When SC Turns Super-Referee: From WhatsApp to Firecrackers
When the Court Must Rule on WhatsApp and Betel Nut, It Reflects Our Collective Dependency
By P SESH KUMAR
New Delhi, October 16, 2025 — There was a time when India’s Supreme Court was a gladiator of liberty, interpreting fundamental rights in majestic tones. Today, the same court is sometimes compelled to decide whether access to WhatsApp is a fundamental right, or whether a person can feed stray dogs in a colony park.
From the tax treatment of betel nut to the odd-even scheme of cars in Delhi, from sealing shops to banning crackers—the Court has become the nation’s all-purpose complaint counter.
A Court for Every Complaint
It was meant to be a grand temple of constitutional justice. Yet one recent morning, a three-judge bench found itself listening to a plea from a Kerala doctor who claimed that her WhatsApp access was a fundamental right.
The messaging app had suspended her account; she rushed not to customer service, but straight to the Supreme Court. The judges sighed, smiled, and patiently explained that private digital platforms are not the Constitution.
Justice Sanjiv Khanna even suggested she could try Zoho’s Arattai, an Indian alternative. The courtroom laughed- and the news cycle had its day.
But behind the laughter hides a deeper tragedy: that the apex court of the world’s largest democracy must spend its precious time on matters that, in any sane system, would be settled at a local helpdesk or municipal bench.
From there the list spirals into the surreal. The Court has adjudicated on the classification of betel nut– whether slicing, drying, and flavouring it counts as “manufacture.”
It has deliberated on whether Delhi’s odd-even traffic scheme violates the right to equality, whether citizens can feed stray dogs, whether Diwali crackers should be burst, whether loudspeakers can play bhajans or transmit wake up calls before dawn, and whether sealing an unauthorized balcony breaches Article 21. The highest judicial minds of the nation are thus, more than occasionally, transformed into municipal commissioners, traffic officers, tax assessors, and animal-welfare arbiters.
The WhatsApp Verdict: Symbol of a Larger Malaise
The WhatsApp case may appear comic, but it is emblematic. It reflects the growing judicialization of the ordinary- a national reflex to treat every inconvenience as a constitutional crisis. The petitioner doctor could easily have written to WhatsApp or the IT Ministry. Instead, she invoked the right to life and personal liberty under Article 21, arguing that digital communication is essential to livelihood and dignity.
The Court’s crisp dismissal was legally correct, but the very fact that it had to engage such a plea reveals the public’s mind-set: that the Supreme Court is an ombudsman of everything-from missing WhatsApp chats to potholes to pandemic oxygen supplies.
The pandemic years reinforced this perception; when administrative systems failed, the Court stepped in, often heroically. But the unintended side effect is that the citizen now expects judicial miracle for every malaise.
How Did We Reach Here?
India’s citizens have immense faith in their judiciary—arguably more than in any other institution. Parliament brawls; bureaucracy delays; political rhetoric corrodes trust. So the Court becomes a safety valve. It is the court of hope—but also of last resort for even the trivial.
The legal route is seductive: filing a PIL costs less than organizing civic activism, and it yields instant headlines. Lawyers, activists, and sometimes vested lobbies exploit this. The term public interest litigation, once the shining instrument of social justice, has mutated into personal irritation litigation.
And there lies the paradox. The Supreme Court earned its moral authority through activist interventions- freeing bonded labourers (Bandhua Mukti Morcha), protecting the environment (M.C. Mehta series), and expanding the right to life (Maneka Gandhi). But success bred addiction. Every new grievance found constitutional clothing. Over decades, this blurred the boundary between judicial activism and administrative substitution.
The Comedy of Betel Nut and Beyond
Few episodes capture this drift better than the betel nut litigation. The question: when raw betel nut is sliced, dried, or scented, does it become a “manufactured product” liable for excise?
The dispute wound its way through tribunals and eventually landed before the Supreme Court. Learned counsel argued over degrees of processing, moisture levels, and flavour addition. Judges consulted chemical treatises.
The fate of small traders- and the definition of “manufacture”—depended on how finely a nut is cut. It was as if the grand principles of the Constitution had to accommodate a pinch of supari.
And then came the culinary classification cases-as if India’s food habits needed constitutional adjudication.
Before long, the Supreme Court and tax tribunals found themselves deciding whether papad, chapati, or popcorn should be treated as manufactured goods or ready—to-eat food items under GST and excise law. Was papad a “cooked food” or merely “prepared flour”?
Was chapati, made from dough and heat, a product of “manufacture”? And popcorn-caramel coated or salted or with cheese-was it an agricultural produce or a processed snack? Learned counsels cited dictionary definitions, culinary manuals, and chemical composition reports.
In one hearing, an advocate even argued that popcorn is “an exploded grain” and thus deserves agricultural exemption. The judicial time of the nation’s highest bench was consumed in gastronomic taxonomy.
Such absurdity would have delighted R.K. Laxman, but it also underscores how a hyper-litigious system drags even the Supreme Court from the ramparts of constitutional law into the kitchen shelves of tax codes.
Likewise, petitions have poured in about odd-even driving rules in Delhi. One petitioner cited violation of “right to movement.” Another argued discrimination against those owning only one car. Environmental concerns collided with equality clauses, and the Court had to play urban planner.
