When Law Becomes The Last Resort: Emotional Appeals And The Expanding Burden On Indian Judiciary

In today's legal landscape, Indian courts are being drawn into conflicts that stretch far beyond the scope of traditional legal wrongs. What used to be a space reserved for enforcing rights and settling constitutional questions is now, more often than before, a sounding board for interpersonal drama, emotional fallout, and disputes that feel more personal than legal.

It reflects a subtle but growing trend: the idea that courts exist not just to deliver justice, but to offer closure, validation, or even vindication. This evolving perception has turned the judiciary into something it was never meant to be—a universal forum for every unresolved frustration, from the deeply legitimate to the dubiously personal.

Judicial Forums and the Rise of Personal Litigation

Consider, for instance, the Madhya Pradesh High Court's ruling in January 2025, where a former Sarpanch challenged the construction of a shopping complex under the guise of a PIL. On closer look, the Court found that the petition was less about public interest and more about personal animosity. It labeled the claims as false, called out the motive, and imposed a cost of ₹25,000 for wasting judicial time.

The sentiment was echoed soon after by Justice B.V. Nagarathna, who—during Supreme Court proceedings in March 2025—expressed concern over the increasing number of PILs that barely conceal their personal agendas. She referred to them, rather pointedly, as “Private Interest Litigations” and asked, “Where is the real PIL?”. Her comment captured a growing judicial discomfort with the dilution of the PIL format into a platform for performance, publicity, and personal vendetta.

And this kind of misuse isn't confined to PILs. Take the case of Pandurang Vithal Kevne v. Bharat Sanchar Nigam Limited. The petitioner, known for filing repetitive, baseless claims, was finally met with exemplary costs. The Court emphasized that while access to justice is a fundamental right under Article 21 of the Constitution, that does not translate into an unregulated license to misuse judicial time or procedure.

Even outside the courtroom, the concern persists. In April 2025, the Punjab State Information Commission dismissed 24 RTI appeals in a single sitting, branding them “vindictive and frivolous.” The Commission reminded the public that the RTI Act exists to ensure transparency and accountability—not to settle scores or harass state officials.

Emotional Spillover and Institutional Fatigue

All of this has a cost—not just in terms of numbers on a docket, but in the emotional and intellectual labor expected of judges and judicial infrastructure. Courts, commissions, tribunals—they're all spending increasing amounts of time sifting through disputes that blur the line between legal claim and emotional release.

But courts were never meant to navigate emotions. They aren't built to handle sentiment—they're built to interpret law. The language they speak is one of rights and remedies, not feelings and frustrations. Their tools—fines, injunctions, legal orders—can address violations, but they're not equipped to resolve the deeper, unspoken things people often bring into the courtroom: the need to be heard, the desire for acknowledgment, or the search for reconciliation.

The Role of ADR and the Case for Legal Minimalism

Given how the courts are increasingly pulled into emotionally charged, non-legal disputes, the push for Alternative Dispute Resolution (ADR) feels more urgent than ever. Though ADR has long been part of India's legal framework—anchored in the Civil Procedure Code and reinforced through the Arbitration and Conciliation Act—it's still treated, more often than not, as a second-best option.

But this underuse isn't because the law lacks clarity. It's cultural. There's still a deep-rooted hesitation to treat informal negotiation or mediation as “real” resolution—especially when there's a courtroom available, with its rituals and authority and the illusion that justice must come with a verdict.

There's merit, too, in introducing emotional literacy training within the ADR space. A trained mediator with psychological sensitivity may succeed where a judge armed with precedent cannot. Not every conflict needs to be a contest. A lot of what ends up in court starts as something else entirely—just unfinished conversations, misunderstood intentions, or personal wounds looking for a place to be acknowledged.

What starts to take shape here is the idea of legal minimalism—a belief that the law should step in only when it truly has to. Not every slight requires a courtroom, and not every dispute deserves a docket number. Sometimes, the most just outcome is the one that never had to be litigated.

The Judiciary as a Finite Resource, Not a Symbolic Gesture

One of the less discussed consequences of this emotional over-dependence on the judiciary is the symbolic weight we attach to filing a case. For many, approaching a constitutional court is no longer just a legal act—it becomes a declaration of moral standing, a personal rite of legitimacy. But this symbolic use of litigation comes at a cost. Courts are not abstract institutions with infinite patience; they are finite public resources with measurable limits. When judicial time is spent on matters that belong in community dialogue, therapy rooms, or bureaucratic channels, we aren't just misusing law—we are crowding out those whose rights genuinely require redress. This isn't simply about legal clutter—it's about ethical triage. And the longer we delay that conversation, the more we risk making access to justice a privilege of performance, not necessity.

Conclusion: A Court is Not a Confessional

When the courts begin to resemble counseling rooms, and pleadings start to read like monologues of emotional exhaustion, it is time to reflect—not just legally, but culturally.

The judiciary's patience in the face of performative or petty litigation is not infinite, nor should it be. Its job is not to parent an emotionally unregulated public. The Hon'ble courts of this country were built to uphold constitutional values, protect rights, and deliver justice—not to mediate neighborhood feuds thinly disguised as PILs, or parse the passive-aggressive undertones of a misused RTI.

Justice must remain accessible, but also purposeful. If every dispute finds its way to a writ court under Article 226 or Article 32, and every personal grievance wears the mask of public interest, we dilute the very integrity of the institution we claim to trust.

There is dignity in silence. Strength in dialogue. And immense power in knowing that litigation is a last resort—not the first impulse.

Let the courts be courts. Let society learn to speak before it sues.

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