A Legal Researcher | SabrangIndia

Beyond the Clock: Deconstructing Telangana’s Labour Law Reform and the Flawed Pursuit of Investment

sabrang — Thu, 28 Aug 2025 11:57:32 +0000

On July 5, 2025, the Government of Telangana enacted a significant amendment to its labour regulations, effectively permitting commercial establishments to schedule workdays of up to 10 hours at regular pay, with overtime compensation now triggered only after a 48-hour week is surpassed. Justified as a necessary measure to enhance the “Ease of Doing Business” (EoDB) and attract Foreign Direct Investment (FDI), the move has ignited a fierce debate, pitting a vision of corporate flexibility against the century-old fight for worker rights. While the government presents this as a pragmatic step to align with a globalized economy, a deeper analysis reveals that the policy is built on a precarious foundation: a discredited development model that misidentifies the true drivers of investment and ignores the overwhelming evidence linking overwork to diminished productivity and public health crises. This article will argue that by prioritizing a deregulatory “race to the bottom,” Telangana is not only undermining the well-being of its most valuable asset—its human capital—but is also pursuing a flawed strategy that is unlikely to secure the high-quality, sustainable investment it seeks.

Telangana’s Economic Engine and the New Rules of Work

At the heart of this policy change lies Hyderabad, the engine of Telangana’s economy. The city’s burgeoning Information Technology (IT), IT-enabled Services (ITeS), and broad commercial sectors are the state’s economic powerhouse, contributing over 65% of its Gross State Value Added (GSVA). With an IT workforce exceeding 900,000 professionals and generating exports second only to Bengaluru, Hyderabad is a globally significant economic hub. It is home to the largest international campuses of tech giants like Microsoft, Amazon, and Google, making the state’s regulatory climate a critical factor in their operational calculus.

It is precisely this workforce that is targeted by the new law, G.O. Rt. No. 282. The order exempts “commercial establishments” from the standard 8-hour workday rule for overtime calculation. Previously, any hour worked beyond eight in a day was compensated at twice the normal rate. The new framework eliminates this daily threshold. Now, an employee can be asked to work 10 hours a day for five days a week at their regular wage, as overtime is only calculated after the 48-hour weekly limit is breached. This represents a fundamental reclassification of what was once premium-paid overtime into standard work, constituting a direct and significant transfer of value from employees to employers. The government’s framing of this as “flexibility” is misleading; it is not flexibility for the worker, but for the corporation, which can now schedule longer days at a lower cost, effectively normalizing a 10-hour workday and facilitating a “crunch culture” where long hours can be demanded to meet project deadlines without the financial disincentive of overtime pay.

The following infographic effectively shows what the change in the law does.

The Myth of Deregulation: Deconstructing “Ease of Doing Business” and FDI

The core justification for this policy—improving Ease of Doing Business to attract FDI—is rooted in a development narrative that has been empirically challenged and officially discredited. This narrative was largely shaped by the World Bank’s annual Doing Business report, a tool that for years pressured developing nations to weaken labour laws. However, in September 2021, the World Bank permanently discontinued the report after investigations revealed data irregularities and ethical breaches, fatally undermining its credibility. Any policy based on climbing the rankings of this defunct report is, therefore, built on a phantom metric.

Even before its cancellation, the report’s “Employing Workers” sub-index was heavily criticised for its inherent anti-worker bias. Its methodology explicitly penalized countries for having robust worker protections, such as setting maximum weekly work hours, establishing a meaningful minimum wage, or requiring notice for dismissal. The index failed to distinguish between the absence of regulation and the presence of efficient, well-designed regulations that foster stability and equity. It promoted a simplistic and ultimately harmful view that labour rights are an impediment to economic growth.

The notion that diluting labour laws is a primary lever for attracting FDI is not supported by the balance of economic evidence. A broad consensus in academic and institutional research points to a different set of factors as the true determinants of investment decisions, especially for the high-value, knowledge-based FDI that a city like Hyderabad aims to attract.

Investors are primarily drawn to large and growing consumer markets where they can sell their goods and services. Availability of Credit has been an important factor impacting ease of doing business, according to recent research. Ease of getting permits has been identified as an important factor in enabling ease of doing business. Reliable transport, consistent energy supply, and high-speed digital communications are non-negotiable prerequisites for modern business operations. Investors require a predictable environment with low political risk and stable economic policies to protect their long-term assets. A transparent, efficient, and predictable legal system for enforcing contracts and protecting property rights is paramount for investor confidence.

When viewed against these factors, labour law flexibility is, at best, a secondary and often statistically insignificant consideration. For labour-intensive, low-skill manufacturing, low wages can be a draw. But for the service and technology sectors that define Hyderabad’s economy, competing on the basis of longer work hours is a strategic mismatch. It is a “race to the bottom” that devalues the city’s core competitive advantage: its vast pool of highly skilled human capital. Weakening worker protections risks alienating this talent, fostering a culture of burnout, and paradoxically making the state less attractive to the very high-value companies it wishes to court.

The Productivity Paradox: Why More Hours Mean Less Output

The most fundamental flaw in the logic of extending work hours is the assumption that more time spent at work equates to more output. A vast body of scientific research from economics, public health, and management studies refutes this, revealing a non-linear and often inverse relationship between long hours and productivity.

Foundational research from Stanford University demonstrated that productivity per hour declines sharply after an employee works more than 50 hours a week. Beyond 55 hours, the drop is so precipitous that the additional time yields almost no discernible benefit. This “productivity cliff” means that a 70-hour workweek accomplishes virtually nothing more than a 55-hour one. The International Labour Organization (ILO) corroborates this, noting that while gross output may rise in the short term, output per hour steadily decreases with excessive working time due to fatigue, which leads to a higher rate of errors, poorer quality work, and an increased risk of accidents.

This is not merely a theoretical concept. Real-world experiments have consistently validated it. When Microsoft Japan trialed a four-day workweek, it saw a 40% surge in productivity. An extensive trial in Iceland involving shorter workweeks resulted in improved employee well-being alongside equal or even higher levels of output. Historically, Henry Ford’s pioneering decision to reduce the workday to eight hours famously led to a spike in productivity, as rested, motivated workers proved far more efficient.

Beyond the economic inefficiency, policies that encourage overwork are a significant public health concern. A landmark study by the World Health Organization (WHO) and the ILO established that working 55 or more hours per week is a serious health hazard, leading to a 35% higher risk of stroke and a 17% higher risk of dying from heart disease. The report attributed over 745,000 deaths in a single year to the effects of long working hours, framing it as a major occupational risk factor. The health consequences—including hypertension, diabetes, chronic fatigue, anxiety, and depression—translate directly into tangible business costs through higher rates of absenteeism, employee burnout, and increased turnover of skilled professionals.

A Normative Framework for Progress: Working Smarter, Not Longer

The Telangana government’s decision represents a choice between two competing visions of development. The first, embodied by the new amendment, views labour as a cost to be minimized. The second, grounded in evidence, views human capital as the primary engine of sustainable growth. The latter path is not only more equitable but also more effective for achieving long-term prosperity.

The alternative to a low-road strategy of extending hours is a high-road strategy of enhancing the value and productivity of each hour worked. This “Productivity-Welfare Flywheel” creates a virtuous cycle of growth. It begins with investments in technology, automation, and modern management practices that allow employees to work smarter, not longer. This includes streamlining processes, automating routine tasks, and fostering a results-oriented culture that measures value created, not hours logged.

When productivity per hour increases, it allows for better wages and improved work-life balance. This, in turn, enhances worker well-being. Well-rested, motivated, and healthy employees are more creative, make fewer errors, and are more loyal to their employers. This high-productivity, high-welfare environment becomes a powerful magnet for the highest-value FDI and the most sought-after global talent, spinning the flywheel faster and moving the economy up the value chain.

The role of government in this model is not to engage in a deregulatory race to the bottom but to act as a steward of a high-productivity ecosystem. This means investing in infrastructure, education, and R&D, and maintaining fair and stable regulatory frameworks. Corporate responsibility, in turn, extends beyond mere compliance to actively investing in the tools, training, and culture that enhance both productivity and well-being.

In conclusion, Telangana’s decision to extend working hours is a regressive step based on a flawed and outdated economic ideology. It misinterprets the true drivers of foreign investment, ignores the scientific consensus on productivity, and jeopardizes the health and well-being of its workforce. By treating the 8-hour day not as a fundamental right but as a bureaucratic hurdle, the policy threatens to erode the very human capital that has made Hyderabad a global success story. A truly competitive and prosperous future for states lie not in working longer, but in working smarter. It lies in rejecting the false trade-off between worker rights and economic growth and embracing a synergistic model where investing in people is understood as the surest path to lasting productivity and shared prosperity.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

ILO raises deep concern over recent trend of labour law reforms, asks PM to engage with states

New Trade Union Initiative (NTUI) demands that governments retract changes in labour laws

Battle against dilution of labour laws to culminate in Supreme Court?

The post Beyond the Clock: Deconstructing Telangana’s Labour Law Reform and the Flawed Pursuit of Investment appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Beyond the Clock: Deconstructing Telangana’s Labour Law Reform and the Flawed Pursuit of Investment

sabrang — Thu, 21 Aug 2025 10:54:27 +0000

Telangana’s Economic Engine and the New Rules of Work

The following infographic effectively shows what the change in the law does.

The Myth of Deregulation: Deconstructing “Ease of Doing Business” and FDI

The Productivity Paradox: Why More Hours Mean Less Output

A Normative Framework for Progress: Working Smarter, Not Longer

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

New Trade Union Initiative (NTUI) demands that governments retract changes in labour laws

Battle against dilution of labour laws to culminate in Supreme Court?

The post Beyond the Clock: Deconstructing Telangana’s Labour Law Reform and the Flawed Pursuit of Investment appeared first on SabrangIndia.

K’taka Anti-Conversion Law: HC judgement sets a precedent against potential weaponisation by third-party vigilantes

sabrang — Wed, 30 Jul 2025 12:45:28 +0000

In a judgment with clear implications for religious freedom and the exercise of state power, the Karnataka High Court has delivered a significant early judicial check on the state’s controversial anti-conversion law. The judgment, delivered on July 17, 2025, in Mustafa & Ors. v. The State of Karnataka & Anr., quashed an FIR filed against three Muslim men accused of attempting to unlawfully convert Hindus. With the Karnataka Protection of Right to Freedom of Religion Act (KPRFR Act) having been passed in 2022, the jurisprudence surrounding it is still in its nascent stages. This judgment, while not entering into the constitutional validity of the Act, establishes critical procedural safeguards that will inevitably shape its initial interpretation. Incidentally, when the law was enacted the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) was in power. The Indian National Congress (INC) came to power with an overwhelming majority in May 2023 with a promise of repealing this law, yet two years down, it still stands on the stature books.

The judgment is a significant ruling. It is notable, not for what it dismantled, as the Act itself remains on the statute books, but for the specific legal grounds upon which it provided relief. The High Court’s strict focus on the principles of locus standi (the right to bring a complaint) and the failure to establish a prima facie criminal case has resulted in a precedent against the potential weaponization of the law by third-party vigilantes. As a crucial judicial interpretation in the early life of this anti-conversion statute, the Mustafa judgment provides a clear precedent for challenging such prosecutions even as the government reportedly has been planning to repeal the law in the State of Karnataka.

Facts of the case

The facts of the Mustafa case presented a scenario that the KPRFR Act was seemingly designed to address. On May 4, 2025, a complaint was filed by Ramesh Mallappa Navi, a devotee at the Ramatheerth Temple in Jamkhandi. He alleged that the petitioners were distributing Islamic pamphlets and, when confronted, made derogatory statements about Hinduism, declaring their mission was to “make the whole world turn towards Islam” and threatening those who stood in their way. In India today, while this information could be the crux of an angry Whatsapp forward, it is within the framework of Constitutional rights to propagate their own religion under Article 25. Subject to public order, morality and health and to the other provisions of the Part, all persons are equally entitled to freedom of conscience and the right freely to profess, practice and propagate religion.

In this case, the First Information Report (FIR) invoked the specific language of the KPRFR Act, alleging that the petitioners offered “material incentives, such as vehicles and job opportunities in Dubai,” to entice people to convert. This allegation of “allurement” is a central pillar of the offense defined under Section 3 of the Act. With a fact pattern that so closely mirrored the legislative intent, the stage was set for a direct examination of the law’s application. However, the High Court based its decision on fundamental procedural and substantive flaws in the prosecution’s case without needing to delve into a broader constitutional inquiry.

