Law without morality is a body without a soul

It is often said that “law without morality is a body without a soul.” The maxim suggests that what is legally permissible may not always be morally acceptable, and what is morally objectionable may not necessarily amount to a legal wrong. In a recent judgment, the Punjab and Haryana High Court held that a married woman meeting her former partner on a single occasion, even in a compromising situation, cannot automatically be treated as proof of adultery.

The case arose from a matrimonial dispute involving an Indian Navy officer who alleged that his wife refused to share a bed with him and continued to maintain a relationship with her former boyfriend after marriage. The Family Court granted a decree of divorce on the ground of mental cruelty. However, while considering the allegations of adultery, the High Court observed that a solitary incident was insufficient to establish that the wife was living in an adulterous relationship. The Court reiterated that adultery is a serious allegation and must be proved through cogent, convincing, and continuous evidence rather than through suspicion, assumptions, or isolated encounters.

Learned trial court, in its rightful wisdom, also observed that the conduct of the respondent-wife in meeting her male friend, being a single incident, cannot be said to indicate that she was living in adultery with him. The marriage had taken place in November 2021, and no child was born from the union. The husband alleged that his wife was quarrelsome, frequently returned home late, refused to share a bed with him, and spent long hours on her mobile phone talking to other people. The wife denied these allegations and, in turn, accused the husband and his family of subjecting her to dowry-related harassment. She further alleged that her father-in-law had improper intentions towards her and that her husband failed to support her when she complained about his conduct.

The Family Court found serious inconsistencies in the wife's version of events. It was observed that her allegation against her father-in-law appeared improbable, particularly because she continued to communicate with him despite claiming that he had improper intentions towards her. On that basis, the court treated her allegations with caution.

Judgments of the High Courts and the Supreme Court serve as precedents that guide the adjudication of future cases involving similar issues. Therefore, judicial pronouncements often have implications extending beyond the parties before the court. One has reasons to disagree with the High Court's approach and argue that matrimonial fidelity occupies a special place in Indian society, particularly among Hindus, where marriage is regarded not merely as a contract but as a sacrament. From this perspective, the vows exchanged during marriage represent solemn commitments that courts should seek to uphold in order to preserve mutual trust and confidence between spouses.

Others may contend that courts must distinguish between moral disapproval and legal proof. They may argue that a finding of adultery should rest on clear and convincing evidence rather than conjecture, however strong the suspicions may be. The maxim Fiat justitia ruat caelum.Let justice be done though the heavens fall is the most appropriate in this case. The debate, therefore, lies at the intersection of law, morality, and the institution of marriage—a field in which courts are often required to balance legal standards of proof with prevailing social and moral expectations. That the judges have thus "made a mockery of the law by keeping the tradition and morality at bay. Oliver Wendell Holmes had said that” The life of the law has not been logic; it has been experience."

Time to Replace the Press Council of India with a Media Council(Concluding Part)

The limitations of the Council are not merely jurisdictional. It is often criticised for lacking effective enforcement powers. Its authority is confined largely to issuing warnings, admonitions, or censures. It cannot impose meaningful penalties, levy fines, suspend operations, or enforce compliance with its decisions. Consequently, many of its rulings are ignored, reducing its effectiveness and diminishing its relevance.

Moreover, the rise of corporate ownership, concentration of media power, paid news, advertorial masquerading as journalism, and growing ideological polarisation have transformed the media environment in ways that the existing statutory framework is ill-equipped to address. Political considerations and institutional constraints have frequently undermined the Council's credibility and capacity to act as an independent regulator.

In the digital era, the regulatory focus has increasingly shifted toward the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting and various rules framed under the Information Technology Act. These mechanisms now address much of the content regulation relating to digital and broadcast media, further marginalising the role of the Press Council.

Adding to its diminishing relevance is the fact that the Working Journalists Act, one of the principal legislative pillars recommended by the First Press Commission, has effectively been subsumed within the new labour codes, including the Occupational Safety, Health and Working Conditions Code, the Industrial Relations Code, the Code on Wages, and the Code on Social Security. With the dilution and fragmentation of the original statutory framework governing journalists' service conditions, one of the historical justifications for the existence of the Press Council has substantially weakened.

