Pending cases at Indian Judicial courts

The Never-Ending Wait in Indian Courts

Many Indians often talk about our lazy and corrupt court system — and I count myself among them. Personally, I hate getting involved in any kind of court activity. Sadly, it is not just a feeling; the numbers prove it. India has the highest number of pending legal cases in the world — more than 30 million cases are stuck in our courts. To make things worse, the average time to resolve a case is about 15 years, and sometimes even longer.

Think about it: a generation can pass before a verdict comes. Families break apart, people die waiting for justice, and in the end, the judgment often doesn’t serve much purpose because the damage is already done. The saying “Justice delayed is justice denied” could not be truer than in India. Many poor people simply give up because they cannot afford the endless lawyer fees and court dates. And for those who keep fighting, the system itself drains them — emotionally, financially, and mentally.

Recently, my friend Ravi, who completed his law degree and is now a registered lawyer, sent me a poem about Indian courts. The poem describes exactly what happens in our system — the endless adjournments, the clerks, the long queues, the confusion — and ultimately warns that one should do anything, absolutely anything, but never go to court.

I believe this is true. The poem was written by Mr. Kailash Gautam from Allahabad, and Ravi, as a lawyer himself, resonates deeply with its message. Even those who are supposed to work within the system admit that it is broken. Until we fix the root problems — lack of judges, corruption, outdated processes — justice will remain a dream for millions of Indians.

भले डांट घर में तू बीबी की खाना, भले जैसे -तैसे गिरस्ती चलाना
भले जा के जंगल में धूनी रमाना,मगर मेरे बेटे कचहरी न जाना
कचहरी न जाना- कचहरी न जाना.
कचहरी हमारी तुम्हारी नहीं है,कहीं से कोई रिश्तेदारी नहीं है
अहलमद से भी कोरी यारी नहीं है, तिवारी था पहले तिवारी नहीं है
कचहरी की महिमा निराली है बेटे, कचहरी वकीलों की थाली है बेटे
पुलिस के लिए छोटी साली है बेटे, यहाँ पैरवी अब दलाली है बेटे
कचहरी ही गुंडों की खेती है बेटे, यही जिन्दगी उनको देती है बेटे
खुले आम कातिल यहाँ घूमते हैं, सिपाही दरोगा चरण चुमतें है
कचहरी में सच की बड़ी दुर्दशा है, भला आदमी किस तरह से फंसा है
यहाँ झूठ की ही कमाई है बेटे, यहाँ झूठ का रेट हाई है बेटे
कचहरी का मारा कचहरी में भागे, कचहरी में सोये कचहरी में जागे
मर जी रहा है गवाही में ऐसे, है तांबे का हंडा सुराही में जैसे
लगाते-बुझाते सिखाते मिलेंगे, हथेली पे सरसों उगाते मिलेंगे
कचहरी तो बेवा का तन देखती है, कहाँ से खुलेगा बटन देखती है
कचहरी शरीफों की खातिर नहीं है, उसी की कसम लो जो हाज़िर नहीं है
है बासी मुहं घर से बुलाती कचहरी, बुलाकर के दिन भर रुलाती कचहरी
मुकदमें की फाइल दबाती कचहरी, हमेशा नया गुल खिलाती कचहरी
कचहरी का पानी जहर से भरा है, कचहरी के नल पर मुवक्किल मरा है
मुकदमा बहुत पैसा खाता है बेटे, मेरे जैसा कैसे निभाता है बेटे
दलालों नें घेरा सुझाया -बुझाया, वकीलों नें हाकिम से सटकर दिखाया
धनुष हो गया हूँ मैं टूटा नहीं हूँ, मैं मुट्ठी हूँ केवल अंगूंठा नहीं हूँ
नहीं कर सका मैं मुकदमें का सौदा, जहाँ था करौदा वहीं है करौदा
कचहरी का पानी कचहरी का दाना, तुम्हे लग न जाये तू बचना बचाना
भले और कोई मुसीबत बुलाना, कचहरी की नौबत कभी घर न लाना
कभी भूल कर भी न आँखें उठाना, न आँखें उठाना न गर्दन फसाना
जहाँ पांडवों को नरक है कचहरी, वहीं कौरवों को सरग है कचहरी ||

 

corruption in Indian police

I completed my tour guide training in December, and my license was printed in January. Soon after, the Ministry of Tourism office in Delhi asked me to submit a police verification certificate from my local police station. This certificate is supposed to confirm that there are no legal cases against me. The Ministry even provided a standard form, and I was told I simply had to get it stamped at my local police station. When I went there with the form, the officer refused to stamp it. Instead, he told me to go to the DIG office and apply for a character certificate.