The First Pillar: Who has the right to complain?

The court’s primary reason for quashing the FIR was the complainant’s lack of legal standing. It held unequivocally that the complaint was initiated by a “third party, who does not fall within the category of persons enumerated under Section 4 of the Act.” This made the registration of the FIR “legally invalid.”

Section 4 of the KPRFR Act specifies that a complaint can only be lodged by the person who was allegedly converted, their parents, siblings, or another relative by blood, marriage, or adoption. The complainant in this case, a bystander at the temple, fit none of these criteria.

The strict enforcement of this provision sends a clear message: the machinery of this criminal statute cannot be triggered by just any concerned citizen or ideological activist. This interpretation provides a significant judicial counterweight to the expansive language found in the Act and its counterparts in other states. The Karnataka Act, for instance, also vaguely permits complaints from anyone “in any form associated or a colleague,” and a recent amendment to the Uttar Pradesh law allows “any person” to file an FIR. Such provisions effectively deputize the public, risking a flood of vexatious litigation driven by vigilante groups.

The Mustafa judgment’s reasoning re-centres the legal process on the individual whose rights are actually at stake, the alleged victim of the unlawful conversion. It shifts the focus from the offended sensibilities of an observer to the tangible harm, if any, experienced by the person whose freedom of conscience is the subject of the dispute. This creates a “procedural firewall,” a preliminary legal argument that lawyers can now raise to challenge cases based on generalized accusations or those motivated by communal animosity.

The Second Pillar: Was there an “attempt to convert”?

Beyond the procedural defect, the High Court found a fatal flaw in the substance of the complaint itself. Even taking all the allegations in the FIR at face value, the court concluded that they “fail to satisfy the essential elements of an offence under Section 3 of the Act.”

The reasoning was precise: “There is no allegation that the petitioners converted or attempted to convert any person to another religion.” This finding establishes a high bar for prosecution. It clarifies that generalized acts of proselytization, such as distributing literature, debating theology etc do not, by themselves, constitute a criminal offense under the Act. To invoke the law, the state must demonstrate a specific, targeted act aimed at converting an identifiable individual.

This distinction implicitly draws a line between the constitutionally protected right to “propagate” religion under Article 25 and a prosecutable “attempt to convert” under the KPRFR Act. The judgment indicates that for religious speech to lose its constitutional shield and become a criminal act, it must crystallize into a concrete attempt directed at a specific person. The absence of such an allegation in the Mustafa FIR, despite its detailed account of the petitioners’ actions, rendered the complaint legally unsustainable. This serves as another important safeguard, providing defence counsels with a clear substantive argument against the use of the Act to police all forms of religious outreach.

The National Context: A pattern of legislative escalation

The Karnataka Act is not an isolated piece of legislation but part of a coordinated national trend. Since 2017, states like Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Gujarat, and Haryana have enacted or amended anti-conversion laws, each more stringent than the last. This new generation of statutes shares a common architecture and ideological underpinning, often justified by the unsubstantiated “love jihad” narrative and anxieties about demographic change.

These laws are characterized by:

Overly Broad Definitions: Terms like “allurement” are defined so broadly as to include offers of free education or employment by religious institutions, potentially criminalizing legitimate charitable work.
Targeting of Interfaith Marriage: The explicit inclusion of “promise of marriage” as a prohibited means of conversion directly intrudes into the personal autonomy of adults to choose their partners, a right recognized by the Supreme Court as part of the right to life under Article 21.
Discriminatory Exemptions: Some of these laws exempt “reconversion” to a person’s “immediate previous religion,” a provision widely seen as creating a one-way street that privileges a return to Hinduism while penalizing conversions away from it.
Intrusive Procedures: The laws mandate a complex pre- and post-conversion declaration process before a District Magistrate, including public notices and police inquiries, transforming a personal act of faith into a matter of public scrutiny and bureaucratic approval.
Draconian Penalties: Offenses, for example in Rajasthan’s anti-conversion law are cognizable and non-bailable, and the burden of proof is reversed, requiring the accused to prove that the conversion was lawful, contrary to the foundational principle of “innocent until proven guilty.”

This intrusive and blatant disregard for the fundamental freedoms has led to a nationwide legal battle, with numerous petitions challenging these laws pending before various High Courts and the Supreme Court.

The legal challenges to these laws are setting the stage for a potential conflict between two competing lines of Supreme Court jurisprudence. On one side stands the 1977 judgment in Rev. Stainislaus v. State of Madhya Pradesh. In this case, a Constitution Bench upheld early anti-conversion laws, narrowly interpreting the right to “propagate” religion under Article 25 as not including a fundamental right to convert another person. It validated these laws under the state’s power to maintain “public order.”

On the other side is the modern, expansive doctrine of individual autonomy articulated in the landmark 2017 Right to Privacy judgment, Justice K.S. Puttaswamy v. Union of India. The nine-judge bench in Puttaswamy established privacy as a fundamental right under Article 21, encompassing dignity, personal autonomy, and the freedom to make fundamental life choices regarding family, marriage, and belief.

The new anti-conversion laws, with their intrusive state surveillance of personal faith decisions, lie directly at the intersection of this doctrinal clash. While Stainislaus focused on preventing conversion through illegitimate means like force or fraud, the new laws regulate the very act of voluntary conversion itself. The requirement to declare one’s intent to convert to the state and face a public inquiry is a direct challenge to the “zone of choice and self-determination” that Puttaswamy sought to protect.

The central constitutional question is no longer merely about the right to propagate (the Stainislaus issue), but about whether the state can impose such a burdensome and invasive procedure on a deeply personal choice without violating the right to privacy and liberty (the Puttaswamy issue).

The Path forward

The Mustafa judgment is a significant outcome of a cautious judicial approach, focused strictly on the letter of the law. It provides immediate, tangible relief and establishes crucial procedural checks without precipitating a direct constitutional confrontation. Its legacy will be to provide the accused and their counsel with specific, effective legal arguments to challenge prosecutions at the very initial stage, thereby helping to curb potential abuses of the law.

However, the larger battle remains. The core provisions of the KPRFR Act and its sister statutes, such as their broad definitions, discriminatory clauses, and invasive procedures, are yet to be tested on the anvil of the Constitution. Ultimately, the Supreme Court will have to reconcile the state’s interest in preventing coercive conversions with the individual’s fundamental rights to privacy, liberty, equality, and conscience. The Mustafa judgment is a crucial first chapter in this unfolding constitutional matter, a stabilizing judgment that clarifies important procedural grounds while the principal constitutional adjudication awaits.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

https://cjp.org.in/anti-conversion-laws-being-weaponised-cjp-seeks-interim-relief-against-misuse-of-anti-conversion-laws/

https://cjp.org.in/cjp-plea-against-anti-conversion-laws-sc-seeks-to-know-status-of-cases-challenging-anti-conversion-laws-in-hcs/

https://cjp.org.in/cjp-other-rights-groups-challenge-maharashtra-govt-gr-setting-up-a-committee-to-monitor-inter-faith-marriages/

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The Erased Record: A constitutional challenge to the election commission’s 45-day data destruction mandate

sabrang — Tue, 08 Jul 2025 08:23:27 +0000

Introduction: The Retreat into Opacity

The Election Commission of India (ECI), the constitutional entity tasked with ensuring free and fair elections, has recently taken a step that signals a disquieting retreat from transparency into a constitutionally suspect zone of opacity. The ECI, reportedly, has mandated the destruction of all election-related CCTV, webcasting, and video footage after a mere 45-day period post-declaration of results. This executive order, presented as a benign administrative update, is in fact a measure with profound constitutional implications, posing a direct and formidable challenge to the foundational principles of electoral integrity, the citizen’s fundamental right to information, and the overarching rule of law.

This article posits that the ECI’s directive is a facially unconstitutional act. It is a colourable exercise of power that is manifestly arbitrary, directly infringes upon the fundamental rights to information and equality as enshrined in Articles 19(1)(a) and 14 of the Constitution of India, and systematically dismantles the architecture of electoral justice. By ordering the pre-emptive destruction of the most crucial and unimpeachable evidence of electoral conduct, the directive effectively sabotages the statutory right to challenge an election, thereby undermining the basic structure of the Constitution, which is predicated on the pillars of democratic accountability and judicial review.

The analysis herein will proceed in a structured manner to build this constitutional challenge. First, it will deconstruct the impugned directive and its legislative predicate—the controversial December 2024 amendment to Rule 93(2)(a) of the Conduct of Election Rules, 1961—to reveal an architecture of engineered obscurity. Second, it will examine the nature and limits of the ECI’s plenary powers under Article 324, arguing that these powers are intended to be a shield for democracy, not a sword against its core principles. Third, the article will establish the directive’s irreconcilable conflict with the judicially fortified fundamental right of the voter to be informed, a right that has been repeatedly expanded and protected by the Supreme Court. Fourth, it will apply the rigorous test of arbitrariness, as articulated under Article 14, to expose the flimsiness of the ECI’s official justifications. Finally, the article will conclude with a call for reversal to restore the vital light of transparency to India’s electoral process, without which democracy itself is diminished.

I. The Architecture of Obscurity: The Directive and its Legislative Precursor

To comprehend the full constitutional import of the ECI’s data destruction mandate, it is essential to first dissect the policy itself and place it in its immediate legal and historical context. The directive issued on May 30, 2025 did not emerge in a vacuum. It is the culmination of a two-pronged administrative and legislative strategy that has progressively and systematically constricted the avenues for public and judicial scrutiny of the electoral process. This section will detail this strategic construction of an opaque regime, beginning with the directive’s radical departure from established policy, followed by an analysis of its legislative foundation, and concluding with a deconstruction of the untenable justifications offered by the Commission.

A. The May 30, 2025 Directive: A Drastic Reversal of Policy

The directive reportedly mandates that all “CCTV data, webcasting data and photography of election processes at various stages” shall be preserved for a period of only 45 days following the declaration of results. After this period, if no election petition pertaining to the specific constituency has been filed, the letter instructs that “the said data may be destroyed”.

This new policy represents a sharp and dramatic reversal of the ECI’s earlier guidelines. The earlier framework—outlined in a 2024 memo issued to all Chief Electoral Officers of states—had established a more nuanced and robust retention schedule.

Under those guidelines, the retention period for video and photographic evidence was tiered according to the specific stage of the electoral process, acknowledging the varying evidentiary relevance of different records. For instance, footage from the pre-nomination period was to be kept for three months, while recordings of critical processes like nomination, campaigning, polling, and counting were to be preserved for periods ranging from six months to a full year. This tiered system provided a reasonable and extended window for the discovery of irregularities and the gathering of evidence.

The new directive collapses this logical, multi-tiered structure into a single, dangerously short, 45-day deadline for all forms of electronic footage. The ECI has explicitly linked this 45-day period to the limitation for filing an election petition under Section 81 of the Representation of the People Act, 1951. The radical nature of this policy shift is best illustrated by a direct comparison.

Stage of Election Process	Retention Period under Pre-May 2025 Guidelines	Retention Period under the reported May 30, 2025 Directive
Pre-Nomination Period	3 months	45 days
Nomination, Withdrawal and Scrutiny	1 year	45 days
Campaign Period	6 months	45 days
Polling Day(Inside/Outside Polling Stations)	1 year	45 days
Counting of Votes	1 year	45 days

B. The Legislative Precursor: The December 2024 Amendment to Rule 93(2)(a)

The ECI’s data destruction directive was preceded and enabled by a crucial legislative change. In December 2024, the Union Ministry of Law and Justice, acting on the recommendation of the ECI, amended Rule 93 of the Conduct of Election Rules, 1961. The original text of Rule 93(2)(a) was a broad, inclusive provision that stated “all other papers relating to the election shall be open to public inspection”.

The amendment was deceptively simple. It inserted the phrase “as specified in these rules” into the provision. The amended rule now reads: “all other papers as specified in these rules relating to the election shall be open to public inspection”. Since electronic records like CCTV footage, webcasting clips, and video recordings are not explicitly “specified” in the Rules as inspectable papers, this amendment effectively created a legal shield, removing them from the ambit of public inspection.

The timing of this amendment is highly suggestive of its intent. It was pushed through just two weeks after the Punjab and Haryana High Court, acting on a petition filed by advocate Mehmood Pracha, had directed the ECI to release election papers and videography related to the Haryana Assembly elections, as reported by The Hindu. The clear cause-and-effect relationship indicates that the amendment was not a proactive measure for good governance but a reactive manoeuvre designed to pre-empt further judicial orders compelling transparency. It was a move from a default-open system to a default-closed system. This legislative change laid the groundwork for the subsequent administrative directive; once access to the footage was legally restricted, the next logical step was to mandate its physical destruction.

