From judgments to cats, ex-CJI Chandrachud shares snippets of his life

"In the district judiciary, women are outnumbering men. The challenge is ensuring these women rise. We can't just say We want more women judges. We must build a pipeline," he says

A stickler for time, Justice DY Chandrachud is late for our lunch meeting. A visitor has uncharacteristically delayed him, probably thinking that, having retired, the former Chief Justice of India (CJI) would have more time at hand.

 

He apologises profusely as he meets us at Shang Palace, the fine dining restaurant at the Shangri-La in New Delhi. Impeccably turned out in a crisp shirt, grey trousers, and brown shoes, he appears smaller than his larger-than-life public persona, which earned him descriptors such as “celebrity judge” or “rockstar judge”. Post-retirement, he has published a book, Why the Constitution Matters: Selected Speeches — 34 of them, ranging from gender justice and climate change to art, literature, and the meaning of free speech. 

 

Over the next two-and-a-half hours, over steaming cups of jasmine tea and an elaborate lunch, our conversation traverses between pages and plates, philosophy and food, going from his views about nepotism in judiciary, and poor representation of women in higher courts, to some of his landmark cases and the matter of judges accepting post-retirement positions.

 

The former CJI is vegan. We, too, decide on an all-vegan meal, even though he insists we should eat whatever we please. Veganism for his family, he says, isn’t just a diet but a philosophy. “Our daughters — they are special children, extremely ethical — played a big role in the family turning vegan,” he says. Their home is now entirely plant-based, down to coconut milk tea and peanut yogurt. “People often ask how we meet our protein needs,” he smiles. “Our traditional foods — dal, chana, millets — have plenty.” Also, he no longer buys leather products —shoes, belts, etc — and the family makes it a point to return gifts that are not cruelty free.

 

One could argue that, like animals, plants too feel pain, but we do not venture into vegetable rights, and instead ask for the classic vegan Cantonese lunch. Soon, all possible kinds of dimsums start arriving at the table: Sizzling water chestnut and mushroom XO dumplings; steamed garlic chives; corn and spinach wonton in Sichuan chili garlic oil; edamame morel dumplings; gluten-free broccoli and sesame dumplings; mushroom cheung fun…. They are as pretty as their names —red, green, purple, speckled — and in no time, we have a rainbow splashed on our plates. “Bon appetit,” says the former CJI, and we dig in.

 

Law, he says, was not his first love. “Music was.” His mother was a disciple of Kishori Amonkar, and classical music filled their home in Mumbai. “My father (Justice YV Chandrachud, India’s longest-serving CJI) had trained as a singer, too,” he says. “I learned the harmonium and tabla, and sang in the school choir.”

 

Law, he insists, came later — “almost by chance”. After topping Delhi University in economics at St Stephen’s College, he toyed with the idea of going to the Delhi School of Economics. “But I also took admission at the Campus Law Centre. And once I attended my first class, I was completely drawn in.”

 

It was the mid-1970s, the years of the Emergency. “You could feel the weight of it everywhere — slogans about discipline, posters about the 20-point programme. I saw young men being picked up for forced sterilisation,” he recalls. “Those years made me realise the true meaning of freedom, the value of rights, and why the Constitution matters.”

 

When he joined the bar, the question of legacy loomed. The view remains that it is harder for first-generation lawyers and judges to make it big, and that having a parent in law helps. And, if that parent is the CJI, well… “It gives you access, yes, but not success,” he says, reaching for a piece of red rice-wrapped dimsum. “Law is ultimately a marketplace of services — you succeed if you deliver,” adds the student of economics. 

 

He, however, acknowledges that “people do come with cultural capital, which gives them an initial advantage — but that’s not unique to the legal profession”.

 

His father set the tone early. “At an event in Allahabad, without asking me, he announced, ‘So long as I’m Chief Justice, my son will not practise before any court in India.’ I was 21.”