The time has therefore come for a fundamental reappraisal of media regulation in India. Rather than attempting to retrofit an institution designed for the print era, Parliament should consider replacing the Press Council of India with a comprehensive Media Council of India. Such a body should encompass print, electronic, digital, and emerging forms of media under a single regulatory framework. It must be independent of both governmental and corporate influence, representative of diverse stakeholders, and vested with limited but meaningful enforcement powers to ensure accountability.

A Media Council equipped with adequate statutory authority, transparent procedures, and jurisdiction across all media platforms would be better suited to protect freedom of expression while promoting responsibility, accuracy, ethical conduct, and public trust. In an age where information travels instantly across multiple platforms and reaches millions within seconds, India requires a regulator designed for the realities of the twenty-first century, not one conceived for the media environment of the 1950s. Media Council must be constituted with the peers of the profession.

The Press Council of India played an important role in the formative decades of Indian democracy. Its historical contribution deserves recognition and respect. However, institutions must evolve with changing times. The continued existence of a body whose jurisdiction and powers are increasingly inadequate serves neither the media nor the public interest. The moment is ripe to bid farewell to the Press Council of India and establish a robust, modern, and effective Media Council capable of meeting the challenges of the contemporary information age.

Time to Replace the Press Council of India with a Media Council (Part1)

The Press Council of India (PCI) owes its origin to the recommendations of the First Press Commission, constituted in 1952 under the chairmanship of Justice G. S. Rajadhyaksha. The Commission was entrusted with examining the condition of the Indian press in the post-Independence era and recommending measures to safeguard press freedom, uphold editorial standards, and improve the service conditions of journalists. Acting on its recommendations, Parliament enacted the Press Council Act, leading to the establishment of the Press Council of India in 1966 as an autonomous statutory body.

The Constitution of India, the supreme law of the land, lays down the framework of governance, guarantees fundamental rights, and embodies the democratic values that sustain a free and independent press. Although freedom of the press is not expressly mentioned in the Constitution, it has been consistently recognised by the judiciary as an integral part of the fundamental right to freedom of speech and expression under Article 19(1)(a).

Before Independence, newspapers that supported the colonial government—such as The Statesman, The Pioneer, and The Times of India—generally enjoyed better resources and institutional support. In contrast, nationalist newspapers operated under severe constraints and often faced governmental hostility. Journalism during that period was largely a mission driven by patriotism and public service rather than a commercial profession. It was only after Independence that journalism gradually evolved into a recognised profession requiring institutional support and regulation.

Recognising this need, the country's first leadership contemplated the establishment of a Press Commission. Although Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, who also held charge of the Information and Broadcasting portfolio, did not live to see the proposal materialise, the idea eventually culminated in the constitution of the First Press Commission in 1952, which was announced by the then Information and Broadcasting Minister BV Keskar.

At that time, the media landscape was confined almost entirely to the print press. Electronic journalism, as we know it today, did not exist; radio broadcasting remained a government monopoly. Consequently, the Commission focused primarily on print journalism and made two landmark recommendations.

The first was the enactment of the Working Journalists (Conditions of Service) and Miscellaneous Provisions Act, 1955, which established a framework for protecting journalists' service conditions and paved the way for tripartite Wage Boards to revise journalists' wages periodically. The second was the creation of the Press Council of India, envisioned as an independent watchdog to preserve press freedom, maintain journalistic standards, formulate ethical norms, and safeguard the public's right to information.

The Council was abolished during the Emergency in 1976, a period widely regarded as one of the darkest chapters in the history of Indian journalism. However, it was reconstituted in 1978 with a renewed mandate to ensure that the press remained both free and responsible in a democratic society.

Over the decades, however, the media ecosystem has undergone a transformation of unprecedented magnitude. The emergence of television news, digital journalism, online publications, streaming platforms, and social media has fundamentally altered the manner in which information is produced, disseminated, and consumed. Print media, once the dominant medium of public discourse, now occupies only one segment of a vastly expanded communications landscape.

Yet the Press Council of India remains largely confined to the print sector. It possesses no jurisdiction over television channels, digital news platforms, streaming services, or social media networks—precisely the spaces where misinformation, disinformation, sensationalism, and ethical violations increasingly originate and proliferate. As a result, the institution has gradually become disconnected from the realities of contemporary media.

