to represent against this detention which would not be in force for more than three months, within the stipulated period of which the detenue would be presented before an advisory board”
Sweety glanced though her Urdu sheets and found that accidentally the whole para had been missed in translation. All the three of them read and reread it for a few times and still could not find a translation for that para. Swaminathan had no experience of criminal law, but he had a lot of practice where he had compared various insurance and marine contracts line-by-line, para-by-para and word by word. He got to work immediately. He marked each para by a number and the corresponding translation by the same number.
Now even to someone not knowing to read Urdu, (just like the three High Court Judges, he presumed) it would be apparent that one whole paragraph was missing. Swami was quick with a keyboard and immediately typed a note, quoting the missing para. The note was in the form of a sworn affidavit by miss Shehnaz, that she read and understood Urdu as wall as English, and she certified that on comparing document 317 A and 317 C, She has found a major discrepancy in the form of a missing paragraph. As an attorney, he attested the affidavit. He then addressed the senior colleague.
“This is what we do with discrepancies in translations with insurance contracts in various languages. Pending an official verification from the department of languages Bombay University, which would take a week or two, we would file such affidavits, so that the judges could come to a decision!”
Mahadevan proved to be a lawyer and a gentleman. He did not try to steal Swamy’s credit. As a matter of fact, he sent Swaminathan alone to Makhija with the notes and citation. He got to the big bosses cubicle at 1.55, five minutes before the promised time. The boss offered him a seat and quickly glanced through his reports. As he read the last page with the affidavits, his eyes glowed into a big smile. Swami could understand why Makhija was such a high profile lawyer because he spoke out aloud as if he was addressing a judge.
“Your Lordships! My client, who does not know English and Marathi, asks for a translated copy of the documents, which would tell him why he is in prison. He gets an order of translation my lords, but in this translation, one whole paragraph is deliberately omitted. And my lord this the most important, essential and vital paragraph, that tells my client that he is being detained as a preventive detainee, and that the would be presented before an advisory board. But because this para is missing, he is totally unprepared as he is presented before the advisory board. My Lord, the honorable Judges could not apply their mind in the case, as my client could not argue his case! He did not know what he was doing before the three judges. Thus, your lordships would agree that, this is a clear case of violation of Article 22 of the Indian Constitution and my client deserves to be released under Articles 226 and 227 of the Indian Constitution Cough, cough, cough!”
Makhija ground the cigarette into the cut glass ashtray and gave a bow to Swaminathan, whose face flushed with pride. Actually as he heard the argument, Swaminathan had already been transported into the huge hall of the fifteenth court, Bombay High Court. It was jampacked court and Makhija was shouting his arguments. His extra loud voice provided the contrast to his extra short stature. A hundred curious pairs of eyes watched Makhija in awe as he argued about the missing para. And His Lordship T.G. Swaminathan BA.BL was smiling from the podium and nodding his head as he spoke out loudly
“Petition Allowed. After all it is I who has located the point in the first place!”
Makhija’s eyes squeezed into perplexion. He spoke a little louder
“Citations my boy, citations and judgments. That is what you have located. It was my point, which I am going to argue at 4.00 p.m. in the thirty-first court. It would do you some good to see me in action. Ask Mahadevan to get you there! And by the way; you are too smart. I am sure that you would get in a lot of cases for our firm. I don’t want you to be complacent. I have decided to make you allowance one thousand eight hundred. After all, you well know that there are people out there, who would be willing to pay to be able to work with me!”
A dazed Swaminathan walked slowly out, as he was trying to understand the strange logic, where his stipend was chopped down, because he gave a brilliant idea. May be, he should have listened to Mahadevan and kept his mouth shut.
He came back in and told the news to Mahadevan, who laughed and said that he would understand the reason for Makhija’s strange behavior over a period of time. He then offered to take Swamy for lunch and the two of them went to Suguna Vilas, a south Indian Restaurant. Over full thali meals, Mahadevan told his story. He had joined Makhija about ten years ago. His starting allowance was just nine hundred rupees. However, Mahadevan had survived with a few cases that he could collect. Most were small cases from in and around Prabha Devi, Colaba and Grant Road, where he had paid regular bribe to the police station constables.
Pick Pockets, Prostitutes and Petty thefts. This was routine stuff but paid the bills. In addition, he hung around the big boss and learned the ropes. About five years ago, his boss had sent him to Bombay Central prison to meet a client and convey to him that his bail would take a few days to come through.
This undertrial prisoner was a tamilian called Vallai Thambi from Bhavani. They had got talking in Tamil and the goonda had got impressed with him. Before leaving the jail, Mahadevan had given his visiting card to Vellai Thambi, who had promised to keep in touch. Soon Vellai Thambi was released, and called the lawyer to thank him. About a week later, the goonda phoned him and said that one of his boys was arrested under IPC sections 324 and 506(II). Hurt and criminal intimidation. Thambi wanted Mahadevan to take a bail and he had done it even without expecting any fee. That evening the Rowdy had sent his henchman to his flat, with thirty thousand rupees.
That was the start of Mahadevan’s practice. When the problem was big, he would hire his boss by giving an appearance fee. Over the years, his equation with his boss was very slowly changing. Initially, if he got a client who would pay a fee of one lac, he would take the client straight to the boss and get his one-third cut of thirty three thousand. But now that the clients had started coming to him, he would get Makhija or any other senior to appear for him. Mahadevan clarified that he did not always hire Makhija. It all depended on the Judge or the Bench. Sometimes a particular lawyer had a good equation with a particular judge, and he would have to be hired. It was all face, case and lace as their boss had so rightly said.
Mahadevan had even stopped drawing the stipend from his boss. He would also assist Makhija in other ways. When the senior counsel was busy, he would seek adjournments or even conduct small trials on rare occasions. His own practice was picking up. Only last month, he had opened an office in Dadar, close to his flat. He was planning to tell Makhija on that day about his plans, when Swami’s arrival had facilitated his decision.
After lunch, they went to the high court and watched a stellar performance by Makhija. That solitary single missing para was adequate. The petition was allowed. Detention quashed. They spent the mandatory ten minutes in the corridor outside, telling the boss that he was greater than Kapil Sibal and Ram Jethmalani combined. They watched the short man walk away and admired that he was not panting despite so much of non-stop smoking.
After he disappeared from view, Swamy said
“Well Sir! Our diligent work has provided a relief to our client. Else he would have to spend two more weeks in prison!”
Mahadevan said “Swamy! You need to know another truth. Never share your clients anxiety for getting him out of prison. So long as he is in, he listens to you and pays you. The moment he is out, it is difficult to extract even ten naia paisa!”
And thus the Monday resignation continued to a Tuesday beginning in criminal law, where in Mr. T.G. Swaminathan occupied the exalted post of Mr. Makhija’s left little finger.
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