Exclusive Interview/ D.Y. Chandrachud former chief justice of India
A way from the courtroom, Justice D.Y. Chandrachud’s life has an almost meditative rhythm. He wakes up at 4 am, beginning his day with yoga and meditation before settling into writing or preparing for lectures or for travels. After retirement, Chandrachud shifted to his new residence at Teen Murti Marg. The house carries the imprint of his Maharashtrian roots, with subtle traditional motifs and rituals woven into daily life while also radiating a spiritual calm.
His wife, Kalpana Das, has carefully designed the spaces to ensure comfort and accessibility for their two differently abled daughters, Mahi and Priyanka. The household is also full of life, thanks to the 11 adopted cats who wander freely through its rooms and gardens. A believer in mindful living, Chandrachud follows a simple and balanced diet—light, home-cooked meals, wholesome snacks and the occasional home-made sweet that sustains his long hours of reading and writing. His favourite space is a glass-walled study that his wife designed for him—an office bathed in natural light where he can work while surrounded by greenery.
We are at his house to talk about his debut book, Why The Constitution Matters: Selected Speeches. It is less a legal treatise and more a meditation on how law is lived as much as it is learned. He portrays the Constitution not merely as a code of rules, but as a relationship between citizens and the state—one that speaks with honesty, demands responsibility, calls for optimism and survives on the hope that every individual life matters. For him, the Constitution is also about sounds and silences, words that can be interpreted, but also the quiet spaces that defy expression and remain in a state of constant unsettlement. “Societal change,” he reminds, “requires more than a judgment.”
In an exclusive and candid interview, he discusses bail jurisprudence, the dilemmas of the collegium, the importance of respecting dissent, the need for more women judges, and why judges must ultimately be remembered not for the courtesies they extend, but for the judgments they deliver. Excerpts:
Q/ What inspired you to write Why the Constitution Matters now, after stepping down as CJI?
A/ When you are a judge, your primary task is to resolve disputes that come before you. Even when I spoke outside the courtroom during lectures or speeches, my words were always tied to that judicial role. A judgment speaks to the facts of a case and addresses the parties involved. Writing, however, allows you to speak from the heart, to a much wider audience, about questions that go beyond individual disputes. Many of my speeches over the years had already touched on these themes, and I felt it was time to weave them together into a larger canvas on the Constitution, society and my vision of a humane and just future.
Q/ Is the Constitution more of a legal text or a moral compass for democracy?
A/ At one level, yes, it is a legal text. But to reduce it to that would be a very narrow reading of constitutional history. The Constitution was not just a transfer of power from a colonial regime to a homegrown one; it was a transformative document. It sought to rebuild a society riddled with discrimination, including gender inequality, and to lay out a blueprint of what India should aspire to become. It is not meant for lawyers alone, it is meant for citizens then, now and in the future. It is, above all, a vision for social transformation.
Q/ In today’s political climate, which constitutional value do you see most at risk?
A/ I would say diversity. We live in an age dominated by technology and social media, and while these have expanded communication, they have also pushed people into silos. Individuals now tend to hear only what they want to hear, see only what they wish to see, and associate only with like-minded groups. This undermines the broad-based human experience that is essential to a plural society. The real challenge is to continue living together, accepting each other and respecting diverse perspectives. That spirit of community is under serious strain, not just in India but across democracies and even non-democracies.
Q/ In one of your speeches, you remarked that trolls might be disappointed once you retired. Do you still feel their presence?
A/ I prefer to focus on the positives of life. Human life is finite, and there is so much good one can do for others. Why waste time on negatives? I simply leave that aside.
Q/ Looking back, which case left the deepest personal mark on you as a judge?
A/ It is difficult to single out one case. But broadly, I would say I wrote most extensively on gender equality and disability rights. These were areas that touched me deeply. For instance, when women officers of the Army, Navy or Air Force stood in court during the hearings on permanent commission and later smiled after the judgment, I felt that the institution had truly stood behind them. Similarly, when a young disabled student gained admission to a medical college through a judgment, knowing that their dream could now be fulfilled, it was profoundly satisfying.