See less

Like

Comment

Share

Whose ancestors had left Hinduism must be encouraged to reconnect

 All religious and social organisations, as well as NGOs, can render a valuable service to society by working to eliminate social evils and by encouraging those whose ancestors had left Hinduism to reconnect with their ancestral traditions if they so choose

Recently, Pakistan's Defence Minister, Khwaja Asif, candidly acknowledged that his ancestors were Hindu Rajputs. In an interview, he said that Pakistani students should be taught factual history and that many people in the country have become disconnected from their historical roots. Those whose ancestors had left Hinduism must be encouraged to reconnect. According to Asif, many Pakistanis have been led to believe that their ancestors came from Saudi Arabia or Iran. He argued that this mindset was deliberately cultivated through school textbooks and criticised those who prepared such material. Elaborating further, he pointed out that both he and former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif had openly acknowledged their Hindu ancestry. He also remarked that studying Ashoka, Chandragupta Maurya, Buddhism, Jainism and the Greeks in school does not make him any less Pakistani.

The immediate context of these remarks was the restoration of old names of streets and localities in Lahore, along with a wider discussion on history and identity. In Pakistan, organisations of Muslim Rajputs continue to exist, and many Rajput families prefer marriages within their own caste groups, thereby maintaining endogamous traditions. Similarly, in Kashmir, many Muslims continue to use surnames such as Bhatt and Malik, which have historical associations with Hindu society. Several decades ago, senior political leader Ghulam Nabi Azad stated that his forefathers had been Hindu Brahmins.

A similar pattern can be observed in parts of eastern Uttar Pradesh. In districts such as Azamgarh, Mau, Ghazipur, Jaunpur and Sultanpur, many Muslim families retain certain cultural practices and customs that reflect their historical roots. These continuities illustrate the complex and layered social history of the region.

Not long ago, prominent Muslim leader and Unani physician Dr Tasleem Ahmad Rehmani stated that his grandfather had been a Jain and that several members of his extended family continued to follow Jain traditions.

These examples highlight the fact that the histories of communities in the Indian subcontinent are deeply interconnected. Different religious communities often share common ancestry, cultural practices and historical experiences. Swami Dayanand Saraswati believed that many social and communal problems could be reduced if people recognised their shared heritage and strengthened social reform efforts. Whether one agrees with that view or not, an honest understanding of history can contribute to greater social harmony and mutual understanding among the people of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh.

 

Communalists must have Respect for the Constitution

Recently, a video circulated on social media in which a YouTuber asked a Muslim labourer which train he intended to board. Instead of saying "Vande Bharat," the labourer repeatedly referred to it as "Gande Bharat." When the YouTuber asked him why he was deliberately mispronouncing the name, the labourer smiled and replied that he would always call it "Gande Bharat." Such conduct may perhaps be attributed to a person with little formal education.

However, prejudice and sectarian attitudes are not confined to the uneducated. I recall a highly educated teacher at Banaras Hindu University who habitually referred to Ramnagar, situated across the Ganges from the university, as "Nam Nagar." He would also offer Namaz in his office chamber on campus. Whenever some students objected to what they considered inappropriate conduct in an academic setting, several others, claiming to uphold secular values, would immediately come to his defence. This illustrates how communal attitudes can manifest in different forms and are often judged by different standards depending on the circumstances.

Against this backdrop, many people have criticised the Chief Minister of West Bengal for making the singing of the national song and national anthem compulsory in Madrasas. A letter issued on May 19 by the Director of Madrasa Education directed that "Vande Mataram" be sung before classes commence. It is difficult to understand why this should automatically be viewed through a Hindu-Muslim lens.

The Constitution empowers governments to frame educational policy. Since the 42nd Constitutional Amendment of 1976, education has been placed in the Concurrent List, meaning that both Parliament and the State Legislatures can enact laws on the subject. In the event of a direct conflict, central legislation prevails.

Unfortunately, Madrasas are often viewed by communal elements solely through the prism of religion, despite receiving support and facilities from the government like other educational institutions. The issue of national symbols and religious belief is not new. In 1985, a controversy arose in Kottayam, Kerala, when three schoolchildren belonging to the Jehovah's Witnesses faith refused to sing the national anthem, "Jana Gana Mana," during the school assembly. However, they stood respectfully while the anthem was being sung. Their religious belief was that they could not participate in acts that they regarded as a form of reverence to anyone other than God (Jehovah). The school expelled them, and the dispute eventually reached the courts.