 

Denied a courtroom for four years, he went to Harvard, funded partly by his father’s provident fund and an Inlaks scholarship. After completing his doctorate, he waited until his father retired in 1985 to begin practice. “People compared me, a beginner, to what my father was at the top of his career,” he laughs. “They forget everyone starts somewhere.”

 

He is frank about the nepotism debate. “It’s complex. I’ve seen judges’ children do well, but only if they have the ability. Once a judge retires, the surname doesn’t matter.”

 

When his own son entered the profession, “I told him, ‘Build your private practice. Don’t depend on government briefs or panels.’ It’s harder, but builds credibility.” Both his sons have carved out independent paths — one in Mumbai, the other in London.

 

The judiciary today, he says, has more judges whose parents had no connection to law. That said, a two-part series in the ThePrint reported in April this year that at least 30 per cent of sitting judges of the Supreme Court were related to former judges, and another 30 per cent were second- or third-generation lawyers before their elevation. It also found that as of March 15, 2025, one of every three sitting high court judges in India was related to a sitting or former judge, or came from a family of lawyers.

 

Among the first-generation success stories, Justice Chandrachud cites the example of Justice R Banumathi, who rose to the Supreme Court from district judge. She was, incidentally, only the second woman sessions judge to rise to the country’s highest court.

 

Diversity, representation, and inclusivity remain unaddressed areas. Today, of its full sanctioned strength of 34, the Supreme Court has only one woman judge: Justice BV Nagarathna. 

 

“People,” he says, “often ask why no woman elevated (during his tenure). The reality is that the pool of senior women judges available for elevation is still small, and that’s because of how few women entered the legal profession 20-25 years ago,” he says. Many, he adds, left after marriage or children. “That’s changing now — in law schools, women form half the class.”

 

While women dominate corporate law firms, he says fewer enter litigation, which is the traditional route to judgeship. “In the district judiciary, though, women are outnumbering men.” The challenge is ensuring these women rise. “We can’t just say, ‘We want more women judges.’ We must build a pipeline. They should be there because they’re the best, not because of tokenism.”

 

He points to some progress. “Between 1950 and 2020, only 12 women were designated senior advocates in the Supreme Court. In 2024 alone, we designated 24. That’s more than in the previous 75 years combined.”

 

Small things, he says, make a big difference. “A judge cutting off a young woman lawyer too soon — that can crush confidence. Let her argue. When she’s heard, it inspires others.”

 

As for specific appointments, he says he wouldn’t want to comment. “Those are collegium decisions involving multiple judges, some of whom are still serving.”

 

There is also the matter of seniority, which he agrees shouldn’t be the sole basis for judicial appointments. “The Supreme Court shouldn’t be a place people reach simply by age,” says the retired CJI.

 

He sees promise in the collegium’s evolving transparency. “We began publishing reasons for appointments. Transparency builds trust,” he says, citing the case of advocate Saurabh Kirpal. The government had asked the top court to reconsider its recommendation to elevate him as judge of the Delhi High Court. If elevated, Saurabh Kirpal would be India’s first openly gay judge. “We publicly explained why sexual orientation did not matter,” says Justice Chandrachud. “Sexuality has no bearing on judicial competence.”

 

He feels strongly about the right to one’s sexuality. So then what happened in the 2023 same-sex marriage case, where he had the opportunity to legitimise same-sex marriage but didn’t? “Decriminalising homosexuality was the first big step — it let people live without fear. Marriage equality, though, was more complex,” he says.

 

The petitioners sought recognition under the Special Marriage Act (SMA), he explains: “But the SMA explicitly speaks of ‘man’ and ‘woman’. Changing that framework would mean rewriting the statute — a job for Parliament, not the court.”

 

That said, he and Justice Sanjay Kishan Kaul, he adds, were in favour of recognising civil unions. “Even if we couldn’t create marriage equality, we could at least affirm the right to form unions based on dignity,” he says. “But we were in the minority. Three colleagues disagreed.” Still, he remains optimistic. “Change takes time, but it’s happening.”