By mistake, I went to a different police office. I explained my situation to an officer there, but after learning I was a tour guide, he mocked me, saying: “Oh, so your job is to fool tourists and exploit them.” I was furious but held my calm. After a few more questions, he finally directed me to the correct DIG office. The DIG office was in terrible condition—dark, dusty, and neglected. The officer responsible gave me a form, which I filled out and submitted with my documents. I had been warned by my local police station that I would need to “take care” of him, so I handed over ₹100 as a bribe. He told me to follow up with my local police station in two days.

Back at my local station, they confirmed my application had arrived but demanded a domicile certificate from the court—something that would take over 15 days. I had already provided my passport, which was proof enough. Thankfully, an advocate present at the time intervened, insisting that a passport was equivalent to a domicile certificate. Only then did the officer reluctantly accept my documents. Even then, he said they would send someone to verify my residence in a week. I understood what he really meant.

When I asked if I was supposed to “give something,” he bluntly said: “Such work doesn’t happen without money.” My friends had told me ₹500 was enough, so I offered that. But the officer said there were five or six people to share the money with, and it wasn’t enough. We finally settled on ₹700. After taking the money, he gave me an unexpected “lesson.” He explained how to bribe properly: always look around to see who is in the office, offer money when there aren’t many people, and never mention a bribe to another officer. He even warned me never to admit I had bribed his colleague at the DIG office. After this “training,” he promised my documents would be forwarded the same evening.

From there, my file went to the LIU (Local Intelligence Unit). At their office, the same cycle began. They said they would verify my residence but then hinted that a payment would speed things up. One officer casually asked for ₹500, saying that if I paid, nobody would need to visit my home and my file would move forward the same day. I paid. Something absurd happened while I was there: I received a call about my guest house business. The officer overheard and asked if I had a restaurant. When I said no, he looked disappointed and said he would have liked to come for a meal—especially if there was “hot chicken with whiskey.” I was shocked at how openly he said this.

From LIU, my papers went to the CO office (a regional police office). There, an officer told me: “We know your daytime character, but we don’t know about your nighttime character—how many women or prostitutes you sleep with, or how many bars you visit at night.” He repeated this in front of other officers, and they all laughed. I was stunned by the humiliation. Finally, I asked how much money he wanted. He said, “Give anything.” I paid ₹200, and suddenly there was no need to check my “nighttime character” anymore. My file was forwarded to the SP (Superintendent of Police) office.

At the SP office, I had to wait an hour before being presented to the SP himself. He looked at me briefly, asked why I needed the certificate, and signed the papers. That was it. His PA later asked me to come back if I wanted to “make sure things moved quickly.” I returned a few days later, and luckily my documents had already been forwarded to the DIG office. Finally, back at the DIG office, I was told that another senior officer still needed to sign my papers. I waited for three hours in the heat until that officer finally arrived. The DIG officer then took my documents to him, got them signed, and finally issued me the character certificate.

The certificate itself was laughably unimpressive—a small piece of paper stating that no legal cases were registered against me. They hadn’t even updated the forms for 2010; it was printed as 2009 and corrected by hand with a pen. In total, I had spent nearly a month of running from office to office—DIG → Local Police → DIG → LIU → CO → SP → DIG again—and paid around ₹1,700 in bribes just to get this single piece of paper. What hurts most is not the time or the money, but the way I was treated. I was mocked for being a tour guide, accused of sleeping with prostitutes, and humiliated by people who were supposed to serve the public.

In the end, I got my police verification certificate, submitted it to the Ministry of Tourism in Delhi, and finally received my license. But every time I look at that piece of paper, I can’t help but feel that my character certificate was issued by the most characterless people I have ever met.

Finally received Indian passport

I finally received my passport, and believe me, it took more than eleven months. I applied for it last February and only received it this January. The entire process was marred by bureaucratic red tape and corruption. From purchasing the application to finally holding the passport in my hands, it was a constant ordeal of bribery and inefficiency. The police were supposed to verify my documents by visiting my home and meeting me in person, but instead, I had to go to the police station, where they demanded Rs. 600 and never followed up with a home visit.

Similarly, the Local Intelligence Unit (LIU), known for its propensity to ask for bribes and its lack of genuine efficiency, was also supposed to verify my documents. I ended up meeting the officer in a hospital room where his wife was admitted. It was quite absurd: I received a call from an LIU officer who said he had my passport documents and wanted to meet me. When I inquired about the time he would visit my home, he told me his wife was ill and in the hospital, so he provided me with the hospital address and asked me to meet him there.

At the hospital, this officer took me to the room where his wife was lying in bed. She had the typical appearance of someone whose spouse is involved in corrupt practices. The officer briefly reviewed my documents and then demanded Rs. 600 as a bribe. My friends had advised me to offer only Rs. 300, so I tried to negotiate, but he insisted that the Rs. 600 would be distributed among all the officers at the LIU office. Reluctantly, I paid him the full amount.