The Kerala High Court initially upheld the expulsion. However, in 1986, the Supreme Court of India reversed that decision. The Court held that no law required an individual to sing the national anthem, that the children had shown no disrespect by standing respectfully, and that their expulsion violated their fundamental rights under Articles 19 and 25 of the Constitution relating to freedom of speech and freedom of religion.

Justice O. Chinnappa Reddy, who authored the judgment, was a born Christian who later became an atheist, emphasised an important constitutional principle: courts should not sit in judgment over whether a religious belief is reasonable or unreasonable. Their role is to protect the constitutional freedoms guaranteed to all citizens, provided public order, morality, and other constitutional limitations are not violated.

Lacklustre Demonstration of the so-called Gen Z at Jantar Mantar

 

The demonstration by the newly formed and much-publicised Cockroach Janata Party (CJP) yesterday at Jantar Mantar was a total flop.  Hardly a few hundred people participated, which included supporters and opponents, police personnel, and onlookers who were there only to watch and enjoy. There was practically no presence of Gen Z in the demonstration. Many professional agitators and protesters certainly reached Jantar Mantar, but they received a very lukewarm, if not a cold, reception.  Undoubtedly, it will cause further frustration among the youth of the country.

Such demonstrations are political and sponsored by some vested interests. Since it was aimed at denouncing the Modi government, it was clear that forces against the Modi government were active in organising this protest. The arrival of the US-based Mr Abhijeet Deepke at Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi was drummed up as if he were a revolutionary of any kind.

 The word " cockroach " was lapped up by this gentleman from a remark made by the Chief Justice of India, Shri Suryakant, during the hearing of the case, which was drafted and presented in a very non-serious manner. This also shows that this high-bred American Deepke has no respect for the people of the country. Let us see how it unfolds in the future, but going by Saturday’s demonstration, it can be said that it fizzled out and did not inspire any confidence in Gen Z.

Not Vacating Office or Residence After Losing Power Is Indefensible

A disturbing trend appears to be emerging among some politicians who, after being voted out of office, show reluctance to abide by the rules and conventions governing the relinquishment of power and official privileges. In a democracy, respect for the people's mandate requires not only accepting electoral defeat but also gracefully surrendering the offices, residences, and privileges attached to power.

Two examples that attracted public attention are those of Mamata Banerjee and Rabri Devi, both former Chief Ministers of their respective states. The country witnessed an unprecedented constitutional situation when Mamata Banerjee, despite losing the Assembly election, did not immediately relinquish office. Ultimately, the Governor had to intervene and administer the oath to the new Chief Minister. Such incidents undermine democratic norms and set an unhealthy precedent.

The conduct of Rabri Devi and her husband, Lalu Prasad Yadav, who together dominated Bihar's politics for nearly one and a half decades, has also raised serious questions. Rabri Devi is presently the Leader of the Opposition in the Bihar Legislative Council, while her son, Tejashwi Yadav, serves as the Leader of the Opposition in the Bihar Legislative Assembly.

Rabri Devi has been residing at 10 Circular Road, Patna, since demitting the office of Chief Minister in 2006. However, in November 2025, the Bihar Government earmarked and formally allotted 39 Hardinge Road as the official residence of the Leader of the Opposition in the Legislative Council. Since she has already been provided an official residence in her current capacity, there appears to be little justification for continuing to occupy a bungalow that has since been allotted to a serving minister.

The issue assumes greater significance in light of the Patna High Court's 2019 judgment striking down the policy that allowed former Chief Ministers to retain government bungalows indefinitely. The court made it clear that such residences are public property meant for current constitutional and public functionaries, not for the lifetime use of former office-holders. While the government has honoured Rabri Devi's entitlement by allotting her an alternative official residence, her insistence on retaining the same bungalow risks conveying the wrong message. Rather than challenging the government to evict her, it would be far more appropriate to resolve the matter amicably and in accordance with the law.

This is not the first time that questions have been raised about the conduct of former holders of high office. When Akhilesh Yadav vacated the official residence of the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, he was accused of removing fixtures and causing damage to the property, drawing widespread criticism in the media.

The larger question is why some individuals who have occupied the highest public offices find it difficult to observe the very rules and conventions that they once administered. Public office carries not only authority but also the responsibility to set an example. A graceful exit after the loss of power strengthens democratic institutions; resistance to it weakens public faith in them. Whatever the political affiliation of the individuals concerned, refusal to vacate official residences or relinquish official privileges after their entitlement has ceased is difficult to defend from any perspective.