 

Ask him about his most challenging case and he smiles. “Not the ones you’d think.” No, he does not cite the Ayodhya title dispute case. “Often, it’s the technical tax or limitation cases — those have massive financial implications. Constitutional cases demand historical understanding; others need empathy,” he says. He recalls the hearings for the abrogation of Article 370, which the top court had unanimously upheld. “We had to study the entire evolution of Jammu and Kashmir.”

 

Through the course of the conversation, the servers have been incessantly replenishing our plates. The sous chef comes to our table and gives a culinary tour of all he has been whipping up: Radish cake appetiser — coated with rice flour, deep fried, and tossed in chili garlic sauce; jumbo lotus — sliced thin, deep fried, and tossed in honey chili sauce; truffle mushroom dumplings; hot-pot rice in Hunan hot sauce; black bean noodles; and Chinese greens.

 

Justice Chandrachud laughs: “Your readers will say, ‘These people ate more than they talked!’ And we’re just beginning dessert.”

 

Dessert — lavender and peach, mango and yuzu, and mandarin sorbet — brings the conversation back to everyday life, including about the controversy over his stay at the CJI’s official residence beyond permissible time. He talks about the challenge of finding an accessible home in Delhi. “Both our daughters use wheelchairs. Every house had steps. Landlords would say, ‘You can lift them.’ That misses the point — it’s about dignity and independence.”

 

Accessibility, he says, must become mainstream. “Our cities aren’t designed for everyone — not for the elderly, not for people with disabilities. Even official residences weren’t accessible.” He had ordered an accessibility audit of the Supreme Court — ramps, signage, even the website. “Accessibility should be a default, not an afterthought.”

 

Retired, Justice Chandrachud now teaches at National Law University Delhi and will soon teach a course at the National University of Singapore. “I also do arbitration and regulatory advisory work — keeps the mind alive.”

 

Would he consider taking up a government position? It’s a tricky subject. As leader of the Opposition in the Rajya Sabha, the late Arun Jaitley had said that the desire of a post-retirement job can influence pre-retirement judgments.

 

Justice Chandrachud pauses for a moment before answering. “With absolutely no disrespect to colleagues who have accepted such roles — many of them do so because Parliament has created those positions by law — I think it’s unfair to suggest that judges who accept them are engaging in some sort of quid pro quo,” he says. “The result, unfortunately, is that some of our finest judges simply refuse these positions now.”

 

He explains that the reluctance stems from perception, not principle. “A lot of judges feel that the moment they accept a post-retirement role, people will say they’ve been rewarded for something they did on the Bench. That’s not how it works. Some of our most distinguished judges head commissions today, and they do outstanding work.”

 

He draws a distinction between statutory commissions and political appointments. “Now, when it comes to judges contesting elections or taking up positions like a governorship, one can have a different view,” he says. He suggests that perhaps there should be a cooling-off period — “you shouldn’t be contesting a parliamentary election a month after retiring. Even if there’s no element of reward, perception matters.”

 

Our question, however, is still unanswered. He smiles. “I’m not sure I want to be bound again to that kind of daily regime of hearings and files. At least for now, I feel I need this pause. I’m enjoying what I’m doing — teaching, writing, travelling,” and reading “multiple books” at a time. “I also love poetry — sometimes from The Oxford Book of English Verse, sometimes Pablo Neruda or Maya Angelou. And philosophy, history, economics; and yes, I’m always waiting for William Dalrymple’s next book.”

 

Music, he adds, is a constant. “Indian classical, ghazals, even Adele. Thanks to my daughters, I listen to Christina Perri — “A Thousand Years” plays endlessly at home.” We chuckle. “Bob Dylan, too — for the political poetry in his music.” And then, there are the cats – 11 of them, “one Persian, Joy Joshua, and the rest strays from Tughlaq Road — Joyce, Tiger, Oreo, Honey, Chocolate…” he laughs. “They’ve taken over our home — and our hearts.”