This amendment has not gone unchallenged. A plea filed by transparency activist Anjali Bhardwaj is currently pending before the Supreme Court, arguing that the amendment imposes “unreasonable restrictions on the fundamental right to information of voters” and seeks to keep crucial records out of the purview of public disclosure.

C. Deconstructing the ECI’s Justifications: A Veil of Plausible Deniability

The 2024 memo and later reports reveal a trio of justifications by the ECI for its new policy, each of which wilts under scrutiny and appears to be a veil for the directive’s true effect of fostering opacity.

The “Internal Management Tool” Fallacy: The Commission has claimed that videography and CCTV footage are not mandated by law but are used merely as an “internal management tool”. This characterisation is a gross misrepresentation of the role these technologies play in modern elections. The ECI’s own circulars state and call for use of CCTV and videography for a wide spectrum of critical processes. This includes the First Level Checking (FLC) of EVMs, the security of strong rooms where EVMs are stored, surveillance of critical polling stations, and the entire counting process. The existence of such detailed, mandatory protocols demonstrates that these recordings are not a peripheral or optional extra; they are an integral and indispensable component of the ECI’s own framework for ensuring electoral integrity. To dismiss them as a mere “internal tool” is to contradict its own established procedures and suggests a post-facto rationalization for an otherwise indefensible policy of destruction.
The Exaggerated “Voter Privacy” Concern: The ECI has also cited the need to protect voter privacy, arguing that the release of footage could lead to the identification of voters and expose them to pressure, discrimination, or intimidation. While voter privacy is a legitimate concern, the ECI’s solution—the complete and permanent destruction of all footage—is a disproportionate and extreme response. It is an argument that sacrifices the integrity of the entire electoral process at the altar of a speculative and manageable risk. Numerous less restrictive alternatives exist to balance privacy with accountability. For instance, access could be mediated through court orders, which is an existing process; footage could be redacted to obscure the faces of ordinary voters not involved in any alleged malpractice, or access could be limited to specific segments relevant to a legal challenge. The ECI’s choice of the most extreme option—annihilation of the record—over these balanced alternatives reveals that privacy is likely a pretext, not the primary driver of the policy.
The “Malicious Narratives” Pretext: The most heavily relied-upon justification is the need to curb the “recent misuse of this content by non-contestants for spreading misinformation and malicious narratives on social media”. This was also a concern mentioned in the 2024 memo. Objectively, this rationale is constitutionally perilous. It amounts to a “heckler’s veto” over public information, where the potential for misuse by a few is used to justify denying access to all, including the judiciary. The duty of a state agency in a democracy is to counter misinformation with facts and to prosecute illegal misuse of data, not to eliminate the data itself. This reasoning shows a paternalistic and troubling distrust of the citizenry, the media, and the courts, assuming they are incapable of discerning context or truth.

The timing of this rationale is particularly telling. It follows the high-profile Chandigarh mayoral poll case, where CCTV footage was not misused for “malicious narratives” but was used by the Supreme Court itself to expose and rectify a blatant subversion of democracy. The most prominent recent use of such footage was to uphold the rule of law, not to spread misinformation. This context strongly suggests that the ECI’s stated fear of “malicious narratives” is a convenient cover for a more profound fear of “inconvenient truths” that objective video evidence can irrefutably reveal.

II. The Plenary Power of the ECI: A Shield for Democracy, Not a Sword Against It

At the heart of the ECI’s authority lies Article 324 of the Constitution, a provision that grants it vast and plenary powers to ensure the sanctity of the electoral process.

A. The “Reservoir of Power” under Article 324

Article 324(1) of the Constitution of India vests the “superintendence, direction and control” of the preparation of electoral rolls and the conduct of all elections in the Election Commission. The Supreme Court of India, in the landmark case of Mohinder Singh Gill v. Chief Election Commissioner, (1978) 1 SCC 405, provided the most authoritative interpretation of this clause. Justice V.R. Krishna Iyer, writing for the majority, famously described Article 324 as a “reservoir of power” for the ECI. The Court held that this provision endows the Commission with the necessary authority to address any contingency that may arise during an election for which the enacted laws—such as the Representation of the People Act, 1951 (RPA)—are silent. The core principle is that where the law has a vacuum, the ECI can step in with its plenary powers to ensure that the constitutional objective of a free and fair election is not frustrated.

In Anoop Baranwal v. Union of India, 2023 (6) SCC 1, the Supreme Court recommended an independent appointments committee, revealing a consistent concern with insulating the Commission from executive influence and preventing arbitrary action. The judiciary has consistently pushed for an ECI that is not only powerful but also independent, accountable, and non-arbitrary.

B. The Limits of Plenary Power: Subservience to Law and Fundamental Rights

The “reservoir of power” doctrine is not a license for unchecked authority. The Supreme Court has been equally clear about its limitations. The ECI’s power under Article 324 is fundamentally bound by two critical constraints:

Conformity with Existing Law: The plenary power operates only in areas “unoccupied by legislation”. Where Parliament has enacted a specific law governing a particular aspect of the electoral process, the ECI is bound to act in conformity with that law. It cannot issue directives that override, contradict, or frustrate the purpose and scheme of a validly enacted statute.
Adherence to the Constitution: The ECI, as a creature of the Constitution, must exercise its powers in a manner that is consistent with the Constitution’s fundamental tenets. Its actions cannot abrogate the fundamental rights guaranteed in Part III and must not damage the basic structure of the Constitution, of which free and fair elections, democracy, and the rule of law are indispensable components.

The directive to destroy CCTV footage after 45 days transgresses both these boundaries. It is a quintessential “colourable exercise of power”—an action that, while ostensibly within the ECI’s administrative domain, is in substance an encroachment upon the legislative field and an affront to constitutional principles. The Parliament has created a detailed statutory framework for the resolution of election disputes through the mechanism of an election petition, as laid out in Part VI of the RPA, 1951 (Sections 80-116C). Section 87 of the RPA explicitly states that the trial of an election petition shall be governed, as nearly as may be, by the Code of Civil Procedure, 1908, and that the Indian Evidence Act, 1872, shall apply in all respects.

This statutory scheme presupposes the existence and availability of evidence. By mandating the destruction of the most direct, objective, and unimpeachable form of evidence—video footage—the ECI is not merely “managing” an internal process; it is actively sabotaging the efficacy of the judicial process prescribed by Parliament. It creates an evidentiary vacuum that directly frustrates the ability of a High Court to adjudicate an election petition on its merits. This is a clear inversion of the Mohinder Singh Gill doctrine. The ECI’s power was intended to be used remedially, to fill gaps in the law to ensure fairness. Here, it is being used to create a gap—an evidentiary black hole—that subverts fairness.

For example, what happens when an election petition gets filed on the 44^th day post the declaration of results and in the course of the proceedings, the Court orders the ECI to produce the camera recording of the election process. The Election Commission can simply say that it does not keep such data and get away with it.

Furthermore, the directive runs counter to the entire trajectory of judicial thinking on the ECI’s institutional integrity. The Supreme Court’s interventions, from commenting on the abolition of Election Commissioner posts in S.S. Dhanoa v. Union of India, 1991 (3) SCC 567, to mandating a new appointment process in Anoop Baranwal, have been aimed at strengthening the ECI’s independence and ensuring its decisions are judicious and not arbitrary. As the Court observed in Dhanoa, when an institution is “accountable to none, it is politic to entrust its affairs to more hands than one. It helps to assure judiciousness and want of arbitrariness”. A unilateral executive fiat of this magnitude, which reverses long-standing policy and has far-reaching consequences for electoral justice without any public consultation, embodies the very kind of arbitrary executive action that the judiciary has consistently sought to curb. It is an exercise of power that prioritizes administrative convenience and opacity over the constitutional duty to uphold democratic accountability.

III. The Voter’s Right to Know: A Non-Negotiable Fundamental Right

The ECI’s directive to erase the visual record of an election is also a direct and frontal assault on a fundamental right that the Supreme Court has painstakingly carved out and fortified over two decades: the voter’s right to information. This right, derived from the guarantee of freedom of speech and expression under Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution, is the lifeblood of an informed electorate and the bedrock of a functioning democracy. The ECI’s policy of data destruction attempts to constrict this right, treating it as a limited, disposable privilege rather than the dynamic, non-negotiable right the Constitution guarantees.

A. The Evolution of the Right to Information under Article 19(1)(a)

The jurisprudential journey of the voter’s right to know began in earnest with the landmark judgment of the Supreme Court in Union of India v. Association for Democratic Reforms (ADR), (2002) 5 SCC 294. In this seminal case, the Court was faced with the question of whether voters had a right to know the background of the candidates seeking their votes. The Court’s answer was an emphatic affirmative. It ruled that the right to vote would be meaningless without access to information about the candidates. For a citizen to make an informed choice, which is the essence of participation in a democracy, they have a fundamental right under Article 19(1)(a) to be informed of the antecedents of candidates, including their criminal records, financial assets and liabilities, and educational qualifications. The Court reasoned that “misinformation or non-information of any kind will create an ‘uninformed citizenry which makes democracy a farce'”.

When Parliament attempted to dilute this judgment by passing an amendment to the RPA, the Supreme Court stood firm. In People’s Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL) v. Union of India, (2003) 4 SCC 399, the Court struck down the newly inserted Section 33B of the RPA, which sought to prevent candidates from having to disclose any information beyond what was statutorily required. The Court powerfully articulated that the voter’s right to information is not a static concept that can be capped or frozen by legislation. It declared this right to be dynamic, one that must be allowed to grow and evolve to meet the needs of a maturing democracy. This judgment established a crucial principle: the fundamental right to information in the electoral sphere cannot be curtailed by ordinary legislation or executive action.

B. From Candidate Information to Systemic Transparency: The Electoral Bonds Judgment

The scope of this fundamental right was dramatically expanded in the recent, constitutionally significant judgment in Association for Democratic Reforms v. Union of India (Electoral Bonds Case), 2024 INSC 113. Here, the Supreme Court extended the right to information beyond the individual candidate to the systemic issue of political party funding. In striking down the anonymous Electoral Bonds Scheme, the Court held that the secrecy of political funding violates the voter’s right to know under Article 19(1)(a).

The Court’s reasoning is directly applicable to the present issue. It held that “information about funding to a political party is essential for a voter to exercise their freedom to vote in an effective manner”. The logic is clear: to make a truly informed choice, a voter needs to know not just about the candidate, but also about the forces and finances that influence the political system. This principle of systemic transparency is paramount. The conduct of the election itself—whether it is free from malpractice, whether counting is accurate, whether strong rooms are secure—is a critical piece of systemic information.

C. The Directive’s Assault on the Right to Information

The ECI’s directive to destroy video footage is a modern-day analogue to the unconstitutional Section 33B that was struck down in the PUCL case. While Section 33B was a legislative attempt to block access to information, the ECI’s directive achieves the very same end through administrative means—by physically and permanently destroying the source of the information. It is an attempt to “freeze and stagnate” the right to information by rendering it unenforceable.

The ECI’s narrow, litigation-centric view—that the footage exists only for the purpose of an election petition and is useless after 45 days—is a constitutionally flawed perspective. The right to information serves a much broader purpose than merely facilitating litigation. It is essential for continuous public discourse, academic research, media scrutiny, and civil society advocacy for electoral reforms. By destroying the raw data of an election’s conduct, the ECI prevents any meaningful post-mortem analysis of the process, shields systemic flaws from public view, and stifles the very debates that strengthen democracy. This is a direct infringement of the collective right of the citizenry under Article 19(1)(a) to receive and impart information about the functioning of a core democratic institution.

The jurisprudence of the Supreme Court has consistently moved towards greater transparency. The ECI’s directive represents a stark and unconstitutional reversal of this trend.

The balancing act between the right to information and the right to privacy, which the Supreme Court meticulously performed in the Electoral Bonds case using a “double proportionality” test, is entirely absent in the ECI’s calculus. The Court acknowledged the privacy interests of donors but ultimately found that the public’s right to know was paramount for ensuring electoral integrity. In stark contrast, the ECI’s directive gives absolute and disproportionate primacy to a speculative privacy concern and a paternalistic fear of “misuse,” while completely extinguishing the concrete and judicially sanctified fundamental right to information.