Some Changes Brought by the Modi Government Are No Less Than Revolutionary

 The Modi government has ushered in several transformational changes over the past twelve years from the perspective of ordinary citizens.

The first major change is that young men and women from modest backgrounds no longer have to run from pillar to post to get their documents attested by gazetted officers. Earlier, they often had to visit government offices or even the homes of officials, and many were compelled to pay small bribes to peons or staff members merely to have their documents signed and verified. This not only wasted the time of the youth but also that of the officers and their staff. Prime Minister Narendra Modi ended this cumbersome practice through an announcement made from the ramparts of the Red Fort (Lal Quila).

The second significant step was the opening of zero-balance bank accounts for the poorest sections of society without burdensome paperwork. Instead of forcing poor citizens to repeatedly visit bank branches, bank officials themselves reached out to them. At the time, the initiative was ridiculed by critics and political opponents, but it ultimately brought millions of underprivileged people into the formal banking system.

The third major reform is the Direct Benefit Transfer (DBT) scheme, under which lakhs of beneficiaries now receive government assistance directly into their bank accounts. In the past, a substantial portion of welfare funds meant for the poor was siphoned off by middlemen and corrupt officials. Today, however, the money reaches the intended beneficiaries directly, ensuring transparency and minimising leakages.

Long queues of pensioners outside bank counters during the first week of every month were once a distressing ordeal for elderly citizens. For many senior citizens, standing for hours to collect their pensions was nothing short of traumatic. However, thanks to the DBT system, much of this hardship has disappeared, as pension amounts are now credited directly into their bank accounts. One only needs to speak to pensioners to understand the immense relief and convenience this reform has brought to their lives.

Another landmark initiative has been the construction of household toilets, popularly referred to as “Izzatghars,” which has brought about a social revolution, especially in rural India. Chaudhary Charan Singh, when he was the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, once remarked at a public gathering that he avoided travelling by road in the evenings because roadsides were lined with people defecating in the open. One could imagine the hardship faced by newly married women in villages, particularly if they suffered from illness during the daytime. The construction of toilets has therefore provided dignity, safety, and immense relief to rural women, many of whom remain deeply grateful for this change.

Digital payments, too, have emerged as a technological revolution, and much of the credit for their widespread adoption goes to Modi. When digital payment apps were first introduced, several self-styled economists and opposition leaders mocked the initiative. Today, however, even small shopkeepers, artisans, and daily-wage workers use digital transactions with ease. Their countless small payments collectively amount to thousands of crores of rupees every day, serving as a fitting response to those who once dismissed the idea.

Twisha Sharma's death must be thoroughly probed to establish trust in the law

 A young and beautiful girl, Twisha Sharma, lost her life a few days ago in Bhopal, where she was married to an advocate who has been absconding since Twisha's death but has recently surrendered in Jabalpur instead of Bhopal, where he lives with his family. Twisha's mother–in–law has been handling the media and the police. The public wants to know the real story of Twisha's death. While her parents and younger sister lay all the blame on the mother-in-law and her husband, on the other hand, the mother-in-law, Mrs Giribala Singh, a former judge in the District Judiciary of Madhya Pradesh, is quite influential, and she has been passing the buck to her daughter-in-law, Twisha Sharma, for her death.

The mother-in-law, Giribala Singh, alleges that Twisha was schizophrenic and had a split personality. She used to take drugs, although she is reported to have died because of a ligature caused by ropes tied around her neck. Giribal Sigh says that she did it in the moments of extreme depression. However, what Mrs Giribala Singh says must be taken with a pinch of salt. Why have the police not been able to produce even a single prescription slip to suggest that she was undergoing treatment for a split personality? Giribala Singh’s conduct further deepens the cloud of suspicion because she made 40-odd phone calls to the judges and police officers to talk about Twisha’s death, but she still feels shy about talking to the media and other persons.

Be that as it may, this case must be thoroughly probed to come to the bottom of the truth and to restore the confidence of the people in the law and law-enforcing agencies. The allegations of Twisha’s parents and her brother should not be thrown to the wind, made in frustration, as they may prove to be important clues.

