In a democracy, Parliament frames laws, the executive implements them, and the judiciary ensures they are applied within the bounds of the Constitution. But increasingly, sections of India’s judiciary appear to blur these boundaries. Instead of confining themselves to upholding the law, some courts seem eager to entertain every Public Interest Litigation (PIL) that challenges even democratically passed legislation or the authority of constitutional offices. Recent history is full of such overreach. When Parliament passed the three farm laws after full debate, the Supreme Court stalled their implementation—effectively substituting its judgment for that of elected representatives. That single intervention weakened parliamentary authority and emboldened street protests. Similarly, after Article 370 and 35A were abrogated by Parliament, the judiciary kept petitions pending for months, delaying the effective implementation of a law that had already come into force. More recently, courts have gone so far as to question the actions of constitutional offices like Governors and even the President on file clearances. Judicial review cannot mean second-guessing the functioning of other arms of the Constitution. The line between scrutiny and usurpation is thin—and dangerously close to being crossed. Even specific verdicts have baffled citizens. The Delhi High Court stayed the release of The Udaipur Files, a film based on the horrific “sar tan se juda” killings of a tailor in Rajasthan and a similar murder in Maharashtra. At the same time, accused in those very killings—recorded on video as they claimed religious sanction—have been granted bail. The contrast is glaring. When artistic expression is restricted while confessed perpetrators walk free, people inevitably question the judiciary’s priorities.
That anger is spilling into the open. Social media is ablaze with criticism of courts, judges, and what many see as skewed verdicts. Videos of ordinary citizens questioning judicial duplicity have gone viral. For a system that depends entirely on public confidence for its legitimacy, this perception of bias is dangerous. The judiciary has also faced credibility crises from within. In the past, reports surfaced of a senior judge being caught with unexplained cash bundles burning at his residence, triggering a storm of questions. Instead of full transparency through a legal process, the matter was handled internally—deepening the impression that judges are shielded from accountability. Regardless of the eventual outcome, such episodes erode trust in an institution meant to embody fairness. To be clear, not all courts or judges are guilty of such excesses. Across India, countless judges discharge their duties with diligence, humility, and integrity. But a few high-profile benches repeatedly make headlines for reasons that chip away at public faith. Meanwhile, lakhs of ordinary cases—criminal appeals, property disputes, basic service matters—languish for years in backlog. Why, then, do courts devote so much time and energy to activist-driven PILs or to stalling films, reforms, and legislation? Ultimately, the judiciary does not operate in isolation. Its authority rests not on robes or rituals but on the people’s trust. When verdicts defy logic, when killers are freed on bail while films are banned, when Parliament’s laws are treated as provisional until a bench approves them—citizens begin to see courts less as protectors of rights and more as obstacles to justice. Democracy cannot function if one unelected institution assumes the role of super-government. The judiciary must introspect, respect the will of Parliament, prioritize timely justice for citizens, and act with transparency. Its legitimacy depends on it. The people’s faith—once lost—will be far harder to restore than any law struck down or film stayed.