Of course, there were complex cases that challenged me intellectually, but the ones that stay with you are those that bring emotional satisfaction. Ultimately, it is about knowing that your work has made someone’s life a little more dignified, a little more equal.
Q/ Coming to bail jurisprudence, very often, a case travels all the way to the Supreme Court and bail is granted, though the accused has been in custody for years. Why this hesitation at the trial or High Court level, especially in high-profile cases?
A/ I wouldn’t say trial courts never grant bail in such cases; high-profile itself can mean many things. But, yes, in today’s culture of distrust, district judges often hesitate. They fear that if their bail orders are overturned, aspersions will be cast on them. That stigma can affect promotions and careers. Yet, higher courts have every right to reverse bail orders they disagree with. The real problem is attaching a personal stigma to judges without evidence of impropriety. We need to strengthen the district judiciary, because for most citizens that is the first and often only point of contact. If bail there becomes a ritualistic step before moving upwards, public confidence erodes.
Q/ The collegium system is often called opaque, closed-door, unaccountable. What, in your view, is its biggest flaw? Can it be fixed without handing control to the executive?
A/ When people say the collegium is opaque, I ask, ‘What would a better system look like?’ Judicial appointments involve deeply personal issues—income, credibility, even integrity. If all of this is debated in the open, reputations can be unfairly destroyed and good candidates deterred. That said, reforms are essential. The process must ensure independence, merit and diversity—gender, caste, region, faith. While in office, we tried to increase transparency by publishing reasons on the court’s website, striking a balance between disclosure and dignity. But let’s be clear, transferring control to the executive is not the answer. The real challenge is to broaden the process, apply consistent parameters and give citizens enough visibility to sustain trust.
Q/ Justice B.V. Nagarathna, the lone woman judge in the Supreme Court, dissented on a collegium decision recently. Do women’s voices get sidelined?
A/ I see it differently. Once you are a Supreme Court judge, your dissent carries the same weight regardless of gender. A dissent is a dissent—valid and respected. Yes, collegium decisions are usually by consensus, but sometimes they are by majority, and dissent must be acknowledged, just as it is in judgments. That strengthens the institution.
Q/ Despite more women in law schools and at the entry level in the judiciary, we don’t see that reflected in the higher courts. Why?
A/ At the district level, the shift is striking; in many states, 60–70 per cent of fresh recruits are women. Over time, they will rise through the ranks. At the bar though, attrition is the challenge. Many women step back due to family responsibilities, which means fewer stay long enough to be considered for elevation. That’s where systemic support matters—mentorship, flexible practices and recognising talent. Otherwise, the pool for higher courts shrinks.
Q/ When you were on the bench, you often spoke about liberty and dignity. Yet activists and others continue to remain in jail without bail. Has the judiciary failed to uphold its own principle that bail is the rule, jail the exception?
A/ Individual cases will always generate differences of opinion, and that is natural. But it would be unfair to judge the role of the judiciary in protecting liberty on the basis of a single outcome that one agrees or disagrees with. If you look at the sheer volume of cases where the Supreme Court grants bail every week, the record clearly shows that the principle ‘bail is the rule, jail the exception’ is being applied. That said, every decision involves a delicate balance. Apart from the personal liberty of the accused, a judge must weigh factors like the seriousness of the alleged crime, its impact on society, the risk of the accused fleeing justice or tampering with witnesses. These are not abstract considerations; they go to the heart of the judicial decision in a particular case.
Criticism is valid, courts must be open to it but we must also see the larger picture. Take the ADM Jabalpur case during the Emergency, where the Supreme Court held that habeas corpus could be suspended. That judgment was rightly criticised, and decades later, in the Puttaswamy case, we overruled it. One judgment does not define the institution; the arc of its history does. My own view is clear: given the presumption of innocence, bail should ordinarily be the rule. You cannot keep an undertrial in jail indefinitely. If the person is acquitted at the end of the trial, years of their life would have been unjustly lost. Unless there is a real risk of flight, interference with evidence or a threat to witnesses, there is no reason to overcrowd our prisons with undertrials. Conditions can always be imposed to ensure fairness.