Lawyers Must Not Be Oversensitive to Criticism

 It is difficult to understand why some people tried to make a mountain out of a molehill over the Chief Justice of India’s obiter remarks about certain “parasites” and “cockroaches” masquerading as lawyers. The controversy ought to have ended after the CJI promptly clarified his remarks. Judges ordinarily speak through their judgments, and comments made during court proceedings—whether in repartee or in a lighter vein—should not be seized upon to malign a judge merely because he refuses to yield to pressure. Judicial decisions, once in the public domain, may certainly be criticised, but such criticism must remain free from personal attacks or imputations of motive against the judge concerned.

Coming to what Justice Surya Kant observed, it would not be entirely unfair to say that many law colleges in the country deserve closure. More than a decade ago, the then Solicitor General of India, Gopal Subramanium, who was also served temporarily as the  Chairman of the Bar Council of India by virtue of the office he held, introduced and implemented the All India Bar Examination (AIBE), intending to ensure that only those possessing at least a basic knowledge of law and a genuine interest in the profession are enrolled by the State Bar Councils. Initially, the measure did help filter entrants to some extent. While many competent and talented young lawyers continue to join the profession, there has simultaneously been an influx of persons armed with fake degrees from dubious institutions. Counterfeit law colleges and the lax registration systems of some State Bar Councils have enabled numerous fraudulent practitioners to enter the profession.

In many places, it is often remarked—sometimes cynically—that students unable to secure admission elsewhere choose law colleges merely to obtain hostel facilities while preparing for other competitive examinations. Such trends have unfortunately diminished the reputation of the legal profession. Even today, mofussil lawyers are frequently viewed as occupying one of the lowest rungs in the marriage market.

A visit to almost any court reveals overcrowded courtrooms and congested corridors. This, however, is not always a reflection of passion for the profession; in many cases, it is a consequence of widespread unemployment. A few years ago, when vacancies for peons were advertised, dozens of law graduates reportedly applied. When questioned about accepting a Class IV position despite holding law degrees, some candidly replied that at least the job guaranteed a monthly salary sufficient to sustain them, whereas legal practice often failed to cover even the costs of robes and transportation. In many district courts, one can also find touts functioning in the guise of lawyers. Such elements often receive tacit support from sections of the Bar for petty gains, ultimately bringing disrepute to the profession as a whole. There are many other drawbacks. For those who come from good families and are well-connected, the legal profession is like a lottery for them, but for most of the youngsters, this is highly disappointing.

Therefore, remarks made by the CJI in good faith should be viewed as an opportunity for introspection rather than outrage. Constructive criticism aimed at improving the profession ought to be welcomed. After all, the Chief Justice of India is the head of the country’s judicial system. If those at the highest-level refrain from acknowledging systemic defects, who else will initiate the process of reform?

Two hundred years of Hindi Journalism

 Udant Martand (The Rising Sun) was first published in Calcutta (now Kolkata) on 30th May 1826 by Pandit Jugal Kishore Shukla, a lawyer and freedom fighter from Kanpur. Originally a pleader from Kanpur, Shukla moved to Calcutta to practise and earn his livelihood. Calcutta offered the most lucrative opportunities for a legal professional at that time. He dedicated his resources, intellect, and career to the newspaper, advocating for the native Indian population against colonial laws. His decision to launch India's first Hindi weekly newspaper was influenced by several distinct professional and logistical factors.

In the early 19th century, Calcutta was the epicentre of India's nascent print culture. The city possessed the essential resources required to start a newspaper—such as established printing presses, a steady paper supply, and early Devanagari typesetting capabilities—which were entirely unavailable in Kanpur or the wider North-Indian Hindi belt. Thus, Calcutta has the distinction of publishing the first Hindi newspaper from a non-Hindi-speaking area.

While residing in Calcutta, Shukla observed a flourishing media landscape featuring journals in English, Bengali, and Persian/Urdu. He recognised a profound irony: although millions spoke Hindi across the subcontinent, and a significant Hindi-speaking mercantile community lived right in Calcutta (centred around areas like Bara Bazar), they had no printed voice. He is credited with having elevated the language to a medium of formal public discourse. The Marwaris living in Calcutta must be commended for extending all support to Pandit ji for venturing to bring out the newspaper, although it could survive only one and a half years, closing in December 1827 due to the British government's refusal to grant postal free concessions, creating an insurmountable financial strain on the newspaper.