IV. The Animus of Arbitrariness: The Directive’s Violation of Article 14

Beyond its infringement of the right to information, the ECI’s directive is constitutionally vulnerable for its inherent arbitrariness. Article 14 of the Constitution guarantees equality before the law and the equal protection of the laws. Over decades of interpretation, the Supreme Court has expanded this guarantee to serve as a formidable bulwark against arbitrary state action. Any executive or legislative act that is unreasonable, irrational, or capricious is liable to be struck down as violative of Article 14. The ECI’s data destruction mandate, when subjected to this test, reveals itself to be a textbook case of arbitrary executive action.

A. The Doctrine of Arbitrariness: Maneka Gandhi and its Progeny

The modern doctrine of arbitrariness was powerfully articulated by the Supreme Court in the landmark case of Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India, (1978) 1 SCC 248. In this case, the Court held that the “procedure established by law” under Article 21 must be “fair, just and reasonable,” not “fanciful, oppressive or arbitrary”. Crucially, the Court established the “golden triangle” principle, holding that Articles 14, 19, and 21 are not mutually exclusive silos but are deeply interlinked. An action that is arbitrary under Article 14 would fail the test of reasonableness under Article 21 and could also impose unreasonable restrictions under Article 19.

Following Maneka Gandhi, the Court in cases like EP Royappa v. State of Tamil Nadu, 1974 4 SCC 3 explicitly stated that “equality is antithetical to arbitrariness” and that Article 14 embodies a guarantee against any form of arbitrary state action. This means that every action of the state or its instrumentalities must be based on reason and must not be guided by extraneous or irrelevant considerations.

B. Applying the Arbitrariness Test to the ECI’s Directive

When the ECI’s directive is placed on the anvil of the arbitrariness test, it fails on multiple counts.

Lack of a Rational Nexus: For an action to be non-arbitrary, there must be a rational nexus between the objective it seeks to achieve and the means adopted to achieve it. The ECI’s stated primary objective is to prevent the misuse of footage on social media to create “malicious narratives”. The means adopted is the blanket destruction of all footage for all purposes after 45 days. There is no rational connection between these two. The policy is excessively broad; it uses a sledgehammer to crack a nut. To prevent potential misuse by a few “non-contestants,” it penalizes all legitimate stakeholders, including electoral candidates, the judiciary, researchers, and the general public. The proper response to misuse is targeted legal action against the miscreants under existing laws (such as the Indian Penal Code or the Information Technology Act), not the pre-emptive destruction of a public record.
Gross Disproportionality: The measure is also grossly disproportionate to the harm it purports to prevent. The speculative harm of a few “malicious narratives” on social media cannot justify the certain and irreversible harm of destroying an entire class of crucial evidence that is vital for upholding the integrity of the democratic process. As argued previously, less restrictive and more proportionate alternatives are readily available. These could include creating secure archives, allowing access only through a court order, or implementing a system of redaction to protect voter privacy while preserving evidence of official conduct. The ECI’s choice of the most extreme and destructive option available demonstrates a lack of application of mind and is, therefore, arbitrary.
The Unreasonableness of the 45-Day Timeline: The 45-day timeline is itself a product of arbitrary and unreasonable logic. The RPA, 1951, provides a 45-day limitation period to file an election petition. An election petition is a serious legal undertaking that requires a petitioner to plead “material facts” and “full particulars” of any corrupt practice (Section 83, RPA, 1951). Gathering sufficient prima facie evidence of malpractice across a constituency—which can have over a thousand polling stations—consulting with legal counsel, and drafting a legally sound petition is a formidable task. The ECI’s directive creates a perverse situation where the clock for the destruction of the best evidence runs concurrently with the clock for filing the petition. This makes it practically impossible for a petitioner to access and analyse this crucial evidence to build a credible case before the deadline expires. The directive, therefore, does not merely align with the limitation period; it weaponizes it, using it as a guillotine to sever the link between a legal challenge and the evidence needed to sustain it.

This policy is both procedurally and substantively arbitrary. It is procedurally arbitrary because it was enacted as a unilateral executive fiat, reversing a long-standing, reasoned policy without any apparent stakeholder consultation. It is substantively arbitrary because the policy itself, as demonstrated, is irrational, disproportionate, and serves no legitimate public purpose that could outweigh the immense damage it does to the principle of electoral transparency. The arbitrariness is not an unintended consequence; it appears to be a deliberate feature designed to create a system of de facto impunity for electoral malpractice. By making the burden of proof for an election petitioner nearly impossible to discharge, the directive structurally insulates electoral processes from effective judicial review, a result that is the very definition of an arbitrary state action that undermines the rule of law.

The critical importance of video evidence is not a matter of academic speculation; it has been vividly demonstrated in recent events. The Chandigarh mayoral poll case (2024) stands as a powerful testament to this fact. It was solely the “unimpeachable” evidence captured by CCTV cameras that allowed the Supreme Court to witness the Presiding Officer brazenly defacing ballot papers. This video evidence enabled the Court to intervene decisively, overturn the fraudulent result.

The directive also unfairly shifts the burden of proof in election petitions. By destroying the best evidence, the ECI forces petitioners to rely on weaker, circumstantial evidence and oral testimony, which is notoriously difficult to marshal and easy to discredit. The state, through its instrumentality, is actively destroying evidence that could corroborate a petitioner’s claim, making an already difficult legal burden nearly impossible to discharge. This fundamentally subverts the notion of a fair trial as envisaged under Section 87 of the RPA, 1951.

The inescapable question that arises is stark: How many Chandigarh-style frauds would go undetected, unproven, and unpunished under the ECI’s new data destruction regime? By removing the most effective tool for exposing malpractice, the directive does not curb “malicious narratives”; it ensures that the official narrative, however flawed, is the only one that survives.

V. Conclusion and Recommendations: Restoring the Light of Transparency

A synthesis of the arguments presented leads to an inexorable conclusion. The directive is a colourable exercise of the ECI’s plenary powers under Article 324, as it is used not to fill a legislative gap for the sake of fairness, but to create an evidentiary vacuum that frustrates the statutory scheme of electoral justice established by the Representation of the People Act, 1951. It is a direct violation of the voter’s fundamental right to information under Article 19(1)(a), a right painstakingly developed by the Supreme Court in a series of landmark judgments from ADR (2002) to the Electoral Bonds (2024) case, which collectively establish transparency as a non-negotiable pillar of Indian democracy. The directive fails the test of arbitrariness under Article 14, as it is an irrational and grossly disproportionate measure that serves no legitimate public purpose sufficient to justify the complete destruction of a vital class of public records.

This issue must be viewed not as a one-off administrative misstep, but as a symptom of a worrying institutional trend towards opacity. Built upon the flawed legislative foundation of the amended Rule 93(2)(a) of the Conduct of Election Rules, 1961, the directive is part of a broader pattern where transparency is treated as a liability to be managed rather than an asset to be cherished. In a democracy, the answer to the potential misuse of information can never be the elimination of information itself. The path to strengthening public trust lies in greater openness, not in enforced obscurity. To reverse this dangerous trend and restore the light of transparency to India’s electoral process, the following actions are imperative.

The ECI must initiate a transparent, inclusive, and consultative process involving all relevant stakeholders—including all recognized political parties, civil society organizations working on electoral reforms, legal experts, and former election commissioners—to formulate a new, comprehensive “Election Records Retention and Access Policy.” This new framework should be codified in the rules and must:

- Establish a significantly longer, tiered retention period for all electronic records, with a minimum retention of at least two years for general elections, aligning with international best practices and providing ample time for litigation and research.
- Create a secure, modern, and auditable digital archival system for this data to ensure its long-term integrity and preservation.
- Establish clear, fair, and reasonable protocols for providing access to this data for the purposes of litigation, academic research, and public scrutiny. These protocols should incorporate necessary safeguards for individual voter privacy, such as court-mediated access or redaction, without resorting to the extreme measure of blanket destruction.

Upholding the sanctity of the electoral process is the shared responsibility of all democratic institutions. The ECI can best fulfil its constitutional mandate not by drawing a curtain over its processes, but by embracing transparency as the ultimate guarantor of its integrity and the public’s trust.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

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A Question of Rights: Supreme Court backs teacher in maternity leave dispute

sabrang — Thu, 03 Jul 2025 07:21:14 +0000

In the recent case of K. Umadevi vs. Government of Tamil Nadu & Ors. [2025 INSC 781], the Supreme Court of India, in a bench comprising Justices Abhay S. Oka and Ujjal Bhuyan, delivered a landmark judgment on May 23, 2025, reaffirming the reproductive rights of working women. The case arose from the denial of maternity leave to a female government employee for her first biological child from a second marriage, on the grounds that she had two children from a previous, now-dissolved marriage. The Court set aside the Madras High Court’s decision, holding that state policies on population control cannot override a woman’s constitutional right to dignity. It emphasised that maternity benefits are a component of social justice and must be interpreted in harmony with the broader framework of women’s rights and family life under Article 21 of the Constitution.

The case involved K. Umadevi, an English teacher in a government school in Tamil Nadu, whose personal circumstances brought a crucial service rule under judicial scrutiny. The judgment is a detailed exploration of how personal life changes, such as divorce and remarriage, intersect with employment rights, and how courts must adopt a purposive and humane approach rather than a rigid, technical one.

The facts of the Case

The story of the legal battle began with the petitioner marrying her first husband in 2006 and had two children, born in 2007 and 2011. In December 2012, she joined the Tamil Nadu state government as a teacher. Her first marriage was legally dissolved in 2017, and the custody of her two children remained with her former husband.

A year later, in 2018, Ms. Umadevi remarried. When she conceived a child from this second marriage, she applied for maternity leave for a period of nine months, from August 2021 to May 2022.

Her request was turned down. On August 28, 2021, the Chief Educational Officer of Dharmapuri District rejected her application. The reason cited was Rule 101(a) of the Tamil Nadu Fundamental Rules, which governs the service conditions of state employees. The rule stipulates that maternity leave can only be granted to a woman government servant with “less than two surviving children.” The authorities concluded that since Ms. Umadevi already had two children from her first marriage, she was ineligible for maternity leave for her third child. The rejection order flatly stated that there was “no provision” for granting such leave for a third child born through remarriage.

The Journey through the Courts

Aggrieved by this decision, Ms. Umadevi approached the Madras High Court. A single-judge bench heard her plea and, in a judgment dated March 25, 2022, ruled in her favour. The judge adopted a liberal interpretation, holding that the central Maternity Benefit Act, 1961, should prevail over the state rule. The court reasoned that the phrase “having surviving children” should imply that the children are in the mother’s custody. Since Ms. Umadevi’s children from her first marriage were not living with her, the child from her second marriage was, for all practical purposes, her first child in her new family unit. The single judge set aside the rejection order and directed the state to sanction her leave.

However, the relief was short-lived. The Government of Tamil Nadu filed an appeal before a Division Bench of the same court. On September 14, 2022, the Division Bench overturned the single judge’s order. It took a stricter view, stating that the government’s policy was clear and restricted the benefit to two children. It held that maternity leave was not a fundamental right but a right flowing from service rules. The bench found the single judge’s decision unsustainable and allowed the government’s appeal, leaving Ms. Umadevi without the benefit.

This set the stage for the final appeal before the Supreme Court of India.

The Supreme Court’s analysis

The Supreme Court, in a detailed and empathetic judgment authored by Justice Ujjal Bhuyan, delved deep into the constitutional and international legal frameworks surrounding maternity rights.

The state government argued that its policy was tied to fiscal responsibility and the national objective of population control. Granting leave to Ms. Umadevi, it contended, would set a precedent that could strain the exchequer and undermine the “small family norm.”

The petitioner’s counsel argued that the Division Bench had erred by not following the spirit of a previous Supreme Court decision in Deepika Singh vs. Central Administrative Tribunal, which had dealt with a similar situation. It was also emphasized that the right to maternity leave is a facet of a woman’s reproductive right, which is protected under Article 21 of the Constitution—the right to life and personal liberty.

