Lawyers debate whether the sanctity of their dress code should give way to practicality
THEY'RE hot under the collar in more ways than one. A section of lawyers have been pressing for a change in the prescribed dress code which stipulates five layers for male lawyers—a vest, a shirt, a black coat, a black gown and a band—with a slightly dressed down version for female lawyers.
The cumbersome compulsion, combined with the heat, has begun getting under their skin, quite literally. Says Joboy Thadicaren, the man mooting the change: "For any memorandum of representation to be admitted in the bar council, 50 signatures are required. We already have 300 lawyers who are part of the signature campaign. Armed with this, we intend to file a writ petition in the high court, after the vacations (in June)."
The 300 advocates—who have signed the memorandum—including eminent names such as Anand Grover, Ramrao Adik, Niteen Pradhan and Mahesh Jethmalani, propose a white shirt, a black tie with the bar council logo, navy blue, dark grey, white or black trousers (with a corresponding combination in skirts, saris or salwar kameez for women) and black shoes. "Senior counsel could indicate their seniority with a lapel button or a striped tie, instead of gowns with the flap behind. The coat, gown and band should be made optional and not compulsory in any court of law, including the high court," asserts Thadicaren.
The petition, which has been drafted by M.P. Vashi, former chairman, Bar Council of Maharashtra and Goa, Thadicaren and a few like-minded lawyers' bodies, cites three main reasons to drive home the validity of their demands. Firstly, a change in the dress code is not likely to interfere with the administration of justice; secondly, the physical discomfort and the resultant health hazards currently posed to the wearers; and thirdly, the questionable preservation of an archaic British attire when moral values and legal ethics have already been preyed upon by corrosive modernity. "We have passed that era when one's status in society was judged by elaborate dress. Legal status comes through work performance and the service one renders to one's clients. American lawyers wear business suits and their legal system has not suffered for it. On the other hand, there have been cases here where the litigant has borne the brunt of the dress code because the judge has found the lawyer's attire wanting and has not heard him," avers Thadicaren.
Yet another argument being forwarded is that while a uniform code makes sense for judges since they are government employees, for lawyers it is merely wasteful expenditure—the gown alone costs no less than Rs 1,000. Calling the robes and the layers of clothing the sign of a 'colonial hangover', Vashi says: "We have been wearing this for the past 100 years and there is no reason why one should continue. None of the other British colonies do so. Adopting the best is one thing; following blind tradition is quite another. Bad enough, in spite of the resolution passed in 1965, we continue as slaves by addressing the judges as 'Lordship'."
A clear pointer, according to Vashi, is the marked absence of the garb among lawyers in the lower courts for whom the dress code is optional. Legally speaking too, under Section 49 of the Advocates Act 1961, the dress should be prescribed in keeping with the climatic conditions. "If the lawyers in the city civil courts are given an option, why shouldn't those in the high court? Are the climatic conditions in the high court any different from those in the lower courts? Only three of the 3,000 lawyers in the city civil courts are likely to wear the entire panoply—and that is a clear indication of its popularity," states Vashi.
Opposing the move, however, are 200 advocates of the Advocates Association of Western India who have signed a counter-requisition. "The dress is integral to the discipline and decorum imposed by the profession. Weren't those who are now seeking changes aware of the attire before they got into the profession?" questions an affronted lawyer. "All this talk about foreign influence is ridiculous. In that case, why don't they wear dhotis instead of trousers?" asks Usha Purohit.
"Besides, isn't our entire jurisprudence based on the British legal system? As it is some lawyers dress badly; without a dress code, one shudders to think what will happen. The uniform is meant for distinction since we work in a common environment; most of us are proud wearing it and find this entire issue irrelevant." The other objection being raised is that with the change in dress code, there will be no means of differentiating the high court lawyers from those outside the magistrate courts. Says Delhi Bar Council Vice-Chairman O.P. Faizi: "The lawyer's uniform has people holding him in 'awful reverence'. Without the robe, a lawyer would not command the respect that he does. Judges often throw out people from crowded courtrooms, peons tell people to get off chairs meant for lawyers. There would be such practical problems and embarrassing situations if we looked and dressed like the rest. I wear my uniform because it gives me dignity."
SUCH arguments of dignity, decorum and tradition, however, hold no water for the proponents of change. "We wear dignified clothes and do undignified things. Is that justifiable?" questions Niteen Pradhan. Bands besmirched with curry and tea stains; gowns that are drycleaned but once a year; coats that could do with some ironing—all these detract from the dignity that befits the profession. Those who lay emphasis on their superiority as high court lawyers are also alarmed that clothes-cutting would mean cutting their inflated sense of self to size.
Terming it a cloak-and-swagger game for those who want to preen in the borrowed feathers of the British, Jethmalani assesses: "The code is completely incompatible with the way we live. As it is, lawyers are a harassed lot; there is no need to get them climatically stressed in this sweltering heat. If they want us to continue with the code, we should be provided with air-conditioned courts." The heat is particularly unbearable in the magistrate courts which has a dearth of facilities, unlike the high court which is far roomier.
Medical opinion too finds the legal prescription a little too unreasonable. Says Nalini Karunakaran, an ayurvedic physician: "Black is a very unhealthy colour and being a bad conductor of heat could lead to a breakdown of health in the long run." And the end result could possibly be skin problems and orthopaedic complications especially if "advocates wearing these heat-retaining gowns suddenly expose themselves to air-conditioned offices".
According to Thadicaren, the writ petition has historic possibilities: one that will determine the need for a new look for the age-old profession. Whether or not the high court favours its lawyers changing their clothes, the writ petition will have to be admitted to the Supreme Court which will then decide if the changes will be implemented on a national level. A few senior advocates feel that for any change to be implemented, it has to be approved by the Bar Council of India in consultation with the chief justice of India. Whatever the outcome, there will be an outrage over the change of hues—those in favour and those against it.
Finally, while the squabbling section sees red over black, there are those who believe that all this ado over clothing is baseless and that there are far more crucial issues that need to be looked into—such as corruption in the judiciary and the overwhelming problem of pending cases.
But then, it isn't too surprising that the legal community is in a tizzy and divided over the prescribed code of dressing. The issue of disrobing has always made it a trifle uncomfortable, if one were to recall the sensational case where a young lawyer thought nothing of flinging off her robes to pose for a centrespread.