Hindi journalism has made giant strides in the last two hundred years. More than in the print medium, its remarkable presence can be seen in electronic, web, digital, and social media. Hindi has now become a universal language. What to say of India, it is difficult to ignore Hindi even in the most advanced countries of the world. The very purpose of journalism is communication, which the Hindi media is doing superbly. Film, military, and railways have contributed a great deal to the growth of Hindi, but Hindi journalism has been the precursor of it all.

Therefore, it is our solemn duty to remember those rishis like Jugal Kishore Shukla, Pandit Ambika Prasad Vajpayee, and Babu Rao Vishnu Rao Pradakar, who brought recognition to Hindi journalism and helped it grow like a banyan tree.

Indian Federation of Working Journalists pays glowing tributes to the heroes of Hindi journalism on its 200th anniversary.

Has Mamata’s License been Restored?

 

The appearance of Mamata Banerjee in the robes of an advocate at the Calcutta High Court on the 14th of May is very surprising. She may be a law graduate or even enrolled as an advocate with the State Bar Council, but if she has had her licence restored by the State Bar Council in four days, that would be truly surprising. Even the Bar Council of India has sought certified copies of the original records relating to Mamata Banerjee from the State Advocate’s Roll.

Until the 8th of May, she remained the Chief Minister of the State. The Governor then dismissed her government, as neither she nor her party had been returned to power. As an MLA or MP, she could certainly have practised, but as a minister, she could not, as she would then be a public servant. Earlier, before the assembly elections, she appeared before the Supreme Court, but not as a lawyer, rather in a personal capacity. She was allowed to address the court for half an hour, but it was difficult to make head or tail of what she said. At that time, she claimed only to be a law graduate.

Therefore, the State Bar Council must bring forth all facts to inspire the confidence of the people in the advocacy, because presently, many charlatans pose as advocates.

 

Not only the Number of Judges, but AI will be required to revolutionise the Judicial System

 

The Union Cabinet has recently approved a proposal to increase the sanctioned strength of judges in the Supreme Court of India from 34 to 38. The proposal is to be implemented through the bill, which would amend the existing 1956 law governing the Court’s sanctioned strength.

The stated reasons, as published in the newspapers, are rising pendency of cases (reported to be around 92,000–93,000 cases), the need for quicker disposal of matters, enabling more Constitution Benches and regular benches to function simultaneously. This would be the first increase since 2019, when the strength was raised from 32 to 34.

In fact, even this number of 38 will be inadequate, which should be further increased, as now there is no dearth of space or infrastructure. However, the pendency cannot be reduced only by increasing the strength of judges, so long as Artificial Intelligence is not used effectively. For this purpose, the judges, staff members and advocates should be properly trained. It should be compulsory for the Bar Associations to mandatorily train the Advocates. If any advocate is unable to undergo, he/she should not be allowed to remain in the actual practice. Such advocates can be effectively used for other purposes. AI must be made compulsory in law schools and colleges for the benefit of new entrants.

 It is everybody's case that delayed justice amounts to denial of justice, but it should not be hurried justice as well, because that is bound to recoil upon the Bench, the Bar and the Clients. The training in AI must be imparted to all related to the judicial process; otherwise, the judicial system will become a mockery, for which the entire system would be held guilty by posterity. AI will also be able to eradicate large-scale corruption in the judiciary.

 The Supreme Court now handles not only constitutional adjudication but also massive special leave jurisdiction under Article 136, public interest litigation, election disputes, commercial matters, criminal appeals, and service cases. Therefore, increasing the number of judges is almost inevitable.

AI can assist justice but cannot replace judicial reasoning. It may, however, help in identifying precedents, summarising records, detecting inconsistencies, transcription, translation, scheduling, and reducing administrative burdens.

 

The Case for the Impeachment of Justice Yashwant Varma

 It is a troubling anomaly that, more than a month after tendering his resignation on April 9, 2026, Justice Yashwant Varma remains a judge of the Allahabad High Court on paper. While his resignation awaits formal acceptance by the President, the shadows of the March 2025 discovery—unaccounted, half-burnt currency found at his residence—continue to loom over the integrity of the higher judiciary.

