The Secret Diary of a Criminal Lawyer

PROLOGUE

My uncle, Asoke Kumar Mukherjee, had a formidable reputation. If he took up a case as a defence lawyer, he would fight tooth and nail and leave no stone unturned to get justice for his client. In his career spanning 50 years, he had handled a few thousand cases, but what must be mentioned is that he was part of at least 600 murder trials and in 85 per cent of the cases, he won.

A man of average height, he was considered a giant in his profession by his colleagues, seniors, and juniors. In 2018, he was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award by the Alipore Bar Association, an award given to people who are consistent and exceptional performers in the field of law. After his demise in 2019, to convey their respect and keep his memory alive, the Alipore Bar Association started the knockout shorthand cricket tournament for the Asoke Mukherjee Trophy, a privilege extended to no other lawyer so far.

Growing up, I remember whenever I visited his home, it would resemble a battlefield with case files lying all around. He would be surrounded by colleagues and clients, engrossed in discussing a case, and often it would be so exciting to spot a celebrity among his clients. Despite his extremely busy schedule, my uncle had the habit of writing a diary. A lost art in today’s world, but for 50 long years, he jotted down his thoughts in his notebook. Like the rest of his family members, I too was aware that my uncle was fiercely protective about his diary, one that he kept stashed away in a drawer.

Sometimes we would jokingly ask, “What’s there in your diary?”

“Gold!” He would say with a smile.

He had jotted down the details of his cases, his realisations, his feelings in his diary. When Babu Kaku, that’s what I called him, was bedridden with cancer, he finally decided to open up his goldmine to me. These real-life stories from the fascinating life of a criminal lawyer are all dictated by him from his diary. Each story is like a piece of pure gold culled out from the depths of a goldmine. The deeper one goes into a goldmine, the more parched one becomes for discovery; the feeling of reading The Secret Diary of a Criminal Lawyer is akin to that. Among the countless cases he handled in his career, he has picked up 10 real-life stories or rather experiences that left an impact on his mind and heart, for this book. These stories are more about the human psyche. Instead of harping solely on the court battles or the detailed legal aspect of the cases, he’s delved into the humane side of it.

That’s why this book promises to be a fascinating read for anyone who loves a good story, a true story. Yes, legal professionals can also get an idea of how brilliant lawyers turn a case around in their favour against all odds. Readers can expect to be shocked and surprised as the truth unravels. A person’s emotional state is deeply connected to the crime he commits. Most often, crime happens in the spur of the moment, but a lot of times it is premeditated too. That’s what you will realise when you read these slice-of-life stories.

In this book, the stories are essentially from Babu Kaku’s life, but the writer in me has taken the liberty to hone and polish them, like they do with gold, keeping the facts intact, so that it becomes a riveting read.

I always nursed the idea of writing a book on my uncle’s experiences. I knew that whatever little he told us was the tip of the iceberg and if I could write the book, I would unearth the secrets that lie in the deep of the ocean. After a spate of ailments when my uncle was diagnosed with cancer and his health started going downhill, I had a niggling feeling that if I did not swing into action, the entrancing real-life stories would be lost forever at the bottom of the ocean. I had to do something to ensure the world would get a glimpse of the perplexing cases he handled, the way he touched lives, saved some people from the gallows and even helped a few to turn over a new leaf.

I called him and said, “Babu Kaku, this book has to be done. Considering the state of your health, would you be able to manage?”

Without a single thought he said, “Just come over.” When I went on the first day, he looked happy. He would be talking to me about the cases which catapulted him to fame and brought him recognition and respect within the precincts of the court. It was a walk down memory lane he wanted to savour.

As I brought out my pen and paper, I realised that Babu Kaku had everything chalked out already. I noticed a diary was lying beside him on his bed—his secret diary. He had read it already and jogged his memory. His illness and suffering did not stop him from being organised and precise—the qualities that made him the most-sought after defence lawyer in Kolkata.

Before we started, he called the lady who worked in his home.

“Get her an omelette and ensure that it is your best,” he commanded his attendant. Food is a central part of hospitality in Bengal and an omelette made with two eggs, lots of onion and chillies, is a delicacy that’s quickly tossed up for a sudden guest.

My uncle in his trademark affectionate way ensured that his niece was fed before she started work on the book. For the next few months, it became a routine that the omelette would be ordered before I settled into the chair on his bedside. Of course, mishti, pastries, patties and all kinds of sweets and savouries were added to the plate according to availability at home. But the omelette remained a constant.

Sometimes, I would land up when he had dozed off and would tell his caregiver not to wake him up, but my quiet presence in his room would fuel his sharp instincts. He would open his eyes and flash me a million-dollar smile.

“Eshe gecchish? Ami ready (You have come? I am ready),” he would say.

There were days when he would even refuse his morphine shot. “I will handle the pain, don’t worry,” he would tell me.

Perhaps the shots made him too sleepy, but he wanted to be in his best mental state to be able to narrate the phenomenal incidents of his life and he would and wer all
my questions with precision.

In my formative years, I had always known that he was a famous lawyer, but it was not until I stepped into the professional domain myself, did I know how famous he was. There wasn’t anyone in the legal circuit who didn’t know him, his command over spoken English was a regular source of amazement in the courtroom as was his crossquestioning ability and his story of making it all on his own was an inspiration to young lawyers.

I finally understood what that hullabaloo was all about when people would crowd at his home—celebrities, clients, and colleagues alike. My uncle was the defence lawyer of controversial cases like the one filed against Dr Sukumar Mukherjee and other doctors at AMRI by Kunal Saha for the death of his wife, Anuradha Saha.

He appeared against eminent lawyer Ram Jethmalani, who was representing the Birlas in the famous Birla- Lodha case. The Birla family challenged the Will of late Priyamvada Birla who apparently gave her multi-crore estate to RS Lodha.

When Sourav Ganguly’s brother Snehasish Ganguly got embroiled in the Rizwanur Rahman suicide case that got endless media attention, it was Asoke Mukherjee who came to his rescue.

“The court released Snehasish Ganguly from the charges which were false and politically invoked to malign such a celebrity,” said my uncle.

When football legend, the late Subhash Bhowmick was arrested under the Prevention of Corruption Act on the plea of taking bribe from a businessman as a senior officer of the Central Government, Asoke Mukherjee was his defence lawyer and he got bail for him.

He also appeared in court for politician Madan Mitra when he was arrested in the Sharada scam case and got bail for him.

Two months after he had finished telling me the stories from his diary and I had started keying in the first draft of the book, I visited my uncle. His condition had deteriorated so much that his listless eyes failed to recognise me. Babu Kaku’s son, my cousin Raja, told him, “You can’t recognise her? She is your favourite writer!”

He managed a smile and in his feeble voice said, “Make an omelette. Get my diary.”