The Supreme Court’s reasoning was multi-layered:

Constitutional Foundation: The Court grounded its decision firmly in the Constitution. It described Article 21 as a “potent provision” that includes the right to live with dignity, the right to health, and the right to make reproductive choices. It also invoked Article 42, a Directive Principle of State Policy, which mandates the state to make provisions for “just and humane conditions of work and for maternity relief.”
Harmonising Conflicting Goals: The Court acknowledged the state’s objective of population control as “laudable.” However, it stated that this goal is not “mutually exclusive” with the objective of providing maternity benefits. The two, the Court said, “must be harmonized in a purposive and rationale manner to achieve the social objective.” A rigid rule that forces a woman to choose between her employment and her desire to start a family in a new marriage was seen as counterproductive.
Purposive Interpretation: The Court stressed that beneficial legislations like maternity leave rules must be given a “purpose-oriented approach.” The purpose is to protect the dignity of motherhood and enable a woman to care for her child without fear of losing her job. The fact that Ms. Umadevi’s children from her first marriage were not in her custody and that the child in question was the first from her subsisting marriage were crucial factors. The Court implicitly suggested that the term “surviving children” in the rule should not be read in a purely statistical or biological sense, but in the context of the employee’s current family and dependents.
International Obligations: The judgment extensively referenced international conventions that India has ratified, such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which recognizes that “motherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance,” and the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), which obligates states to provide maternity leave with pay. The Court used these to underscore that maternity benefits are a globally recognized human right.
Guidance from the Maternity Benefit Act: The Court drew guidance from the provisions of the Maternity Benefit Act, 1961. It noted that the Act, after the 2017 amendment, does not completely bar maternity leave for a third child; it only reduces the duration of the leave. This, the Court observed, shows a legislative intent to provide support, not to create a hard stop after two children.

The Verdict

The Supreme Court concluded that the view taken by the Madras High Court’s Division Bench was incorrect. It stated, “In the circumstances, we are unable to agree with the view taken by the Division Bench of the High Court.”

The Court declared that Ms. Umadevi was entitled to maternity leave as per the rules. It set aside the Division Bench’s order and directed the Tamil Nadu government to release all admissible maternity benefits to her within two months.

The judgment is a significant step forward in the jurisprudence of service law and human rights. It sends a clear message that administrative rules, especially those concerning fundamental aspects of life like childbirth, reproductive rights cannot be interpreted in a vacuum. They must be viewed through the prism of the Constitution and with a sense of compassion that acknowledges the complex realities of human lives. The Court has affirmed that the state, as a model employer, must not only create policies but also apply them in a manner that is just, humane, and respects the dignity of its employees.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

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Andhra Pradesh High Court rules Trans woman is a ‘woman’

sabrang — Wed, 02 Jul 2025 10:00:42 +0000

The Andhra Pradesh High Court delivered a judgment on June 16, 2025, that advanced transgender rights. In a landmark decision, the court affirmed that a transgender woman is legally a ‘woman’ and can seek protection under India’s laws against matrimonial cruelty. However, it simultaneously dismissed the specific cruelty case, ruling that the allegations were not strong enough to proceed.

The case, Viswanathan Krishna Murthy & Ors. v. The State of Andhra Pradesh & Anr., involved a complaint by Pokala Sabhana, a 24-year-old trans woman. She alleged that her husband, Viswanathan Krishna Murthy, and his family had subjected her to cruelty and harassment. She filed her complaint under Section 498-A of the Indian Penal Code (IPC), a law designed to protect wives from abuse by their husbands and in-laws.

This led the court to consider two key questions: first, whether a Trans woman could be considered a ‘woman’ under this law, and second, whether the allegations were sufficient to warrant a criminal trial. The court’s answer to the first was a clear “yes,” but its answer to the second was a firm “no”.

A Trans Woman is a ‘Woman’ Under the Law

The husband and his family argued that Sabhana could not be considered a ‘woman’ under Section 498-A, because she cannot bear children and therefore was not a woman in the “complete sense”.

Dr. Justice Venkata Jyothirmai Pratapa rejected this argument, calling it “deeply flawed and legally impermissible”. The court’s reasoning was built on established legal principles:

Womanhood is not defined by reproductive ability: The court stated that linking womanhood to the capacity to have children “undermines the very spirit of the Constitution, which upholds dignity, identity, and equality for all individuals”.
Right to Self-Identify Gender: The judgment relied heavily on the Supreme Court’s 2014 National Legal Services Authority (NALSA) v. Union of India The NALSA case established that every individual has the fundamental right to self-identify their gender, and the state must legally recognize it.
Right to Marry: The court also cited the Supreme Court’s 2023 marriage equality case, Supriyo @ Supriya Chakraborty v. Union of India. While that case did not legalize same-sex marriage, the Supreme Court was unanimous in holding that “transgender persons in heterosexual relationships have the right to marry under existing law”.
Constitutional Protections: Since Sabhana and Murthy’s marriage was legally valid, denying her the protections of Section 498-A would violate her fundamental rights to equality (Article 14), non-discrimination (Article 15), and life with dignity (Article 21).

Based on this, the court concluded that a Trans woman in a heterosexual marriage is entitled to protection under Section 498-A of the IPC.

Why the Case Was Dismissed

Despite this landmark finding, the court quashed the criminal proceedings against Murthy and his family. The reason was purely procedural: Sabhana’s complaint lacked the specific details required to sustain a charge of cruelty under Section 498-A.

The court found the allegations to be “bald and omnibus,” meaning that they are too vague and general to be the basis for a criminal case. The specific deficiencies noted were:

Against the husband: The complaint stated that he left her less than two months after they started living together and that she later received a threatening message from his phone. However, it did not describe any specific acts of physical or mental cruelty that occurred while they were together.
Against the in-laws: Sabhana stated in her complaint that her in-laws maintained “cordial relations” with her. The only negative claim was that they were trying to send their son abroad, which is not a criminal offense.
Against another relative: A fourth person was accused with a single sentence claiming he was directing the others, with no supporting details.

The court pointed to a long line of Supreme Court rulings that caution against the misuse of Section 498-A. To prevent the law from being used to settle personal scores, courts require complaints to contain clear and specific allegations against each accused person. Because Sabhana’s complaint did not meet this standard, the court ruled that allowing the case to continue would be an “abuse of process of law”.

The judgment in Viswanathan Krishna Murthy is a significant step forward for the legal recognition of transgender rights in India. It establishes a clear precedent that the protections against domestic cruelty apply to Trans women in heterosexual marriages.

Jurisdictions like the UK and the US are seeing radical Trans exclusionary policies and establishments with figures like JK Rowling and Donald Trump respectively. For example, in a recent case, the UK Supreme Court has ruled that legal definition of woman is based on biological sex.[1] Therefore, judgements like these highlight the nuanced discourse that is emerging India with contributions from a powerful judiciary. However, it is important to note that judicial pronouncements cannot and will not satisfy the need for a comprehensive law that recognises queer marriage. Only a democratic and transparent legislative process will cover that gap.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

[1] For Women Scotland Ltd v The Scottish Ministers [2025] UKSC 16

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The Science Problem: Why India lags behind in research & development

sabrang — Fri, 20 Jun 2025 11:25:22 +0000

The paradox of potential and performance

India, a nation aspiring to be a knowledge-driven economy, faces a stark paradox: its vast human capital and the individual brilliance of its scientists, often demonstrated abroad, do not translate into strong national research and development (R&D) performance. The country’s ambition to grow into a US$5 trillion economy is fundamentally tied to its capacity for innovation, yet its R&D ecosystem is not fit for purpose. This gap suggests the problem is not a deficiency of talent but the absence of a nurturing and enabling environment. India’s path to becoming an R&D superpower is blocked by a combination of chronic underinvestment, deep-seated inefficiencies in its educational and bureaucratic systems, a risk-averse private sector, and cultural norms that often undervalue original research. Overcoming these challenges requires profound, systemic reforms.

Global R&D landscape: India’s position

A comparative analysis shows the significant ground India must cover. As of 2018, the nation’s Gross Expenditure on R&D (GERD) had stagnated at a meagre 0.64% of its GDP for over two decades. By 2021, this had not changed, and the GERD continued to be at less than 0.7 percent. However, the absolute spending rose from 2010 to 2020 from Rs.60,000 Crore to Rs. 1,20,000 Crore. Essentially, money spent on R&D rose while the percent of it, of the GDP has not.

This pales in comparison to R&D powerhouses like South Korea (around 5%), Israel (over 5%), the USA (around 3.5%), and a rapidly advancing China (around 2.5%). The world average is approximately 1.8%. This chronic underinvestment severely limits resources for infrastructure, talent, and high-risk projects.

The following image shows India’s GERD in comparison with other countries, despite the varied years, the general trend is to be noted and interactive data can be found here.

Source: World Bank

Beyond funding, other metrics highlight the challenge. In the 2024 Global Innovation Index (GII), India ranked 39th. While an improvement, it trails key competitors. More telling is the density of research talent: India has only about 255 full-time equivalent (FTE) researchers per million people, a fraction of the figures in the US (over 4,800), Germany (5,400). Furthermore, while patent filings have increased, nearly 75% of patents filed in India are being done by foreign entities, suggesting that domestic ownership and commercialization are weak.

Interestingly, India’s GII rank for ‘Innovation Outputs’ is higher than its rank for ‘Innovation Inputs’. This suggests that the country is relatively efficient at converting its limited resources into outcomes. Therefore, a substantial and targeted investment in improving the inputs—funding, talent, and infrastructure—could yield disproportionately positive results.

Systemic fault lines: The domestic hurdles

India’s R&D underperformance stems from interconnected domestic problems.

The Educational bottleneck: The foundation of any R&D ecosystem is its education system, but India’s is plagued by challenges. A pervasive culture of rote memorization, driven by an exam-oriented system, stifles the creativity and critical thinking essential for research. Most universities, with few exceptions, lack a strong research culture, adequate infrastructure, and sufficient funding, remaining primarily teaching-centric. A significant disconnect also exists between academia and industry, with India ranking a low 86th in the GII for university-industry R&D collaboration. This gap means academic research rarely translates into market-ready innovations. Compounding these issues is a persistent “brain drain,” where highly skilled scientists and engineers migrate to countries offering superior opportunities, funding, and quality of life. This depletes the domestic talent pool and weakens the entire ecosystem.
Governance and institutional inertia: The governance framework for R&D is another major obstacle. The system is often crippled by bureaucratic hurdles, including rigid funding rules, long delays in grant disbursal, and complex approval processes that consume researchers’ valuable time. A hierarchical culture, particularly in public R&D organizations, can stifle new ideas from younger talent. Public research institutions often lack the academic, administrative, and financial autonomy needed for agility and innovation, operating under the tight control of regulatory bodies. This contrasts with successful international models like Germany’s Max Planck and Fraunhofer Institutes, which balance autonomy with clear mandates. Finally, even available talent is often used sub-optimally due to skill mismatches and inefficient in hiring and promotions.
The apathetic private sector: A critical weakness is the low R&D investment from the private sector, which contributes only about 36% of India’s GERD, compared to over 70% in leading economies. This reluctance stems from a general risk aversion among Indian businesses, a focus on short-term profitability, and a preference for importing technology or making incremental innovations rather than engaging in capital-intensive, deep-tech R&D. The fragile innovation ecosystem exacerbates this.

Cultural undercurrents: The societal value of research

Subtle but powerful cultural factors also shape India’s R&D landscape. A strong societal preference for “secure” careers like engineering, medicine, and civil services means research—seen as uncertain and less lucrative—is often deprioritized. The celebrated “Jugaad” mind-set, or frugal, makeshift innovation, while resourceful, can detract from the need for the systematic, rigorous R&D required for breakthrough discoveries. Finally, the portrayal of scientists in mainstream media is often limited and unglamorous, failing to inspire young people to pursue research careers. This cultural undervaluation translates into a lack of political will to enact the long-term, sweeping reforms needed to transform the R&D ecosystem. While this representation aspect is changing slowly, this cannot drive the major change.

Islands of excellence in a sea of mediocrity

Despite the systemic weaknesses, India has pockets of R&D success that demonstrate its potential. The Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO) is a prime example, thriving due to its mission-oriented approach, operational autonomy, and strong leadership. However, its success is hard to replicate as it largely functions in a closed-loop system as its own developer and end-user. The pharmaceutical sector is another success story, known for its dominance in generic drug manufacturing. Yet, it lags significantly in new drug discovery, with most R&D focused on reverse engineering. Finally, the extraordinary success of the Indian diaspora—including Nobel laureates and tech CEOs who have flourished in the well-funded, ecosystems of the West—is the most powerful testament that the core issue is not a lack of talent but the absence of an enabling environment at home.

Charting a course correction: A multi-pronged reform agenda

To unlock its R&D potential, India must adopt a comprehensive reform agenda.