The Investigative Trail

The evidence against Justice Varma is substantial. Following a fire at his official residence, an In-house Enquiry Committee found "strong evidence" that the judge exercised "tacit or active control" over the storeroom where the cash was discovered. When the judge refused to resign voluntarily in May 2025, the matter escalated to Parliament. On August 12, 2025, Lok Sabha Speaker Om Birla admitted an impeachment motion backed by over 140 MPs and constituted a three-member committee under the Judges (Inquiry) Act, 1968.

Justice Varma’s response followed a familiar script of procedural delay. He challenged the inquiry in the Supreme Court, claiming the Speaker's unilateral formation of the committee was invalid. In January 2026, the Supreme Court dismissed his petition, ruling that safeguards for judges cannot be allowed to paralyse the removal process. Having exhausted his legal shields, the judge resigned just as the inquiry panel was set to conclude its probe.

The Constitutional Lacuna

Legally, this situation tests the limits of Article 217(1). While the 1978 Gopal Chandra Misra precedent suggests a resignation is typically final upon receipt, the spirit of the law was never intended to provide a sanctuary for "proved misbehaviour."

By requesting "immediate effect," Justice Varma is not merely seeking retirement; he is seeking to render the parliamentary process infructuous. This strategy has been used before to evade the ultimate constitutional censure:

• Justice Soumitra Sen (2011) resigned after the Rajya Sabha passed an impeachment motion but before the Lok Sabha could vote.
• Justice P.D. Dinakaran (2011) resigned before proceedings reached their logical end.

The Need for a Final Verdict

Allowing a resignation to serve as a "get-out-of-jail-free" card sets a dangerous precedent. It allows a judge to avoid the loss of pension and retirement benefits that a formal impeachment would entail, effectively rewarding a strategic exit.

Accountability is not just about removal; it is about transparency. The public has a right to know the origin of the "half-burnt" cash and the extent of the alleged corruption. To let Justice Varma "wriggle out" via a resignation letter is an admission of systemic helplessness.

For the sake of public trust, the President should consider delaying acceptance of the resignation until the Judges Inquiry Committee submits its findings. Impeachment proceedings must reach their logical conclusion to ensure that the writing on the wall is not an invitation to flee, but a mandate for justice.

 

 

Mamata Government Must Immediately Be Dismissed to Promulgate President Rule

 There is little doubt that, in the last few days, Mamata Banerjee has gone completely insane. She urgently needs proper mental treatment. Although earlier she was also known for her bizarre behaviour, which was considered a sign of her struggling nature.

A politician can indeed sink to any level to gain and retain power, but it is difficult to imagine that a politician like Mamata Banerjee could reach the lowest ebb in public life, and even after being comprehensively defeated at the hustings, refuse to vacate the post of Chief Minister. She talks very highly of morality, constitution and compassion, but her actions are entirely contrary to what she preaches. In fact, there is a world of difference between what she says and what she does.

She contested the election in the name of constitutional democracy, but now, very shockingly, refuses to step down after her and her party’s defeat in the elections.

Thanks to the sagacity of the Election Commission of India and the Central forces, the elections to the Bengal assembly were, for the first time, the most peaceful, despite all efforts by the goondas to create mayhem. Now, while everything was going smoothly, she created a constitutional crisis by refusing to resign as Chief Minister.

The Governor, therefore, has no choice but to dismiss her government under Article 172, read with Article 164, to maintain peace and tranquillity. Thereafter, he will have to constitute the assembly and administer the oath of office of the Chief Minister to a person who enjoys the confidence of the House.

While the political tension is palpable, it's worth separating the heated rhetoric from the constitutional reality. Article 172(1) dictates that a Legislative Assembly exists for exactly five years from its first meeting. For the current assembly, that clock runs out today, May 7, 2026.

Once the term expires, the government no longer has a legal assembly to be responsible to. If a Chief Minister doesn't resign by then, the Governor doesn't just have an option but a constitutional obligation to ensure a government that reflects the new mandate is sworn in.

Under Article 164(1), the Chief Minister and Council of Ministers hold office "during the pleasure of the Governor." Conventionally, the "pleasure" is withdrawn only when a government loses a floor test. In this scenario, where the election results are clear, and the incumbent has even lost her own seat, the Governor can legally withdraw that "pleasure" if the CM refuses to step down after the results are notified.

With the assembly term ending in less than 24 hours, the Governor will have to formally invite the leader of the majority party to form the government. And dismiss the current cabinet if no resignation is tendered, citing the expiration of the assembly's term and the withdrawal of "pleasure" under Article 164.