Adding to the absurdity, the officer then asked me to teach him English. I couldn’t help but laugh at the request and didn’t know how to respond. I suggested a few language schools and quickly left the hospital. During our conversation, he revealed something troubling: when I asked why he didn’t come to my home for verification, he mentioned that they were primarily concerned with people who have beards, implying a focus on Muslims.I understand that one particular group is involved in the majority of terrorist activities around the world and may be viewed with suspicion. However, as an officer working for the LIU, he should have visited my place and conducted a thorough check regardless.

The inefficiency and bias of institutions like the LIU seem to contribute to the problem rather than address it effectively. It’s disheartening to see how these institutions operate, especially given the significant impact of terrorism on our society.

Indian elections 2009

The upcoming central government elections have created a stir in the political landscape. Benares, historically a significant city in India, has gained even more prominence this year due to the high-profile candidates from various parties contesting in the elections. The city has become a focal point of national political interest, with parties fiercely competing against one another, resorting to tactics such as bribery, religious targeting, and caste-based appeals, rather than focusing on the needs of the people and development.

Recently, several political leaders were caught illegally distributing money to voters to sway their support. This practice, while illegal under the Indian constitution, highlights the troubling state of our politics. The real issue is not just the legality of these actions but the nature of our politicians. Instead of working towards genuine governance, they seem to resort to bribery when elections approach. Prominent figures, who are already wealthy, continue to amass more wealth in a country with widespread poverty.

Today’s headline in Amar Ujala (5/03/09) reveals that many politicians’ assets have skyrocketed in the past five years. Despite the fact that over 77% of Indians live on less than Rs. 20 per day, the wealth of politicians has grown six to seven times, with some even seeing their assets increase tenfold. These figures raise concerns about the sources of their wealth and the transparency of their financial dealings. Politicians are required to declare their income when they file their candidacy, yet those with assets worth Rs. 5 crore in previous elections now report holdings of Rs. 50 crore. This raises questions about the extent of undisclosed wealth.

I had initially decided to vote for Mayawati due to her effective governance, which has generally seen lower crime rates and less exploitation compared to others. However, her decision to field Mukhtar Ansari as her candidate for the Varanasi seat has been disappointing. Ansari, a convicted criminal involved in inciting communal violence, was introduced to secure Muslim votes, undermining the integrity of her party. The competition in Varanasi this year features prominent names: Ajay Rai from the Samajwadi Party, Murli Manohar Joshi from the BJP, Rajesh Mishra from the Congress, and Mukhtar Ansari from the Bahujan Samaj Party.

Ajay Rai, a notorious criminal, and Rajesh Mishra, who was recently caught bribing voters, are among the candidates. Mishra, who previously claimed credit for declaring the Ganga as the national river, has done little for Benares since his election. The BJP’s introduction of Murli Manohar Joshi, a respected and non-criminal candidate, was seen as a strong move. However, Mayawati’s choice of Mukhtar Ansari aims to consolidate the Muslim vote, knowing that the Hindu vote will be split among Joshi, Mishra, and Rai. This strategy, which risks fostering further communal tensions, might lead to Ansari’s victory, posing a grave concern for Benares and the nation.

It is disheartening to see that our political system is plagued by corruption and self-interest. Instead of focusing on effective governance and development, politicians are more concerned with winning elections through any means necessary. This reflects poorly on the state of our democracy and governance.

Corruption in India

It seems like “pending” has become a ubiquitous term here, and perhaps we use it more than anywhere else in the world. We have the highest number of legal cases pending in our courts, and people often spend their entire lives pursuing cases with no resolution. Many now prefer to settle disputes privately rather than dealing with the police or courts. When dealing with the police, bribery is almost inevitable. If you go to court, you’re faced with both bribery and lengthy delays before any judgment is reached. Sometimes, even judges are bribed, which compromises the fairness of their decisions.

I experienced this firsthand. Several years ago, I filed a case against a computer shop where I had bought a computer. I had been charged Rs. 43,000 for a computer worth Rs. 23,000. I demanded either a refund or the return of the computer. The shopkeeper agreed to take the computer back and issued me two post-dated bank cheques. However, when I tried to cash them, the bank informed me that there were insufficient funds. Despite repeated attempts and promises from the shopkeeper, I never received my money.

After this, I decided to take legal action. It took over seven years and substantial personal time and lawyer fees before the judgment was finally delivered—in favor of the shopkeeper, because he had bribed the judge. Despite having clear evidence of my case, including a stamped paper agreement and a receipt, justice was not served. I also applied for a tour guide license two years ago, but have yet to receive it. The process has been stalled in various courts. Initially, it took nearly a year for the government to process the application and conduct the exam.

