What a Judge Can Not Judge

Indian Colour Code

He may be laughed at now.He may be ignored today.But the baby of the courtroom has one thing no one can take —Unpaid optimism and unlimited chai-fuelled dreams. And who knows?

In a few years, he might be the one shouting at juniors, confusing judges, and sending bills that look like Supreme Court volumes.So if you see him in court, struggling with a giant bag and a tiny voice, don't laugh.
Because hidden under that overstuffed black coat...is the future Mr. Black.

VII. Mr. Brown (One of amongst many court clerks)"Also known as : file kahan hai? guy."

He doesn't wear a black coat.He doesn't say "Your Lordship."He doesn't shout "Objection, My Lord!" But make no mistake—he is the unofficial manager of the courtroom.If the Hon'ble Judge is the brain, and the lawyers are the mouth, then this man is the spine—slightly bent, overworked, and holding everything together with binder clips.

He is The Clerk, Looks pale yellow? That's Just His Default Setting. Yes, he looks like he hasn't slept since the GST Act came into force.But that's just because he's been chasing paperwork that mysteriously disappears and reappears like magic.

His uniform is simple:
Faded shirtInk-stained fingersFace like a man who's read 10,000 names today and forgot his own
People assume he's slow.They assume he's just "a file guy."But only a fool underestimates the man who knows where the file is buried—sometimes literally. Brown, Not From Sunlight—But From Courtroom Survival.
His complexion?A unique mix of dusty file brown, photocopy black, and chai-stain beige.He breathes in file dust instead of oxygen and swears he once coughed out a photocopied page of a 1987 judgment.He Knows Every Code—But None of Them Are Legal.

No, he doesn't know Section 420 IPC.But he knows the exact shelf where that old eviction file is hiding, buried under a mountain of case laws and one leftover samosa wrapper.

He speaks in a unique code language:
"Bundle 19A-Upper Shelf" = Civil revision matter"Red thread wala" = Urgent case"Woh file jo madam ne last week li thi" = Missing forever

And when someone dares to say, "The file is missing,"he doesn't panic.He just adjusts his spectacles and whispers:
"Chamber ke peeche dekho. Third drawer. Behind the Election Commission folder."

Boom. Found.He's Not in the Bar or on the Bench, But He's in Every Movement.He doesn't argue cases.
He doesn't pass judgments.But the Judge doesn't start court till he nods that everything is ready.

Without him, the courtroom is like a Wi-Fi printer—expensive, overqualified, but totally useless without the right connection. Master of Time (and Delay).He can make time move.Not metaphorically. Literally.

Want your file to reach the Judge today?Smile, say please, and maybe offer a biscuit. Want to delay your case for a week?He knows which pigeonhole to "accidentally" drop it in.

He doesn't bend the law.He just... tangles it slightly to teach it patience.He's a Volcano of Forgotten Deadlines
Inside him simmers a pressure cooker of:
Half-typed orders, Lawyers demanding certified copies "ASAP",Judges asking "Why is this file not on my table?",Registry clerks on the phone yelling, "WHERE IS THE ANNEXURE?!"
And through it all, he survives.With only two weapons:A fading rubber stamp, Unofficial power
The Hero Without a Post, But With a Post-It for Everything.

In the hierarchy of court, he may not be high.But in the reality of court, he's the guy who ensures that anything moves at all. He's never mentioned in case law.But if courts had end credits, he'd be first in line.

So the next time you walk into a courtroom and wonder how this massive machine of justice keeps rolling—Don't look at the judge. Don't look at the lawyers.Just follow the smell of strong tea and the sound of stamping paper.
There, you'll find The Clerk Who Runs the Show—the silent superhero in a dusty shirt,who files , files faster than a speeding adjournment.
VIII.Mr. Green(One of amongst many Right holders)"The Right Holder – Truthful, Hopeful, and Hopelessly Contesting"