Why Indian Judiciary Fascinates British Culture’s My Lord and Tailcoat?

Unrobing the Past of My Lords:
Investigating the Indian Judiciary’s Enduring Fascination with British Culture

Seventy-eight years after gaining independence, the Indian legal system, particularly its judiciary, continues to exhibit a fascinating, and at times perplexing, affinity for British legal traditions and cultural markers. From the ceremonial address of “My Lord” to sartorial choices that defy a tropical climate, these lingering influences raise pertinent questions about identity, decolonization, and the very essence of justice in modern India.

The anecdote of a former Chief Justice of a High Court donning a tailcoat – the epitome of British formal wear – for a social gathering, even if not for a formal oath ceremony, provides a vivid snapshot of this phenomenon. While an individual choice, it underscores a deeper, systemic fascination that merits closer scrutiny.

The Lingering Echoes: “My Lord” and the Robe

Perhaps the most visible and widely debated symbol of this colonial hangover is the address “My Lord” or “Your Lordship” for judges. A direct import from the British legal system, where judges were historically linked to the peerage, this honorific has persisted despite calls for its abolition. The Bar Council of India, the apex body of lawyers, even passed a resolution in 2006 urging the use of “Your Honour” or “Sir” as more appropriate and decolonized forms of address. Yet, in the higher echelons of the judiciary, “My Lord” largely endures, signaling a deep-seated reverence for inherited traditions. Change can not happen if the judges call each other as “My Lord“.

The mandatory black robes for judges and the black coats and bands for advocates further highlight this adherence. While proponents argue that this dress code lends solemnity and dignity to the courtroom, critics consistently point to the profound impracticality in India’s scorching climate. The layers of thick, dark fabric in a country where temperatures routinely soar above 40 degrees Celsius lead to discomfort, health risks, and questions about the common sense behind such adherence. The fact that the power to modify this dress code largely rests with the Bar Council of India and the High Courts themselves, rather than the government or legislature, underscores the judiciary’s internal autonomy and, perhaps, its inherent conservatism in these matters.

Education, Ideas, and Elite Connections

The roots of this fascination run deeper than mere symbols. For generations, studying law at prestigious British universities like Oxford and Cambridge was the ultimate aspiration for many ambitious Indian legal minds, including those who would ascend to the judiciary. Even today, despite the proliferation of excellent legal institutions within India, the allure of a foreign, often British, legal education remains strong for many elite families.

This exposure naturally cultivates a certain legal culture – an appreciation for common law principles, the weight of precedent, and the historical decorum of British courts. These influences shape judicial philosophy, interpretative approaches to law, and a preference for established procedures and aesthetics. This intellectual lineage can, at times, create a perceived disconnect with the grassroots realities and aspirations of a diverse, independent India.

The My Lord’s “Tailcoat Moment” and its Implications

The anecdote of Chief Justice of Chhattisgarh at the tea party hosted at the time of elevation of its Registrar as judge, choosing to wear a tailcoat with its distinctive shining lapels, is particularly revealing. While not part of the prescribed judicial uniform for court, its use at a social event following a judicial ceremony speaks volumes. It wasn’t a mandatory requirement, but a personal choice that likely stemmed from a desire to embody the highest echelons of formality and tradition, as understood through a British cultural lens. It points to a cultivated taste, a personal identification with a sartorial language that signifies prestige and heritage in a way that resonates with the British aristocracy and judiciary.

This instance, along with the broader persistence of “My Lord” and the impractical dress code, invites us to ponder:

• Is this fascination a benign embrace of historical heritage, or a subtle perpetuation of a colonial mindset that implicitly elevates the former colonizer’s culture and justify emulation?
• Does this aesthetic adherence inadvertently contribute to a perception of the judiciary as an insular elite, rather than an accessible institution of and for the people of India?
• In a nation striving for its unique identity on the global stage, when will the legal system ever  fully “unrobe” itself from these colonial garments and embrace practices more suited to its own climate, culture, and constitutional aspirations?

The debate is not merely about robes and forms of address; it’s about the soul of India’s justice system. It’s about how an independent nation’s most vital institutions reflect its past, shape its present, and define its future. The continued embrace of these British cultural markers by a powerful and independent judiciary presents a compelling case study in the complex and enduring legacy of colonialism.