On Tuesday, 26th August, the Supreme Court Collegium recommended the elevation of 14 lawyers to the Bombay High Court. Among them was Raj Damodar Wakode, whose inclusion has raised many eyebrows. The reason is not hidden — Wakode is the son of Chief Justice of India (CJI) Bhushan R. Gavai’s cousin, and in many circles, he is casually described as the CJI’s nephew.

In what looked like a defensive clarification, Dr. Rajendra Gavai, the CJI’s brother, stated that Wakode should be considered a “distant relative.” But isn’t it curious how the term “distant” suddenly becomes fashionable when public scrutiny enters the picture? After all, how distant is too distant when the same family tree is involved?

His presence in the list has revived an old debate: is India’s judiciary becoming a family club, where bloodlines and surnames have as much influence as merit? Or is it still safe to believe that transparency and reform can override kinship?

Who is Raj Damodar Wakode? A Gold Medalist Turned Lawyer

Raj Wakode’s career trajectory shows brilliance on paper. After excelling in academics, he completed his Class 12 in 1996 with distinction under the Maharashtra Board. Initially, he chose science, securing a gold medal in MSc in 2001, before switching to law. By 2004, he had earned his LLB from Amravati University.

His legal career began in the chambers of Justice Nitin Sambre, who now serves at the Delhi High Court. Over two decades, Wakode grew into a versatile lawyer, appearing in civil and criminal appellate cases, writ petitions at the Bombay High Court’s Nagpur bench, district courts, and statutory tribunals like the Maharashtra Administrative Tribunal and the Revenue Tribunal.

His profile also included prestigious assignments as standing counsel for the Maharashtra National Law University (Nagpur), the Union of India, UPSC, Maharashtra State Electricity Distribution Company, and municipal corporations of Amravati and Nagpur. He further served as legal advisor to the National Co-Operative Consumers Federation.

Despite the spotlight, Wakode “reportedly declined to comment on his name being proposed by the Collegium.” Silence may be a legal strategy, but when the public demands answers, does it not sound like quiet acceptance of privilege?

CJI Gavai Steps Aside, But Does Recusal Really Solve the Problem?

The inclusion of Wakode led many to ask: did CJI Gavai influence the decision? To this, Supreme Court sources explained that the CJI recused himself from Collegium meetings where his relatives were being considered.

That may sound ethical in principle, but the outcome tells another story. Wakode’s name still made the cut, along with two other lawyers who had professional associations with the CJI in the past. If recusals do not change the end result, should we not ask whether the system itself is flawed?

History also shows this is not new. Justice YV Chandrachud and his son, Justice DY Chandrachud, both became CJIs. Justice HR Khanna’s nephew, Justice Sanjiv Khanna, followed the same path. Justice ES Venkataramiah’s daughter, Justice BV Nagarathna, is already set to become India’s first woman CJI in 2027. Nepotism, it seems, wears judicial robes with ease.

Dynasty in Robes: The Grip of Nepotism on India’s Judiciary

The controversy is not about whether Wakode is competent — his credentials speak for themselves. The larger issue is that judicial appointments appear to be dominated by certain families and networks, making the judiciary resemble an exclusive club.

Critics argue that young, first-generation lawyers from small towns without family connections rarely get noticed, no matter their talent. Over time, this has led to allegations that India’s higher judiciary is quietly turning into a dynasty, not very different from the world of politics.

What deepens public doubt is the complete lack of transparency. How are these names shortlisted? What criteria weigh more — merit or connections? And why must such decisions remain behind closed doors? In a democracy, is it acceptable that the one branch tasked with upholding accountability resists accountability for itself?

The Birth of the Collegium: A System Never Meant to Exist

Ironically, the Collegium system was never written into the Constitution. It was born from judicial rulings — the First Judges Case (1981), Second Judges Case (1993), and Third Judges Case (1998).

Today, Supreme Court appointments are decided by the five senior-most judges of the SC, while High Court appointments involve the three senior-most judges of the SC along with the senior-most judges of the relevant High Court. The government can only object or return a name once, but if the Collegium insists, it must ultimately agree.