Most importantly, this approach must percolate down not just in the Supreme Court, but to the High Courts and, above all, the district judiciary, because that is where the first contact between citizens and the justice system takes place.
Q/ The tenure of chief justices in India is often short, sometimes just a few months. Do you think this undermines judicial leadership? Should we rethink the retirement age or the tenure system?
A/ The convention of appointing the senior-most judge of the Supreme Court as the Chief Justice of India was adopted in 1950 for a very important reason—to safeguard judicial independence. The appointment of the head of the judiciary cannot be left to the preferences or whims of the executive. That is why seniority has remained the governing principle. The flip side, as you rightly point out, is that some chief justices have very short tenures—six months, even a month in rare cases.
Short tenures do make it harder for a chief justice to set out a long-term blueprint for leadership of the institution. That concern is real. But there is an answer, and that lies in collective leadership. A chief justice does not function in isolation. We work closely with our immediate successors and colleagues on the bench. When there is an ongoing dialogue and a shared vision across successive chief justices, there is continuity, even if individuals change.
So yes, the system has its limitations, but the principle it safeguards—independence of the judiciary—is fundamental. Effective leadership can still be built when successive chief justices see themselves not as individuals with short tenures, but as part of a collective mission for the institution’s future.
Q/ Did being the son of a former CJI make your journey in the legal profession harder or easier?
A/ Harder. My father had already retired when I joined the bar, but he had laid down a rule: I would not appear in any court while he was a judge, because every court was lower in hierarchy to his. So I effectively began practice after his tenure. People constantly compared me to him, the leader of the judiciary, while I was just starting out. It was tough. Ultimately, law is a marketplace of ideas. Clients come to you not for your surname, but for your competence.
Q/ We now see your sons practising law, including at the Supreme Court, after your retirement. Was there a laid-down principle in your family, similar to your father’s?
A/ There was no written rule. But both my sons made a conscious choice. My younger son, Chintan, practises in London, and both Abhinav and he decided they would not practise in the Supreme Court while I was a judge there. That was their decision, and I respected it. It ensured there was no scope for criticism or conflict of interest. But I wouldn’t prescribe this to others; each family must decide for itself.
Q/ With Why the Constitution Matters, who are you really speaking to: judges, politicians or citizens?
A/ To the citizen. Whether judge, lawyer or politician, we are all citizens first. The Constitution works whether or not you believe in it. Like the story of the scientist who put a horseshoe outside his home, he wasn’t superstitious, but said it worked regardless. That, to me, is the Constitution—it protects you, often quietly. My aim was to show how it shapes everyday life—privacy, dignity, liberty, speech. It is not an abstract text but a living document, one that defines the freedom and equality of every Indian.
Q/ What keeps you calm amid the constant conflicts judges face?
A/ Every part of a judge’s work lies in the arena of conflict—conflict in human relationships, conflict between governments, between citizens and the state, even between spouses. If you are honest to your role, you cannot insulate yourself from the human intensity of these disputes. They affect you. For me, the answer has always been self-reflection, prayer and meditation. These practices have been my anchor throughout my judicial career and continue to be so after retirement. I am deeply religious and spiritual, but my understanding of religion is one that affirms equality of all faiths. That sense of equality is not only a personal conviction but also a constitutional duty. As a public functionary, I abided by it every day of my career.
Q/ In your book, you have written that you have drawn inspiration not just from your father, but from your sons. Could you elaborate?
A/ Indeed, I have acknowledged this in the introduction and in the acknowledgements. Both my sons are prolific authors and speakers, and each time they published a new book, I would feel inspired to write my own. But the pressures of judicial work always came in the way. They gave me the push to finally do it.
Beyond family, I must also mention the young law clerks and interns who worked with me over the years. Many were first-generation lawyers, brimming with ideas and idealism. Our conversations in the evenings after work were immensely enriching. Judges live in a certain isolation, but these young people kept me connected to the world outside and ensured I didn’t fall into intellectual disrepair. Watching them go on to study at top universities and succeed across the world has been a great source of pride for me.
Why The Constitution Matters: Selected Speeches
Author: Justice D.Y, Chandrachud
Publisher: Penguin Random House India
Pages: 584; Price: Rs999