Later, existing guides filed lawsuits to block new entrants into the field. Although I passed the exam, the government has only issued temporary licenses, which are not satisfactory. It seems unlikely that I will receive a permanent license within the next year. I applied for another tour guide license from the state government about two and a half years ago, and the situation is similar. The government has been sued by established guides, and the case remains unresolved. I have almost forgotten about it, as there has been no progress or hearing regarding this case. The Rs. 500 application fee has not been refunded, and it appears the exam may never be conducted.

Additionally, I applied for a registration for a guest house a year and a half ago but have yet to receive it. I am told every few weeks that they are still surveying and will issue the license soon. On one occasion, they even told me to reapply because they lost my paperwork. While the application process was not costly, it was time-consuming. I am currently hosting guests without a license, merely informing the local intelligence unit. Having an official license would provide peace of mind.

Corrupt Policing in India

I witnessed something truly bizarre recently, which might be considered quite unusual even for an Indian. While I was sitting in an auto rickshaw, the driver was pulled over by a policeman who then sat next to me. Typically, police officers don’t pay for transportation, whether it’s an auto, bus, or train. After a few minutes of driving, another individual tried to stop our auto, but the driver refused. He explained that this person was also an auto rickshaw driver and was looking for a free ride. The other driver was furious and began shouting loudly.

We encountered this irate driver again near the railway station. He had arrived ahead of us, parked his auto, and was waiting for us. This time, our driver stopped, and the angry driver approached, grabbing the policeman by the collar and hurling abuses at him. I, along with the others in the auto, was shocked to see an auto rickshaw driver berating a policeman so publicly. The second driver claimed that the policeman had tried to ride in his auto without paying, and when he refused due to his auto being full, the policeman had slapped him.

It seemed the policeman had come to our auto after this incident. The driver continued to yell at the policeman, demanding to know why he was slapped, while the policeman merely replied that he would deal with him later and threatened to arrest him. The driver then accused the policeman of routinely sitting in his auto without paying. He boldly said, “Do I give you Rs. 10 every time I drive to the railway station to get abused?” He revealed that police officers would charge him Rs. 10 each time he drove to the railway station, a practice that he had endured for a long time. The policeman, caught off guard by this revelation, fell silent.

The driver’s response was impressive. Another rickshaw driver shared that police officers have set rates for different routes, with drivers in the downtown area paying Rs. 60. Trucks and tractors are banned from entering the city center after 8 a.m., but they frequently do so by paying bribes to the police, who stop them at every intersection but only for show. As I watched the altercation unfold, I was quite entertained by the driver’s defiance. However, to my surprise, a few other bystanders started siding with the policeman.

Despite widespread knowledge of police corruption and harassment, these people began supporting the officer. The policeman seemed emboldened by their support and became more assertive. The crowd, now favoring the policeman, urged the driver to move and let the policeman go. Eventually, the auto rickshaw driver relented, and the policeman, now with the support of a crowd of over fifty people, was let go. As the station approached, the policeman got out of the auto without paying the fare, just as he had done before.

It was striking to witness such shameless behavior. The driver will likely face repercussions for his actions, but his bold response to the policeman was remarkable. It’s a stark reminder of the kind of bravery we need to tackle the most dangerous kind of corruption in India—often embodied by those in positions of authority like the police.

Flood in Bihar 2008

The situation in Bihar is now dire and completely out of control. Over 4 million people have been affected by the floods, and the Indian government seems to be doing nothing to address the crisis. I have witnessed scenes of immense suffering: people fighting for food, crying, and the carcasses of animals scattered around. The scale of the devastation is unlike anything I have ever seen. The affected people are without food, shelter, and medicine, and there is no adequate relief effort in sight. Experts estimate that it will take at least 4 to 5 months for the situation to stabilize, followed by a likely surge in diseases and poverty.

In one relief camp, I saw a chaotic scene where more than 50 people fought over a single packet of roasted garbanzo. In the end, no one managed to get any of it; the packet burst open, and the garbanzo scattered on the ground. People walked over it and some tried to collect as much as they could, hoping it might help them survive. When government officials brought a packet of food, hundreds were already waiting, making the relief effort seem inadequate and poorly managed. One particularly heartbreaking sight was a family who had to drown their cow in the floodwaters because they could no longer afford to feed it.

In a deeply emotional and traditional ceremony, they decorated the cow, performed a puja, and then released it into the floodwaters where it quickly drowned. The family wept and voiced their anger at the government for their plight. Meanwhile, the Indian government is investing heavily in projects like the Delhi Metro, preparing for the Commonwealth Games 2010, and constructing new stadiums and roads. While these are significant investments, they seem misplaced when compared to the urgent need to address the crisis in Bihar. It feels as though the government is prioritizing showy projects over the immediate need to provide resources and save lives.

The funds would be better spent on providing relief and support to the millions suffering in Bihar rather than on extravagant projects that do not address the pressing issues faced by those in need.