Revamp R&D funding: India must increase its GERD to at least 2-2.5% of GDP. This funding should be strategically allocated to national missions in critical areas like AI and renewable energy, while also supporting basic, curiosity-driven research. The government should ensure timely disbursal of funds, and attractive Public-Private Partnership (PPP) models must be developed to boost private investment.
Transform education: Curricula must be reformed to integrate research methodology, and pedagogy must shift from rote learning to inquiry-based learning. Universities need funding to build research infrastructure and forge stronger, mandatory links with industry.

Institutional and governance reforms: “Ease of Doing R&D” initiatives must be urgently implemented to cut through bureaucracy. Public research institutions need greater autonomy, coupled with robust accountability frameworks.

Cultivate a pro-innovation culture: A national effort is needed to improve science communication and make research careers more attractive. This includes encouraging a cultural shift from celebrating only “Jugaad” to valuing deep, original R&D and implementing strategies to attract and retain top talent, including from the diaspora. This also includes a shift in moving beyond the notions of trying to find answers to modern questions in the past.

Conclusion: Realising India’s R&D superpower aspiration

India is at the crossroads. The challenges it faces stem from chronic underinvestment, structural rigidities, private sector hesitancy, and cultural biases. Closing the gap between its potential and performance requires a national mission characterized by unwavering political will and a sustained, multi-decade commitment. A piecemeal approach is doomed to fail. The solution must be a holistic, reform across funding, education, governance, and culture. By transforming its isolated “islands of excellence” into a thriving, interconnected mainland of innovation, India can reach its true potential.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

The ONOS scheme for research: What It offers and how it works

The post The Science Problem: Why India lags behind in research & development appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The contested interpretation of the Immigrant Expulsion from Assam Act, 1950

sabrang — Thu, 19 Jun 2025 12:28:19 +0000

In past weeks, chief minister of Assam, Himanta Biswas Sarma has made various unsubstantiated statements “justifying the union and state government’s unlawful expulsion of persons beyond borders. Given these multiple claims, this article examines and analyses the interpretation of these actions, justified by invoking a 1950 executive order. These ‘proclamations’ have made varied and distinct premise/justifications for the recent brutally implemented “expulsion” policy that has of late, being contained by the Gauhati high court. Orders of the court may be understood here, here and here. In the first instance selectively using the Rajubala v/s Union of India case to justify these ‘deportations’, in the second instance citing a 1950 executive order (see below) as a basis for the action and in the last even brazenly stating that “inclusion in the National Register of Citizens” of a person would not deter the state from expelling him out!! We have, on the Citizens for Justice and Peace website, over past weeks published several legal resources and analyses to poke legal holes in these political claims. In this article, we specifically analyse the Immigrant Expulsion from Assam Act, 1950.

The Immigrant Expulsion from Assam Act, 1950 (hereinafter IEAA) emerged from the unique and tumultuous socio-political landscape of post-Partition India. Enacted to address the significant influx of migrants into Assam, primarily from what was then East Bengal (later East Pakistan, and now Bangladesh), the IEAA was a legislative response to demographic shifts perceived as impacting the region’s economy and social fabric. At the time of its enactment, the general framework of the Foreigners Act, 1946, did not extend to individuals migrating from the newly formed Dominion of Pakistan, necessitating a specific statute for Assam which was experiencing a particularly acute situation.

Recently, the IEAA has been thrust into the spotlight due to interpretations suggesting it confers, or that the Supreme Court of India has affirmed its conferral of, extensive and summary expulsion powers upon district administrative authorities, such as District Collectors or Deputy Commissioners. This interpretation, notably articulated by Assam’s Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma, posits that these authorities can expel individuals deemed to be foreigners under the IEAA without recourse to the established quasi-judicial process of the Foreigners Tribunals. Such an interpretation implies a significant departure from the procedural safeguards that have evolved in Indian administrative and constitutional law concerning the determination of nationality and the profound act of deportation.

This article contends that such an interpretation is a fundamental misreading of the IEAA itself, is not substantiated by a careful analysis of the Supreme Court’s recent judgment in In Re: Section 6A of the Citizenship Act 1955 and stands in opposition to established principles of administrative law and due process.[1] This piece builds on an earlier work discussing the processes and procedures of deportation, which can be accessed here.

Far from endorsing an unfettered executive power of expulsion at the district level, the Supreme Court’s pronouncements, when read holistically, suggest an integration of the IEAA within the existing, more elaborate procedural framework for identifying and dealing with foreigners. The erratic understanding appears to arise from a selective and decontextualized reading of both the 1950 Act and the Supreme Court’s observations, potentially fuelled by a desire for more expedited executive action in a complex and sensitive domain. The timing of this re-interpretation, particularly following the Supreme Court’s judgment, suggests an attempt to leverage judicial pronouncements to legitimise a pre-existing executive inclination towards summary powers, overlooking the nuanced directives for the harmonized application of various statutes governing foreigners in Assam.

II. The Immigrant Expulsion from Assam Act, 1950: Legislative intent and provisions

An examination of the IEAA’s text is essential to understand its original scope and intended operation. The pivotal provision concerning expulsion is Section 2, titled “Power to order expulsion of certain immigrants”. This section states as follows:

Power to order expulsion of certain immigrants.—If the Central Government is of opinion that any person or class of persons, having been ordinarily resident in any place outside India, has or have, whether before or after the commencement of this Act, come into Assam and that the stay of such person or class of persons in Assam is detrimental to the interests of the general public of India or of any section thereof or of any Scheduled Tribe in Assam, the Central Government may by order—

(a) direct such person or class of persons to remove himself or themselves from India or Assam within such time and by such route as may be specified in the order; and

(b) give such further directions in regard to his or their removal from India or Assam as it may consider necessary or expedient:

Provided that nothing in this section shall apply to any person who on account of civil disturbances or the fear of such disturbances in any area now forming part of Pakistan has been displaced from or has left his place of residence in such area and who has been subsequently residing in Assam.

The basis for such an order is the Central Government’s “opinion” that the continued presence of the individual or group is “detrimental” to specified public interests. While the formation of an opinion involves subjective satisfaction, in the contemporary administrative law paradigm, such satisfaction cannot be arbitrary or devoid of objective material; it remains susceptible to judicial review on grounds of mala fides, non-application of mind, or reliance on irrelevant considerations, particularly when fundamental rights—Article 14 and 21 in this case— are implicated. More on this is discussed in Part VI of this article. For now, let us get back to IEAA.

The Act further provides for the delegation of these powers. Section 3 of the IEAA, “Delegation of power,” states:

“The Central Government may, by notification in the Official Gazette, direct that the powers and duties conferred or imposed on it by section 2 shall, subject to such conditions, if any, as may be specified in the notification, be exercised or discharged also by—

(a) any officer subordinate to the Central Government.

(b) the Government of Assam, Meghalaya or Nagaland or any officer subordinate to that Government.”

This provision underscores that any power exercised by a District Collector or Deputy Commissioner under the IEAA would stem from a specific, conditional delegation by the Central Government. It is not an autonomous power. The nature and scope of such delegated authority are circumscribed by the conditions laid down in the notification and the parent Act itself. The claim that District Collectors inherently possess sweeping expulsion powers under the IEAA overlooks this crucial two-step process: the primary power resting with the Central Government, followed by a conditional delegation.

Furthermore, the Proviso to Section 2 of the IEAA introduces a significant qualification:

“Provided that nothing in this section shall apply to any person who on account of civil disturbances or the fear of such disturbances in any area now forming part of Pakistan has been displaced from or has left his place of residence in such area and who has been subsequently residing in Assam.”

This proviso indicates that even in 1950, the legislature intended to differentiate among categories of migrants, offering protection to those displaced due to civil disturbances. This nuanced approach undermines any interpretation of the IEAA as an indiscriminate tool for the summary expulsion of all individuals who might have entered Assam from territories that became Pakistan. It suggests a legislative intent sensitive to humanitarian concerns, even within an Act focused on expulsion.

The original legislative intent, as contextualized by the Supreme Court, was to address a specific gap: the Foreigners Act, 1946, did not initially apply to immigrants from Pakistan (as it was then) specifically, and Assam was facing a unique migratory pressure. The IEAA was thus a targeted measure for a particular historical moment, preceding the more comprehensive and procedurally detailed framework later established by the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964.

III. Decoding the Supreme Court’s Judgment in In Re: Section 6A of the Citizenship Act 1955

The Supreme Court’s judgment in In Re: Section 6A of the Citizenship Act 1955 is central to the current debate. A careful reading of the opinions of the learned judges is necessary to ascertain what the Court actually said about the IEAA and its interplay with other laws.

Chief Justice Dr. D.Y. Chandrachud’s Opinion

CJI Justice Chandrachud(as he was then), in his opinion, provided a historical overview of the IEAA, noting its enactment was prompted by the fact that the Foreigners Act, 1946, initially did not cover immigrants from Pakistan, and that the IEAA was specifically applied to Assam to deal with large-scale immigration from East Bengal. The Foreigners Act’s limitation was due to the fact that it was enacted during the British rule and the limitation was rectified via an amendment in 1957.

This historical context is vital, as it positions the IEAA as a measure designed to fill a legislative void that was subsequently addressed by more comprehensive legal frameworks.

Justice Chandrachud’s opinion, while not having any declarations over whether the IEAA survives or not, had two crucial points.

Parliament did not want the powers given by IEAA to be used against those who were refugees that have migrated into India in account of civil disturbances or the fear of it (Para 53).
The act only applied to the state of Assam meaning—not only that these powers can only be granted to the district authorities in Assam, but the exercise of these powers can also only be against the immigrants in Assam and not rest of India (Para 53). This means that forcibly transporting alleged immigrants to Assam and using IEAA to deport them is not lawful.

Justice Surya Kant’s opinion for the majority

Justice Surya Kant’s opinion, on behalf of himself and Justices M.M. Sundresh and Manoj Misra, contains several crucial points regarding the IEAA.

Critically, Justice Kant stated that the IEAA and the Foreigners Act, 1946, are not in conflict and, in fact, “supplement and complement each other within the framework of Section 6A” (Para 376). This statement directly counters any notion that the IEAA operates in isolation with overriding powers, suggesting instead a synergistic relationship.
Referencing Sarbananda Sonowal v. Union of India, Justice Surya Kant affirmed that the IEAA, the Foreigners Act, 1946, the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964, and the Passport Act, 1967, all apply to the State of Assam.[2] This reinforces the understanding of a composite legal framework governing foreigners in Assam, rather than the IEAA standing as a singular, overriding statute.
One of the key directives issued by the Bench for which Justice Surya Kant authored the opinion is: “The provisions of the Immigrants (Expulsion from Assam) Act, 1950 shall also be read into Section 6A and shall be effectively employed for the purpose of identification of illegal immigrants. (Para 391)“ The phrasing “read into Section 6A” and “employed for the purpose of identification” strongly suggests an integrative and procedural application. Section 6A (1)(b) of the Citizenship Act, 1955 itself defines “detected to be a foreigner” by reference to the Foreigners Act, 1946 and the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964. If the IEAA were intended to provide an alternative, tribunal-exempt route for expulsion, the judgment would likely have clarified this. Instead, its use is linked to “identification,” which is a primary function leading to or forming part of the tribunal process.
Justice Surya Kant further opined as follows about the scope of both IEAA and the Foreigners Act, 1946:

As discussed above, IEAA is only one of the statutes that addressed a specific problem that existed in 1950. The issue of undesirable immigration in 1950 necessitated the promulgation of the IEAA and the granting of power to the Central government to expel such immigrants. On the contrary, the provisions of Section 6A have to be viewed from the focal point of 1971, when Bangladesh was formed as a new nation and an understanding was reached to grant citizenship to certain classes of immigrants who had migrated from erstwhile East Pakistan, as has been detailed in paragraphs 230 and 231 of this judgement. Hence, Section 6A, when examined from this perspective, is seen to have a different objective—one of granting citizenship to certain classes of immigrants, particularly deemed citizenship to those immigrants who came to India before 01.01.1966 and qualified citizenship, to those who came on or after 01.01.1966 and before 25.03.1971.

Since the two statutes operate in different spheres, we find no conflict existing between them. The Parliament was fully conversant with the dynamics and realities, while enacting both the Statutes. The field of operation of the two enactments being distinct and different and there being a presumption of the Legislature having informed knowledge about their consequences, we decline to hold that Section 6A is in conflict with a differently situated statute, namely the IEAA.

