Here is a humorous incident involving two firebrand advocates AK Subbaiah and Ram Jethmalani who were separated in death by a few days. In the eighties, a commission of inquiry was appointed to go into the alleged illegal allotment of post-graduate medical seats when Ramakrishna Hegde was the chief minister of Karnataka. While Jethmalani represented Hegde, Subbaiah appeared against him. During the arguments, Jethmalani who was unfamiliar with South Indian names repeatedly referred to Subbaiah as ‘Sabbaiah’. Subbaiah corrected him several times, but the celebrated lawyer refused to pay heed and continued calling him ‘Sabbaiah’. When it was Subbaiah's turn to argue, he decided to pay Jethmalani in the same coin. All through his submission, Subbaiah referred to Jethmalani as ‘Jootmalani’ (liar). The red faced lawyer realised his faux pas and corrected himself. jayasala42
This poem going viral in his name...he may not wrote this but I really liked it. Sometimes in the dark of the night, I visit my conscience To see if it is still breathing, For its dying a slow death Every day. When I pay for a meal in a fancy place. An amount which is perhaps the monthly income Of the guard who holds the door open. And quickly I shrug away that thought, It dies a little. When I buy vegetables from the vendor, And his son "chhotu" smilingly weighs the potatoes,Chhotu, a small child, who should be studying at school. I look the other way It dies a little. When I’m decked up in a designer dress, A dress that cost a bomb And I see a woman at the crossing, In tatters,trying unsuccessfully to save her dignity. And I immediately roll up my window. It dies a little. When I buy expensive gifts for my children, On return, I see half clad children, With empty stomach and hungry eyes, Selling toys at red light I try to save my conscience by buying some, yet it dies a little. When my sick maid sends her daughter to work, Making her bunk school I know I should tell her to go back. But I look at the loaded sink and dirty dishes, And I tell myself that is just for a couple of days It dies a little. When I hear about a rape or a murder of a child, I feel sad, yet a little thankful that it's not my child. I can not look at myself in the mirror, It dies a little. When people fight over caste creed and religion. I feel hurt and helpless I tell myself that my country is going to the dogs, I blame the corrupt politicians, Absolving myself of all responsibilities It dies a little. When my city is choked. Breathing is dangerous in the smog ridden metropolis, I take my car to work daily , Not taking the metro,not trying car pool. One car won't make a difference, I think It dies a little. So when in the dark of the night, I visit my conscience And find it still breathing I am surprised. For, with my own hands Daily, bit by bit, I kill it, I bury it.