The passing of a legal titan, Iqbal Chagla, also perhaps heralds the passing of the golden era of the Bombay Bar. An era that prized a tradition of meticulous preparation, thorough research and above all, civility and sobriety in advocacy.
Iqbal (known in the tradition of the Bombay Bar simply by his first name or by his pet name “Mickey”) joined the Bar at the Bombay High Court as the son of a legend, Chief Justice M C Chagla. This was as much of a burden as a boon. For although he reaped the warmth of a Bar beholden to his father, he also carried the heavy weight of expectation. It was a burden he bore lightly. Ever mindful of his legacy, he achieved greatness and earned fame in his own right.
His eloquence both in court and outside it was unparalleled. It was based not only on his redoubtable mastery over the English language but upon the clarity of his thought and the conviction for his cause. His advocacy was buttressed by an excellent grasp of legal principle — not necessarily a torrent of case law but a surer understanding, that of the underlying principles and doctrines. He used these remarkable abilities to craft an argument that was impeccably structured, compelling and always elegant.
I shall never forget his commanding, almost imperious, presence as he flew down the cloistered corridors of the High Court (in the old days, Dunhill pipe in hand) his gown billowing behind him — no wonder that one of his juniors affectionately nicknamed him Batman!
Beneath that faintly forbidding exterior was a joie de vivre and a steadfast adherence to principle. Throughout his career he displayed integrity in the face of temptation, clarity in the face of chaos, valour in the face of adversity.
I was truly privileged to be his junior. He taught by example. At conferences, in between the puffs of his pipe artfully cradled in his palm, you learnt the art of sorting the wheat from the chaff, reducing a complex maze of facts to their core legal elements and diplomatically turning down suggestions that did not meet the most exacting standards of intellect and ethics. When he found that his client had not stuck to the straight and narrow, he returned the brief. I have seen many briefs returned and many refusals to urge untenable arguments. To him, the integrity of the process mattered as much as the result.
But fight hard he did for his clients and in the words of Churchill, he never, never gave in except to convictions of honour and good sense. And that made him one of the most formidable opponents you could face, albeit one who was always fair. He espoused public causes with a passion. It would be impossible to find space to exhaustively list even just the seminal cases — both public and private — that he argued.
His chambers were an oasis of learning not only of the law but of life. Iqbal was a renaissance man — a connoisseur of art, history, photography, literature, golf, food and music. Each day brought forth new treasures for us. He personified Walter Scott’s adage. “A lawyer without history or literature is a mere working mason but if he has some knowledge of these, he may venture to call himself an architect.”
Iqbal was truly an architect and yet the atmosphere he inculcated in his chambers was not one of worship or servility. It was of irreverence! I believe he actively encouraged this to ensure no one’s ego, least of all his own, grew out of hand. Reverential words such as “Sir” or even “Mr” were banished to the outer reaches of the earth. The flow of conversation was easy and light-hearted. And a conference free half-an-hour at the end of day’s play for all to share a cup of tea was de rigueur. Much laughter abounded. Much work was also done. I spent the most enjoyable years of my career in chamber No.1, a club-like surrounding where work was but a necessary irritant. We worked hard but also played hard!
To attend to our burgeoning appetites and sometimes eccentric needs was Iqbal’s kind and caring wife Roshan, who uncomplainingly hosted countless chamber dinners with aplomb. Her immaculately set table heaved with gourmet delights that never seemed enough for a bunch of ravenous and raucous young lawyers. Iqbal was not complete without his ever supportive Roshan.
Perhaps his finest hour came in the early 1990s when he bravely led the Bombay Bar to crusade against corruption in the judiciary. He spearheaded and then defended resolutions condemning six sitting judges at great personal risk of contempt — for as the law then stood, justification was not a defence. He has been vindicated by the verdict of history and he set an example to follow in the future. In that moment he met the test enunciated by Martin Luther King Jr, who had said that “The true measure of a man is not how he behaves in moments of comfort and convenience but how he stands at times of controversy and challenges”.
Years before, he had displayed similar courage during the Emergency despite the shadow of arrest falling over his father and over him. At both times, his mettle was tested and he came through as a champion of civil liberties and the rule of law.
He turned down public honour for personal reasons: First, the Solicitor Generalship of India and then, a judgeship of the Supreme Court. That was his greatness.
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All his juniors owe their careers to Iqbal. But I owe him much more than that — he was my father figure in the profession and the rock to which I turned in any crisis, personal or professional. It is a void that cannot be filled.
Tout casse, tout passe, tout lasse — everything breaks, everything passes, everything dies. But Iqbal will live on forever in the hearts of so many of us with his place in the pantheon of India’s greatest lawyers secure.
The writer, a senior advocate at the Bombay High Court, is former additional solicitor-general of India and former advocate-general, Maharashtra
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