Instead, we are satisfied that IEAA and Section 6A can be read harmoniously along with other statutes. As held in Sarbananda Sonawal (supra), none of these Statutes exist as a standalone code but rather supplement each other. [Paras 379, 380 & 381]

Justice J.B. Pardiwala’s Opinion

Justice Pardiwala, in his dissent over the validity of Section 6A of the Citizenship Act, 1955, touches upon IEAA but not in any substantial terms.

Collectively, these opinions affirm the continued validity and operability of the IEAA but situate its application within the broader, evolved legal framework governing foreigners. There is no explicit statement in any of the opinions that the IEAA empowers District Collectors to expel individuals based on a prima facie “opinion” without reference to the Foreigners Tribunals, nor that such an “opinion” under IEAA can substitute a tribunal’s quasi-judicial finding. Such a significant departure from the established Tribunal system, if endorsed by the Supreme Court, would have necessitated clear and unambiguous language, which is conspicuously absent.

IV. Why the Supreme Court Judgment disallows an inference of unfettered expulsion powers under IEAA, 1950

The assertion that the Supreme Court’s judgment in In Re: Section 6A grants, or affirms, sweeping summary expulsion powers to District Collectors under the IEAA, thereby bypassing the Foreigners Tribunals, is not borne out by a careful reading of the judicial pronouncements. Several arguments counter this interpretation:

First, the judgment, particularly Justice Surya Kant’s opinion, emphasizes integration and supplementation, not supersession. The directive to “read into Section 6A” and employ the IEAA “for the purpose of identification of illegal immigrants” (Para 391(e)) implies that the IEAA is to function as a component within the broader machinery. Section 6A (1)(b) of the Citizenship Act itself defines “detected to be a foreigner” as detection “in accordance with the provisions of the Foreigners Act, 1946 and the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964 by a Tribunal constituted under the said Order”. If the IEAA were to provide a parallel mechanism that bypasses this definition for expulsion purposes, the Supreme Court would have had to explicitly state that the requirement of tribunal-based detection could be circumvented under the IEAA. No such statement is made. Instead, the IEAA’s role is linked to “identification,” which is the preliminary step that often leads to a reference to a Foreigners Tribunal for a conclusive determination of status.

Second, the power delineated in Section 2 of the IEAA is primarily vested in the Central Government. While Section 3 allows for the delegation of this power, such delegation is subject to conditions specified in the notification. Crucially, delegated power cannot be exercised in a manner that contravenes fundamental due process requirements or ignores established statutory mechanisms like the Foreigners Tribunals, especially when the Supreme Court itself links the IEAA’s contemporary use to “identification” within the Section 6A framework. The scope of delegated authority cannot be broader than the power of the delegating authority when read in conjunction with other prevailing laws and constitutional mandates ensuring procedural fairness.

Third, the Supreme Court’s affirmation of the IEAA’s validity and continued operability signifies that the Act remains on the statute books and can be invoked. However, this affirmation does not translate into a license to use the Act in a manner that disregards the specialised, quasi-judicial mechanism of Foreigners Tribunals. These tribunals are specifically established for the determination of a person’s status as a foreigner – a critical determination that must precede the severe consequence of expulsion. The interpretation that “valid and operative” means “valid for summary, independent action” is a misconstruction; the Act is valid as part of the legal toolkit, not as a master key that overrides other procedural safeguards.

Fourth, the profound implications for due process and individual liberty that would arise from granting summary expulsion powers to District Collectors, bypassing tribunals, are such that if the Supreme Court intended to endorse such a system, it would have done so explicitly and with clear reasoning. The Court’s silence on this specific point, coupled with its emphasis on the integrated and complementary application of the relevant statutes, is telling. The judgment upholds the IEAA’s existence but implicitly requires its application to be harmonized with the current, more evolved procedural framework for determining foreigner status. The focus on “identification” by Justice Surya Kant (J. Surya Kant, Para 391(e)) is pivotal. Identification is typically the precursor to adjudication by a Tribunal. If the IEAA allowed a District Collector to identify and expel based solely on a “prima facie” view, as suggested by Assam CM, the elaborate and long-standing Foreigners Tribunal system in Assam would be rendered largely redundant for a significant category of cases – an outcome the Supreme Court does not appear to endorse.

V. Harmonising the IEAA 1950 with the Foreigners Act, 1946, and the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964

The Foreigners Act, 1946, particularly Section 3, empowers the Central Government to make orders, inter alia, for prohibiting, regulating, or restricting the entry of foreigners into India or their presence therein. It is under this provision that the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964, was promulgated, establishing Foreigners Tribunals specifically for the quasi-judicial determination of whether a person is a foreigner. This mechanism is central to the definition of “detected to be a foreigner” in Section 6A (1)(b) of the Citizenship Act and is frequently referenced in the Supreme Court’s judgment as the established process.

A harmonious construction, consistent with the Supreme Court’s directive to “read into Section 6A” and use the IEAA “for identification” [J. Surya Kant, Para 391(e)], would mean that information gathered or preliminary assessments made by the district administration (as a delegate of the Central Government under IEAA Section 3) could form the basis of a reference to a Foreigners Tribunal. The “opinion” of the Central Government (or its delegate) under IEAA Section 2 that a person’s stay is “detrimental,” could serve as a ground for initiating a formal inquiry or making such a reference. However, the crucial determination of foreigner status itself, which is a prerequisite for expulsion under either Act, would remain within the purview of the Foreigners Tribunals, as per the dominant legislative scheme and procedural due process.

This interpretation aligns with Justice Surya Kant’s observation that the IEAA and the Foreigners Act “supplement and complement each other”, rather than the IEAA providing an overriding, summary power that displaces the tribunal system. The Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964, provides a specific and more recent procedural mechanism for the determination of foreigner status.

The IEAA, on the other hand, is broader in identifying the class of persons who can be expelled and the ultimate executive authority responsible (the Central Government or its delegate). Harmonisation suggests that the IEAA identifies who might be subject to expulsion and by whom the ultimate executive order of expulsion might be issued, while the Foreigners Act and the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order provide the process for establishing the critical precedent fact – whether the individual is indeed a foreigner. The term “identification” used by Justice Surya Kant is distinct from “adjudication” or “declaration” of foreigner status. District administration can play a role in preliminary identification (i.e., forming a prima facie suspicion), but the quasi-judicial adjudication of that status, given its severe consequences, aligns with the specialized role of Foreigners Tribunals.

VI. Jurisprudential foundations: Due Process and limitations on executive power in expulsion

The exercise of any statutory power, particularly one as impactful as expulsion, must be viewed through the prism of India’s evolved constitutional jurisprudence. Administrative law principles, especially those concerning natural justice (audi alteram partem, rule against bias) and the requirement for reasoned decisions, have been significantly strengthened by the Supreme Court over decades. An archaic statute like the IEAA, 1950, cannot be interpreted in a vacuum, isolated from these constitutional developments. The principle of “updating construction” requires that older statutes be read, as far as possible, in conformity with later constitutional norms and human rights jurisprudence. The IEAA, therefore, must operate within the current legal environment where procedural fairness is paramount.

For example, in Hukam Chand Lal vs. Union of India, the government disconnected the person’s telephones, citing a “public emergency” due to their alleged use for illegal forward trading (satta). The Supreme Court found the disconnection unlawful.[3] It held that the authority, the Divisional Engineer, failed to apply his own mind and record his own satisfaction that an emergency existed. Instead, he acted solely on the government’s declaration. The Court ruled that such drastic powers require the designated authority to rationally form their own opinion, not just follow orders.

In S.N. Mukherjee vs. Union of India, the Supreme Court addressed whether administrative authorities must provide reasons for their decisions.[4] In this case, the Court laid down a landmark principle: the requirement to record reasons is a part of natural justice. It held that providing reasons ensures fairness, prevents arbitrariness, guarantees application of mind by the authority, and enables effective judicial review.

The determination of whether a person is a foreigner, a decision that can lead to expulsion, has profound consequences for individual liberty, family life, and personal security. Such a determination inherently demands a fair, transparent, and quasi-judicial process. To contend that the IEAA allows for summary expulsion based solely on an executive “opinion,” without a quasi-judicial hearing by a specialized body like a Foreigners Tribunal, would be to argue for a procedure that is likely to be deemed arbitrary and violative of Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution. Article 21 guarantees that no person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty except according to procedure established by law, and such procedure must be fair, just, and reasonable.

The very establishment and continued strengthening of the Foreigners Tribunal system over several decades signifies a legislative and judicial recognition that determining foreigner status is a complex matter requiring a specialized, quasi-judicial approach. While there are issues with the current system of foreigner tribunals, the way is not to go backward in terms of procedural fairness but to move forward to make processes fairer. This evolution points away from purely executive determinations of such critical facts, especially when a statutory framework for quasi-judicial assessment is in place.

VII. Conclusion: Upholding the rule of law and procedural propriety

The analysis of the Immigrant Expulsion from Assam Act, 1950, the relevant provisions of the Foreigners Act, 1946, the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964, and the Supreme Court’s judgment in In Re: Section 6A of the Citizenship Act 1955 leads to the firm conclusion that the IEAA does not confer unfettered, summary expulsion powers upon district administrative authorities that would allow them to bypass the established quasi-judicial framework of the Foreigners Tribunals.

The Supreme Court’s judgment, far from endorsing such an interpretation, supports an integrated and harmonized application of these statutes. Justice Surya Kant’s directive to “read into Section 6A” and employ the IEAA “for the purpose of identification of illegal immigrants” [ J. Surya Kant, Para 391(e)] indicates that the IEAA is to be used as a tool within the broader framework, likely to initiate inquiries or make references to the Foreigners Tribunals, which remain the designated bodies for the quasi-judicial determination of a person’s status as a foreigner. This interpretation is consistent with the principle that specific procedural statutes (like the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order) govern the determination process, while the IEAA may provide grounds or identify the authority for expulsion once such determination is made.

The constitutional imperatives of due process, enshrined in Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution, mandate that any action as severe as determining nationality and ordering expulsion must be preceded by a fair and just procedure. In the context of Assam, this procedure is embodied in the Foreigners Tribunal system. Any interpretation that suggests the IEAA allows District Collectors to unilaterally form an “opinion” and expel individuals without recourse to these tribunals is not only a misreading of the Supreme Court’s recent judgment but also runs contrary to the evolution of administrative and constitutional law in India. Such an approach would be detrimental to the rule of law and could lead to arbitrary outcomes, eroding public trust in the legal system’s ability to handle complex immigration issues with fairness and consistency.

The constitutionally appropriate approach is for the district administration—acting under powers delegated by the Central Government, including those under the IEAA—to identify suspected illegal immigrants and refer their cases to the Foreigners Tribunals for a quasi-judicial determination of status. Deportation may then proceed in accordance with established legal procedures, which you can read about here. This ensures a balance between the state’s legitimate interest in managing immigration and its constitutional obligation to uphold the rule of law and procedural fairness.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

[1] 2024 INSC 789

[2] (2005) 5 SCC 665

[3] AIR 1976 SUPREME COURT 789

[4] 1990 (4) SCC 564

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SC intervenes for personal liberty after HC adjourns a bail application 27 times!

sabrang — Wed, 18 Jun 2025 06:02:13 +0000

Case: Lakshya Tawar v. Central Bureau of Investigation (SLP(Crl.) No. 5480/2025)

Court: Supreme Court of India

Bench: Chief Justice B.R. Gavai and Justice Augustine George Masih

Date of Order: May 22, 2025

A system on trial

In a powerful assertion of personal liberty over procedural inertia, the Supreme Court of India intervened to grant bail to Lakshya Tawar, a man whose plea for release had been adjourned an astonishing 27 times by the Allahabad High Court. Having already spent over four years in detention, Tawar’s case became a flashpoint for judicial delay. The apex court’s decision was not a commentary on the merits of the criminal allegations against Tawar but a sharp rebuke of a system that allowed a bail hearing—a matter of fundamental rights—to languish indefinitely. “In matters of personal liberty,” the bench led by Chief Justice Gavaideclared in its order, “the High Courts are not expected to keep the matter pending for such a long time and do nothing, except for adjourning from time to time.”^[1] The ruling serves as a critical case study on the judiciary’s role as the ultimate guardian of Article 21 and the dire consequences when procedural delays effectively negate the right to a timely hearing.

The factual background: A labyrinth of deferrals

Lakshya Tawar was arrested, facing serious charges of cheating, forgery, criminal conspiracy under the Indian Penal Code, and corruption under the Prevention of Corruption Act. His bail application was filed in the Allahabad High Court.

