Picture her, the determined lawyer, journeying to court in an auto-rickshaw, clad in a substantial black coat despite the oppressive heat. There’s no need for sympathy, as her situation is one of choice, not misfortune. She embraces the chaos of traffic and the auto driver’s grievances about escalating fuel costs, all while preparing for her day in court. This is not mere happenstance—it’s a testament to her unwavering faith.
“I’ll present my case today,” she reassures herself, mentally mapping out every potential question and objection from the judge and opposition, as she has countless times over the past six months. Yet, a nagging voice questions, “Will one successful order change your practice? You need a hundred. If after a decade you don’t have them, what’s the point?” The voice poses a valid question. What is the point?
Her motivations are rooted in a feeling rather than a thought—a feeling that led her to practice law and continues to sustain her. Had she followed logic, she might have remained at her first job in a comfortable law firm or pursued a corporate role where responsibilities are shared. Instead, she chose the challenges of court life, where the only thing freely available is her own time, spent on demanding clients and endless paperwork.
Yet, there’s a unique joy in her routine. The camaraderie in court corridors, the stories exchanged, the strategic planning for cases—all contribute to a sense of purpose, however modest her role may be. While others achieve grand feats, she finds satisfaction in the smaller victories, such as advocating for a wronged client or pursuing justice for the marginalized.
Her practice allows her to make choices: defending a young man accused of an unimaginable crime, traveling to his village to uncover the truth, and standing by her belief in his innocence, even at the cost of losing other clients. This agency fills her with contentment.
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As she navigates the courthouse, prepared for both argument and adjournment, she is not wistful but rather joyful. Fueled by caffeine and hopeful that her case will be heard, she waits. At 4:00 PM, the judge finally acknowledges her. She presents her case, uninterrupted, delivering a thorough argument. The judge listens attentively, considers the counterarguments, and reserves judgment. As she exits, exhausted yet elated, she knows she would wait a lifetime for another day like this—broke, weary, but profoundly happy.
Note: Excitement is in the air as my book, “The Figure in the Fog,” approaches its release. Expected to be available by the end of July 2026, I invite readers of this column to claim one of 50 early copies. Each will feature personalized, hand-written notes for those willing to review the book. Reviews can be brief or extensive and shared on Amazon or your social media. Juggernaut, the publisher, will highlight top reviews in its media and future reprints. Contact me at manineebrar@gmail.com by June 20, 2026, to request a manuscript. Below is the book’s jacket for a glimpse of its content.