In plain words, this means judges decide who becomes a judge. But if judges are the selectors, referees, and final arbiters, where does accountability fit in? Is this democracy’s strength — or its weakness dressed as judicial independence?

NJAC: The Reform India Wanted but Judges Rejected

The debate over judicial appointments did not start with the case of Raj Damodar Wakode. In fact, India’s Parliament once tried to shake the very foundation of the Collegium system. In Supreme Court Advocates-on-Record Association v. Union of India (2015) — famously called the Fourth Judges Case — the Supreme Court upheld the Collegium and struck down the National Judicial Appointments Commission (NJAC).

The NJAC, had it survived, would have been responsible for hiring, appointing, and transferring judges, attorneys, and other legal staff under the Indian government and state governments. It was not a minor tweak but a complete redesign of how power flowed in judicial appointments.

This was not a casual idea. The NJAC was created through the 99th Constitutional Amendment Act, 2014, popularly called the Constitution (Ninety-Ninth Amendment) Act 2014. It sailed through both houses of Parliament — Lok Sabha on 13th August 2014 and Rajya Sabha on 14th August 2014 — with rare political consensus. Imagine that, Indian politicians agreeing on something, only for judges to later tell them it was unconstitutional.

The NJAC mechanism was intended to replace the opaque Collegium that the judiciary itself had “activated through judicial fiat.” Alongside, Parliament also passed an Act to define its functions. Sixteen Indian state governments approved the Bill before President Pranab Mukherjee enacted it into law on 31st December 2014. The NJAC formally came into force on 13th April 2015.

And yet, just as it began to breathe, the judiciary decided to pull the plug.

Why the NJAC Was Buried Before It Could Bloom

Not long after its birth, the NJAC faced a legal storm. The Supreme Court Advocates-on-Record Association challenged it in court, and the result was another landmark. In October 2015, a five-judge bench by a 4:1 majority invalidated the NJAC.

The majority judgment declared that the NJAC threatened judicial independence — a part of the Constitution’s Basic Structure. The judges found it especially alarming that two “eminent persons,” who weren’t even required to be legally qualified, could vet the choice of the Chief Justice and senior judges. The Court referred to this situation as “outrightly obnoxious.”

The problem didn’t end there. Including the Law Minister in the selection body also raised eyebrows. Since the Union government is the litigant in most cases, judges argued this amounted to a textbook case of conflict of interest. Add to this the vagueness about how “eminent persons” would be picked, and suddenly politicians were seen as having a dangerous foot in the judicial door.

So the Court decided to pull the ladder up again — reforms that might have added accountability were thrown away in the name of safeguarding independence. But one can’t help but wonder: independence from whom? The government, yes. But independence from accountability too?

Transparency or the Lack Thereof: Why Recusal Cannot Repair a Broken System

The defense in the current controversy is that CJI Gavai’s recusal may have followed procedure, but as critics point out, procedure is not substance. A polite step aside does not cure the deep mistrust surrounding how judges are picked in India.

The irony runs deep. The judiciary constantly demands transparency and accountability from governments, businesses, media, and citizens. Yet, when the same standards are turned inward, it prefers silence and closed doors. Many people believe that the judiciary is the last stronghold of accountability, justice, and equity. However, this claim has always been disputed due to instances of corruption, self-preservation and a lack of transparency.

Here lies the paradox: when allegations arise, inquiries are conducted by other judges, under a framework set by judges, judged by the standards of judges. This privilege is not extended to anyone else. Shouldn’t the same fairness the judiciary enforces on others be applied to itself? Or must the guardians of accountability remain unaccountable?

The NJAC Act and even earlier ideas like an accountability bill were attempts to fix this imbalance. Yet, efforts never proceed to a logical conclusion, either killed in the courts or resisted under the banner of judicial independence. Every reform attempt is painted as an attack on freedom, even though independence and accountability should go hand in hand.

Meanwhile, the Collegium’s secrecy continues to shield it. Its decisions are not made public, no criteria are revealed, and accusations of nepotism and bias keep piling up. It resembles a gated community where entry is determined by familiarity, family trees, or insider approval — hardly the picture of justice for all.