What followed was not a swift adjudication but a cycle of repeated deferrals. Over the course of his plea, the matter was adjourned 27 times. During the proceedings, the High Court took note of Tawar’s “long criminal history of thirty-three cases” and, in its order of March 20, 2025, adjourned the case for another two weeks. It directed the trial court to first record the evidence of the complainant before it would reconsider the bail plea. While this might appear as a measure of due diligence, for a man already incarcerated for four years, it represented yet another hurdle in a seemingly endless procedural maze. It was this pattern of delay that propelled the case to the Supreme Court.

The Supreme Court’s intervention: A decisive rebuke

On May 22, 2025, the Supreme Court expressed its unequivocal disapproval. “How can the high court adjourn a bail hearing 27 times in a matter related to personal liberty?” Chief Justice Gavai pointedly asked. The Court noted that it would “normally not have entertained the matter” challenging adjournments, but the “peculiar facts and circumstances” of this case, namely the extraordinary number of deferrals, demanded an exception.

The Supreme Court’s decision to grant bail was based on a confluence of factors:

The Egregious Delay: The 27 adjournments were the primary catalyst, which the Court viewed as a de facto denial of justice.
Prolonged Incarceration: Tawar had already been imprisoned for over four years.
Fulfilment of High Court’s Condition: The complainant’s evidence—the very reason for the High Court’s last adjournment—had since been recorded.

Finding the High Court’s inaction indefensible, the Supreme Court directly granted bail to Tawar, rendering the application pending before the Allahabad High Court “infructuous.” By doing so, it sent a powerful signal that procedural failings impinging on fundamental rights would not be tolerated.

Upholding the spirit of Article 21

This case is a potent illustration of Article 21 of the Constitution, which guarantees that no person shall be deprived of their life or personal liberty “except according to procedure established by law.” The Supreme Court’s jurisprudence, notably in Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India, has established that this procedure must be “just, fair, and reasonable.” The right to a speedy trial, articulated in Hussainara Khatoon v. Home Secretary, State of Bihar, is a cornerstone of this principle.

The Tawar judgment extends this logic forcefully to pre-trial proceedings. Indefinite detention caused by the repeated adjournment of a bail hearing is a clear violation of fair procedure. By intervening, the Supreme Court reaffirmed that judicial discretion in managing dockets is not absolute and cannot be exercised in a manner that erodes fundamental rights. The maxim “justice delayed is justice denied” is rarely more applicable than when an individual’s liberty is suspended in a state of indefinite judicial limbo. However, whether the Supreme Court and judiciary as a whole will apply this standard in dealing with the delayed bail for political prisoners, especially in the context of cases like Umar Khalid’s is a question that is yet to be answered.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

^[1] Para 5, Lakshya Tawar v. CBI[SLP(Crl.) No. 5480/2025

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Mixed Messaging: Free speech jurisprudence from the Supreme Court

sabrang — Mon, 16 Jun 2025 07:04:17 +0000

The Supreme Court of India, since its inception, has been conceived as the sentinel on the qui vive—the ultimate guardian of the fundamental rights enshrined in Part III of the Constitution. Central to this protective mandate is the freedom of speech and expression under Article 19 (1)(a), a right the Court has historically interpreted with expansive solicitude, recognizing it as the foundational liberty upon which a functioning democracy rests. This freedom, while not absolute, can only be curtailed by “reasonable restrictions” under Article 19(2), imposed strictly on the grounds enumerated therein. The judiciary’s constitutional obligation is to police the boundaries of these restrictions, ensuring they are not merely reasonable in principle but also in their application, remaining narrow, proportionate, and demonstrably necessary.

However, an examination of the Court’s free speech jurisprudence in recent months reveals a disquieting pattern of contradiction and inconsistency. Alongside landmark judgments that have robustly defended expressive freedoms, there has emerged a parallel and conflicting stream of pronouncements, delivered through interim orders and expansive bail conditions. These orders have imposed sweeping prior restraints on speech, frequently without substantive reasoning and based on subjective assessments of morality or public sentiment. This trend represents a significant deviation from the Court’s larger constitutional role. It departs from established doctrines that demand a high threshold for restricting speech and, in doing so, fosters a climate of legal uncertainty. This analysis contends that this jurisprudential dissonance not only undermines the predictability of law but also creates a tangible “chilling effect” on public discourse, thereby weakening the very democratic fabric the Court is duty-bound to protect.

The doctrinal anchor: Article 19(1)(a) and the high bar for restriction

The Supreme Court’s traditional role as a bulwark for free expression is rooted in a series of foundational precedents. In Romesh Thappar v. State of Madras (1950), the Court established that the freedom of speech lies at the core of all democratic organizations. It held that any restriction must be evaluated from the perspective of its directness and proximity to the specified grounds in Article 19(2), such as public order or the security of the State. This principle evolved over decades, culminating in the landmark verdict in Shreya Singhal v. Union of India (2015).

In Shreya Singhal, the Court struck down Section 66A of the Information Technology Act, 2000, for being unconstitutionally vague and overbroad.[1] Crucially, it fortified the “incitement” standard, clarifying that speech can only be restricted when it rises to the level of “incitement to an offence.” This test requires a clear nexus between the expression and the likelihood of imminent lawless action. Mere advocacy, discussion, or even offensive and unpopular speech is constitutionally protected.[2] This judgment, along with the effective suspension of the colonial-era sedition law (Section 124A of the Indian Penal Code) in May 2022 due to its rampant misuse, represents the doctrinal high-water mark of free speech protection in India. Whether the Court should have suspended the provision or not, in the context of the discourse around judicial activism and overreach is a different debate.

These rulings firmly embody the Court’s constitutional role: to set clear, objective, and high standards for any State action that seeks to curtail expression. It is against this established doctrinal backdrop that the recent developments must be assessed.

The changing trajectory: Judicial paternalism and unreasoned restraints

The recent cases of Ranveer Allahabadia and Professor Ali Khan Mahmudabad serve as stark illustrations of a judicial approach that appears untethered from the principles laid down in Shreya Singhal.

In the matter involving podcaster Ranveer Allahabadia, the Court was approached for the consolidation of multiple First Information Reports (FIRs) filed against him for allegedly obscene content in an online show. While granting interim protection from arrest, the bench imposed a blanket, unreasoned gag order, prohibiting him from airing any shows on any platform. This order was a classic act of prior restraint, imposed without any adjudicatory finding that the content was, in fact, legally obscene. The Court’s oral remarks, condemning the language as “dirty” and “perverted” suggested a departure from objective legal analysis towards a subjective, moralistic critique. While this sweeping ban was later modified, it was conditioned on an undertaking that future content would “maintain the desired standards of decency and morality so that viewers of any age group can watch.” Such a condition is inherently vague and places the judiciary in the role of a super-censor, dictating amorphous “societal norms” for creative expression. This judicial paternalism (as Anmol Jain mentions it) stands in direct conflict with the principle that the Court’s role is to be a legal arbiter, not a moral guardian. Furthermore, the bench’s stated inclination to expand the scope of this proceeding to devise regulatory measures for online content signals a potential overstepping of the judicial function into the legislative domain.

Even more troubling is the case of Professor Ali Khan Mahmudabad, who faced multiple FIRs, including for sedition, over a Facebook post commenting on India’s recent military operation—Operation Sindhoor. The Supreme Court, while granting interim bail, imposed an exceptionally broad gag order, restraining him from expressing any opinion on the underlying conflict. It also directed the confiscation of his passport. Critically, the Court refrained from undertaking a prima facie analysis of whether the speech in question met the stringent incitement-to-violence threshold. It delegated the task of interpreting the “complexity of the phraseology” to a Special Investigation Team (SIT) of police officers. For this very broad set of restrictions to have been put, one would expect a deep reasoning as to why a person’s free speech is being restricted on this level for a simple Facebook post that has not incited any violence anywhere. However, the Court finds a way to not meet this reasonable expectation by giving a 2-page order. Not even a prima facie mentioning of the remarks or saying how they engaged with them is done by the Court. While it is a simple interim bail order, the restrictions placed on the petitioner warrant the reasoning, something that would not have been expected of the Court if not for the restrictions.

This raises a pertinent question. Does the Supreme Court not have the responsibility to be well reasoned it its order, especially in an order that curtails the freedom of speech of a person? In a democracy like India, the Court does have such responsibility.

These cases demonstrate a worrying departure from constitutional first principles. They prioritize executive concerns over individual liberty, impose prior restraints without robust reasoning, and apply vague, subjective standards of decency or propriety that are alien to the rigorous tests established in prior judgments.

The counter-Narrative: enduring fidelity to constitutional principles

The restrictive turn is, however, not a complete narrative. The Supreme Court has also delivered powerful judgments that reaffirm its commitment to free expression, creating a landscape of profound jurisprudential dissonance.

In Mohammed Zubair v. State of NCT of Delhi (2022), the Court was faced with a similar situation of multiple FIRs filed against a journalist for his tweets. The State explicitly requested a bail condition barring him from tweeting. The bench, which notably included one of the same justices as in the Allahabadia case, unequivocally rejected this plea. It reasoned that such a gag order would be a “disproportionate.” The Court declared that a blanket ban on expression could not be imposed as a condition of liberty.

Similarly, in Imran Pratapgarhi v. State of Gujarat (2025), the Court quashed an FIR against a Member of Parliament over a poem alleged to have promoted disharmony. Justice Abhay S. Oka, writing for the bench, asserted that speech must be judged by the standards of a “strong-minded, firm and courageous” individual, not those of a “weak and oscillating” mind prone to taking offense.

These judgments stand as a testament to the enduring strength of the constitutional framework. They apply the high-threshold tests for restricting speech, reject the notion of pre-emptive gags as a routine measure, and refuse to entertain the “heckler’s veto” by protecting speech from the easily offended. Yet, their co-existence with the orders in Allahabadia and Mahmudabad creates an environment of acute legal uncertainty.

The chilling cascade: consequences of jurisprudential inconsistency

The primary casualty of this judicial inconsistency is the rule of law itself. When the country’s apex court applies contradictory principles to similar fact patterns, it becomes impossible for citizens, journalists, artists, and academics to predict the legal boundaries of permissible speech. This unpredictability is the very engine of the “chilling effect.” Expression is not only chilled by direct censorship but also by the fear that a legitimate, constitutionally protected opinion could be ensnared in a web of litigation, culminating in a restrictive gag order issued at the interim stage by the highest court itself.

This phenomenon has a cascading impact. When the Supreme Court imposes gag orders as bail conditions, it normalises such practices, signalling to lower courts and law enforcement agencies that these are acceptable tools for managing speech-related offenses. The result is a systemic shift where bail, a mechanism intended to secure liberty, is weaponised to curtail it. The core constitutional role of the Supreme Court is not merely to adjudicate disputes but to provide clear, consistent, and principled legal guidance for the entire nation by functioning as the supreme interpreter of the Constitution. By issuing contradictory pronouncements, the Court detours from this vital function, leaving a vacuum filled by uncertainty and fear. This leads to a public sphere characterized by self-censorship, where critical inquiry and challenging discourse are stifled, not by authoritarian laws, but by an unpredictable judiciary.

Conclusion: A call for constitutional reaffirmation

The Supreme Court of India stands at a critical juncture. The recent inconsistent rulings on free speech threatens to erode its legacy as the unwavering protector of fundamental rights. While landmark decisions continue to uphold the sanctity of Article 19(1)(a), the parallel trend of imposing ad-hoc, unreasoned, and paternalistic restrictions represents a significant deviation from its constitutional charter. This inconsistency is more than a mere academic curiosity; it has profound real-world consequences for the health of India’s democracy.

To restore constitutional equilibrium, the Court must return to a position of principled consistency. This requires a steadfast refusal to impose prior restraints without satisfying the highest standards of justification. It demands that all restrictions on speech be grounded in clear, reasoned orders that adhere to the established tests of necessity and proportionality. The judiciary must consciously resist the temptation to act as a moral arbiter, grounding its decisions in objective legal standards, not subjective notions of public taste.

The freedom of speech is too vital to be left to the vagaries of shifting judicial moods. The responsibility rests squarely with the Supreme Court to reaffirm its constitutional role, ensuring that the marketplace of ideas remains open and that its gavel serves to protect, not inadvertently gag, the diverse voices that animate the world’s largest democracy.

(The author is part of the legal research team of the organisation)

[1] Para 98, (2013) 12 S.C.C. 73

[2] Ibid, Para 44

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