In the firecracker saga, the Court was accused of destroying cultural joy, then of not doing enough for pollution control. In the loudspeaker cases, judges had to specify decibel limits and timings for religious functions.
In the stray-dog feeding matter, they were asked to decide where and how citizens may express compassion.
The Institutional Cost
Every minute spent on WhatsApp petitions or cracker permissions is a minute stolen from grave matters of liberty, criminal justice, or governance. The Supreme Court handles over 70,000 pending cases, many involving life sentences, constitutional interpretation, and fiscal federalism. Its limited judicial hours are precious national assets.
When the docket is clogged with trivia, justice delays for the weighty. The phenomenon is not merely amusing- it’s administratively corrosive.
Moreover, by entertaining or even hearing such pleas, the Court may have unintentionally encouraged dependency. Citizens bypass local remedies; municipalities shirk responsibility; ministries wait for judicial direction. The Court becomes not only the interpreter of law but the default administrator of India.
In a country where every crisis, from smog to potholes, becomes a PIL, the bench risks being seen as a super—executive—a perception flattering at first, but dangerous in the long run.
Judicial Overreach or Judicial Helplessness?
Critics may call this “judicial overreach.” But the truth is subtler. The Court often steps in because the executive has abdicated. The Delhi pollution saga is a prime example. Despite dozens of expert committees, political squabbling reduced action to inertia.
Citizens gasped; the Court intervened. Similarly, in cases of environmental degradation, forest diversion, or noise pollution, the judiciary filled a vacuum left by lethargic regulators.
Yet when intervention becomes routine, it ceases to shock administrators into performance. It normalizes judicial firefighting. Each new order, however well-intentioned, entrenches the culture of judicial dependence. Governance becomes reactionary; citizens look upward, not outward.
The Perils of Populist Litigation
Why do people- and lawyers—rush to the Supreme Court for everything? Because it guarantees visibility. Filing a case about WhatsApp or Diwali crackers ensures front-page attention. Media treats every notice as “breaking news.”
The ritual feeds on itself: litigants crave publicity; lawyers gain clout; judges earn moral applause. But meanwhile, the court’s constitutional docket languishes.
In Western democracies, the highest courts maintain rigid gates. The U.S. Supreme Court hears barely a hundred cases a year, carefully choosing those with constitutional gravity. The U.K. Supreme Court likewise limits itself to questions of public importance. In contrast, India’s apex court, through its broad special-leave jurisdiction under Article 136, allows almost any grievance to ascend its steps. The result is docket chaos and diminishing focus.
The Comedy Turns Tragic
The spectacle of the Supreme Court discussing messaging apps or dog feeding may amuse social media, but it may corrode institutional stature. The same court that authored poetic judgments on privacy, gender equality, and free speech now finds itself explaining app alternatives to disgruntled users.
The public, too, pays a price. Each whimsical petition diverts judicial time, delays genuine relief, and inflates legal costs. Justice becomes not only delayed but diluted—its grandeur trivialized by the noise of everyday petitions.
Restoring the Balance
The remedy lies not in judicial arrogance but in systemic re-design.
First, the Supreme Court must tighten its gatekeeping. The Registry and benches should filter petitions that raise no substantial constitutional or national issue. Citizens must exhaust lower-court remedies first. This must be already a part of the Registry’s SOP.
Second, specialized tribunals and regulatory commissions must regain credibility so that people trust them. If environmental boards, consumer forums, and tax tribunals function efficiently, few will feel the need to jump to Delhi. This is a trillion rupee question, with no easy way or answers.
Third, there must be a cultural change—civic maturity that distinguishes grievance from right. Not every inconvenience is a constitutional injury. Access to WhatsApp is not akin to access to justice; dog feeding is not freedom of speech. But skeptics may say ‘ Who will heed’?
Fourth, the media must resist sensationalizing trivial petitions as constitutional milestones. The more space such stories get, the more incentive future petitioners feel to file similar cases. Many may say that this does not look practical in times of TPR led media frenzy.
Finally, the judiciary itself should practice restraint wrapped in humour- as it did in the WhatsApp case. By suggesting an Indian alternative, Justice Khanna defused the absurdity without anger. That kind of gentle firmness—declining without disdain- may deter copycats while preserving public affection.
The Temple and the Traffic Cop
The Supreme Court of India was conceived as the temple of justice, not the traffic cop of a billion-strong democracy. Its role is to interpret the grand architecture of rights, not to mediate every municipal quarrel.
When it is forced to decide whether WhatsApp is a fundamental right, or whether betel nut is a manufactured product, the Court’s majesty is mocked by our collective dependency. The problem is not judicial activism; it is citizen abdication. We have turned to the robe because we no longer trust the elected, the appointed, or even ourselves.
To restore equilibrium, we must rebuild faith in the everyday institutions that keep democracy running- from panchayats to pollution boards. Only then can the Supreme Court return to what it was meant to do: protect liberty, not manage logistics.
Until then, the nation’s finest judges will continue juggling between interpreting Article 21 and advising citizens to download Arattai—a metaphor for both our misplaced faith and our comic resilience.
(This is an opinion piece, and views expressed are those of the author only)
Follow The Raisina Hills on WhatsApp, Instagram, YouTube, Facebook, and LinkedIn
About The Author
