You begin the book by comparing preparing for a case with a nine-month pregnancy, saying only a woman can argue a case well. But in a country where only 15% lawyers are women, about 13% women judges, abysmally low senior partners in law firms, and no woman CJI yet—Justice BV Nagarathna will be first woman CJI next year for only 36 days—how did you survive what is obviously a man’s world?

I survived by focusing my attention on my areas of interest. My question has always been what women bring to the table. And my answer to that is: a new epistemology, a lived experience and a knowledge of love and life. I’ve used the Constitution as an instrument of social change, seen through the eyes of a woman. Women are survivors, but they are also mischievous survivors. I did not compromise on my femininity, nor did I want to talk and walk like a man.

You write about a lack of guarantee of equality before the law for women and that women are outcasts in the eyes of law. Would you blame the Constitution for it or male dominance in the judicial set-up?

Both. Equality before the law and equal protection of the laws mean nothing unless they are translated into day-to-day life in what is considered the private domain. There is no composite equality law in India that addresses inequality in our community or family spaces. This needs to change. Male-dominated judiciaries have no knowledge of the reality of a woman’s life, yet they sit in judgment over these cases. This affects decisions relating to rape, sexual harassment at the workplace, domestic violence and rape within marriage—all issues specific to women.

There is a reluctance to talk about these problems. The domain of law relating to women in India is plagued by a resignation to ‘custom and usage’ as law, enabling a regressive, backward-looking ‘morality’ to govern their lives. The assertion of women’s rights in this century has led to a severe backlash, creating a narrative that women ‘misuse’ the law. This is just another way of saying that women should remain within the bounds of the home and not demand equality in the public domain. Women in India are humoured more when they are dead than when they are alive.

At the same time, a lot of feminist gains in India have come through courts and legislation. But surely legal reform alone cannot meaningfully transform deeply social structures like patriarchy and caste?

Yes, many progressive changes have come through the courts. But the unfortunate truth is that without the active support of the State to ‘protect, fulfill and respect’ the rights of women, things cannot change. We need to understand that there is a deeply symbiotic relationship between social change brought about by civil society activism and the courts. Neither can be a standalone strategy.

While campaigning for social change we cannot avoid the courts because they are the last resort against oppression by a dominant State that is unwilling to perform its role as a catalyst for change. India is a classic example of a welfare state, where the Directive Principles of State Policy cast a duty on the State to transform social relationships and question the concentration of power in the hands of a few.

You write strongly about the judiciary’s deference to the executive since the past many decades and how it is deeply embedded in judicial thinking. What does that do to the idea of justice?

Its direct impact is felt on life and liberty. When the best among us are put away behind bars, we lose not just one individual, but also the momentum of a movement dedicated to social justice. When courts are unable to free them, and trials remain pending for years, we lose access to justice. When our cases are dismissed as ‘matters of policy’ for the government, the Constitution stands diminished.

At what point does constitutional erosion stop being a legal issue and become a societal one? Is it the job of courts to defend democracy?

This is an important question, and there is no abstract answer to it. Those who fought for our independence did find an answer. For them, non-violent struggle, civil disobedience and the demand for social change went together, and won us freedom from foreign rule. Once we established a constitutional democracy, our non-violent struggles continued to be instruments of social change.

Today, we are again confronted not only by the need for social change but also by a fundamental challenge to our civil and political rights. We are being disenfranchised and, with that, losing welfare benefits linked to the vote. The courts have proved ineffective in dealing with these issues. This raises the question you have posed: Who defends democracy and by what means?

I would not like to see the use of violent means. There have to be better ways of achieving bipartisan consensus among us. Look at Nepal: where did the violent revolution get them? Today, the appointment of a woman judge as chief justice is being resisted by their Parliament and the courts. Where is the focus on justice for woman?

You’ve used constitutional litigation as a tool for social justice. But do you think judicial restraint has increasingly become judicial avoidance, and are Indian courts today still capable of transformative constitutionalism?

I don’t need to use expressions like ‘transformative constitutionalism’. India entered the phase of modernity with its independence, and that was the transformation. The challenge now is to continue using the judiciary as an instrument of social, economic and political change and accountability that we inherited from the freedom movement.

While you have written about judicial corruption, of which we have seen recent examples too, there is no mention of corruption among lawyers, and their nexus with judges. What do you have to say about that?

I believe that the legal profession is the only barrier against judicial misconduct. It has been disappointing to see that the Bar has not risen to this challenge. Power and privilege in the profession are ensured through the continuity of family. There is an obvious conflict of interest, which prevents progress.

You have written how you told a judge you would never represent the landlords against the homeless in your case of pavement dwellers. Have you, indeed, always championed the proletariat?

Yes, I am aware that this may seem to go against the ‘cab rank’ rule. However, when you hold yourself out as a public individual, your responsibilities go beyond that of a professional. The resultant challenges do indeed lead to isolation and exclusion, but there has to be consistency between thought and action.

You’ve often taken positions that attracted intense backlash. Has there ever been a moment when the personal cost of such advocacy felt too high?

The greatest pain I experienced was being attacked by the very institution I had served all my life. Yet that did not make me give up caring for it.

Where do you draw the line between professional duty and political conviction? Are there cases or clients you believe lawyers should ethically refuse to represent?

There has been a lineage of lawyers who combined their political convictions with their professional practice. These is nothing new about this. I do not belong to any political party, so this is a non-issue for me.

The Constitution is My Home: Conversations on a Life in Law
Indira Jaising with Ritu Menon
HarperCollins
Pp 236, Rs 699