The Story of My First Trial

My First Case

In August or September of 2012, I walked into the chambers of a lawyer on my father's reference, fresh off a short stint at a small law firm. I didn't understand much about the intricacies of law yet. What I had instead was hope, and a vague dream of making my mark in the profession someday.

That day, Sir handed me a file , a civil suit pending before the Delhi High Court on its Original Side. The client had challenged his illegal termination from a private bank and was seeking damages from ICICI Bank. There was a catch: it was a pauper suit, filed without payment of court fees. I was told not to charge the client anything and to simply appear in a matter my senior considered hopeless — one he expected would eventually be dismissed.

I knew little about the actual procedure of a civil suit beyond the half-baked theoretical knowledge I'd picked up studying the Code of Civil Procedure. Somehow, over the years that followed, I conducted my first cross-examination in that very case. In 2016, a change in pecuniary jurisdiction saw the suit transferred to the District & Sessions Judge, North Rohini. By then I had four years at the bar behind me, some experience arguing matters, and a small independent practice beginning to take shape.

The case crawled forward the way old suits often do, adjournment after adjournment, application after application filed by the defendants to delay things further. It wasn't until 2022 that the matter finally came up for final hearing. By this point I was an Advocate-on-Record at the Supreme Court of India, busy with a practice of my own. But I had never lost touch with the client — I'll call him Mr. P, and I kept pursuing the matter even after I'd left the chambers where it began. My former senior never asked about it. He'd likely assumed I had let it go long ago, or was swept aside by the demands of building my own career.

I argued the matter in 2023. The suit was partially decreed in Mr. P's favour — the court held that his termination was illegal and awarded him one month's salary with 6% interest. It wasn't a sweeping victory, but it was real, and Mr. P was overjoyed. Through all those years, he had stayed with the case as closely as I had, following every development, attending nearly every hearing, keeping in constant touch.

When I finally told my former senior that we'd secured a decree, his first question wasn't about the outcome. It was: “You were still contesting that case?

I told him yes, Sir. It was my first case, and the client needed my help.

The story didn't end there. Mr P asked whether he could appeal the judgment before the High Court. I told him there wasn't much legal ground to stand on, but if he wanted to try, we would. What he wanted, more than a bigger award, was a strong note of reprimand against the bank — something that could stand as precedent against illegal terminations by private banks. The appeal was dismissed in 2025. Undeterred, Mr. P came back once more, asking whether we should go to the Supreme Court. I was honest with him: the odds were slim, and the decision was entirely his. As always, there would be no fee. He agreed, and we moved the Supreme Court challenging the High Court's order. On 31st July 2026, the Special Leave Petition was dismissed.

Looking back, this story was never really about a bank, a decree, or even the money. It's about the sheer mental strength and grit Mr. P showed at every single step, and the trust he placed in a young lawyer who, in 2012, knew almost nothing about how any of this actually worked. It's about a client who never once let go, and a case that outlived a chambers, a jurisdiction, and even the confidence of the very senior who handed it to me.

We didn't win everything. But we got him something: a court on record saying his termination was illegal, at a point when everyone had written the matter off as lost. And along the way, it taught me something I still carry into every brief I pick up: never prejudge a case before you've truly worked it. You never know where it will end up.

To the young lawyers reading this, take the opportunities that come your way, even the ones that look hopeless, even the ones that pay nothing. The law is a living, evolving thing, and we're all still learning it every single day. Some of the most important lessons come from the briefs nobody wanted. And the satisfaction of getting someone even a sliver of justice, after fourteen years and three courts, is worth more than any fee could ever be. That is what keeps a lawyer going — and what makes the long, uncertain road of this profession worth walking.