This paper analyses the impact of India’s four Labour Codes, implemented in November 2025, on the unorganised workforce, which constitutes over 90% of total employment. The Codes aim to consolidate fragmented labour laws and expand coverage through measures such as universal minimum wages, social security for gig and platform workers, and portability of benefits. While these reforms signal a shift towards formalisation and inclusivity, their effectiveness remains contingent on implementation. The paper highlights key challenges, including uneven state-level rulemaking, gaps in coverage, and limited clarity in enforcement mechanisms. It argues that despite their progressive intent, the Codes risk reproducing structural inefficiencies of the earlier regime unless supported by coordinated state action and robust administrative execution.

1.     INTRODUCTION

India’s unorganised sector is the engine of its economy as well as its invisible sector. More than 90% of the workforce (estimated to be over 450 million people) works in it but is largely excluded from the scope of law and regulation. Construction workers, farm workers, domestic workers, daily-wage earners all those who build cities and feed villages go without contracts, without benefits and with salaries that often fall short of the legal minimum wage. The National Commission for Enterprises in the Unorganised Sector (NCEUS) reported that only 0.4% of unorganised workers were covered by the Provident Fund (even as they were in 1999-2000).

For a long time, this sector was governed by three key laws the Unorganised Workers Social Security Act, 2008; the Building and Other Construction Workers Act, 1996 and the Inter-State Migrant Workmen Act, 1979. All had one common problem they established an institutional framework without welfare obligations. For example, building welfare boards amassed an unspent corpus of around ₹70,000 crore while the majority of 5.65 crore registered workers were unable to benefit from this money because of state-bifurcated administration.

On 21 November 2025, the Government of India implemented all four Labour Codes in one go, an occasion the Ministry of Labour and Employment heralded as a significant move to  “modernise India’s labour market, expand worker protections and simplify regulations”.  The Codes harmonise 29 central laws into four.

2.     INDIA’S FOUR LABOUR CODES

1. The Code on Wages, 2019

The Code on Wages replaces four earlier laws the Payment of Wages Act, 1936; Minimum Wages Act, 1948; Payment of Bonus Act, 1965 and Equal Remuneration Act, 1976. By far its most significant reform is that minimum wages will now be applicable to all workers, in both the organised and unorganised sectors, regardless of type of work or the amount of wages.

Three other reforms are noteworthy. First, a national minimum wage is mandated set by the Central Government on the basis of minimum living standards which cannot be lower than the state’s minimum wage.  Second, Section 2(y) defines “wages” as basic pay and dearness allowance, with a 50% rule the total allowances (HRA, conveyance, etc.) must not exceed 50% of total remuneration. This increases the salary base for PF, gratuity and bonus, which significantly boosts long-term benefits.  Third, termination and resignation wages are to be paid within 2 days and the statute of limitation for payment of wages is increased from 6 months-2 years to 3 years. There is a prohibition on gender discrimination in wages (including those of transgender persons).

1. The Code on Social Security, 2020

The Code on Social Security is the most architecturally important Code. It amends nine existing laws such as the Unorganised Workers Social Security Act, 2008; the Employees Provident Funds Act, 1952; the Maternity Benefit Act, 1961 and the Construction Workers Welfare Cess Act, 1996 and includes three new classes of workers unorganised workers, gig workers and platform workers.

The Code provides a critical new financing model for gig and platform workers: aggregators (digital platforms like food delivery and ride-hailing apps) must pay 1-2% of their turnover to a central Social Security Fund (with a maximum of 5% of payments to such workers).  This fund funds life and disability insurance, health and maternity benefits, accident insurance, and old age security for an estimated 23.5 million gig workers by 2029-30. All workers are given an Aadhaar-based Universal Account Number (UAN) to allow benefit portability across states and aggregators overcoming the cross-state benefit exclusion that rendered the 1996 Act unworkable.  Workers on contract are now eligible for gratuity after one year, rather than five.

1. The Industrial Relations Code, 2020

The Industrial Relations Code all sections of which were enforced on 21 November 2025 amalgamates the Industrial Disputes Act, 1947; Trade Unions Act, 1926 and Industrial Employment (Standing Orders) Act, 1946 The number of workers for which government permission is required for retrenchment, lay-offs and closures is increased from 100 to 300. A Workers Re-skilling Fund is established at the time of retrenchment, employers will have to pay 15 days last drawn wages for each worker.  Industrial Tribunals, staffed with only two members, are introduced to speed up dispute resolution and there must be a formal conciliation process before disputes can proceed. Also work from home is recognised in the Model Standing Orders for services sector workers.

1. The Occupational Safety, Health and Working Conditions (OSHWC) Code, 2020

The OSHWC Code amends 13 existing laws such as the Factories Act, 1948; Contract Labour (Regulation and Abolition) Act, 1970; Inter-State Migrant Workmen Act, 1979 and Building and Other Construction Workers Act, 1996. These have all been effective since 21 November 2025. The Code contains mandatory annual free health check for workers beyond a certain age; maximum 8 hours/day and 48 hours/week with double overtime pay; safety committees for factories employing 500 plus workers and allowing women to work night shifts with express permission and safety precautions.  The threshold for applicability of contract labour increases from 20 to 50 workers and all-India, 5-year validity workmen’s licence replaces licensing based on work orders significantly easing compliance for inter-state contractors.  Inter-state workers have their rations and construction cess benefits portable in their state of work, not just state of registration as previously required filling the most glaring loophole in the 1979 Act.

3.     CRITICAL ANALYSIS

The Labour Codes represent a sea change from the past. The number of people covered by social security has grown from 19% in 2015 to 64% in 2025.  According to SBI Research, if fully implemented, the scheme could potentially lead to a 1.3% drop in unemployment and creation of 77 lakh new jobs.  The constitutional promise expressed in People’s Union for Democratic Rights v. Union of India (payment below minimum wage is a violation of Article 23), Olga Tellis v. Bombay Municipal Corporation (right to livelihood under Article 21) and Dhirendra Chamoli v. State of U.P. (equal pay for daily wage workers) has been largely turned into law.

But there are many hurdles as of April 2026, the draft Central Rules have been published on 30 December 2025 for comment in 30-45 days but state rules remain patchy Karnataka, Maharashtra, Kerala and Delhi have notified some rules; West Bengal has refused and Tamil Nadu has refused to notify Social Security Code rules, citing concerns they will affect existing welfare boards. This results in a complex compliance landscape that could replicate pre-existing fragmentation.

Three key gaps need addressing. First, the Code on Social Security does not detail how the Aadhaar-linked UAN will be created, or how gig workers can lodge disputes making formal status potentially a formality.  Second, the Social Security Code does not explicitly include farm workers in its definition   a glaring exclusion considering the agricultural workforce is the largest group in the unorganised sector. Third, the Code lacks provisions for settling disputes with state Shops and Establishments Acts, complicating compliance.

4.     CONCLUSION

The simultaneous implementation of the four Labour Codes on 21 November 2025 is the most significant labour law reform in India since Independence. The Codes universalisation of minimum wages, requirement of aggregator contributions for gig workers, Aadhaar-linked portable benefits and integration of 29 statutes into a single framework overcome the structural failures definitional exclusion, bureaucratic disjointedness and non-portability of benefits   that plagued their predecessor laws.

But laws are not implemented in the field. For the 90% of India’s workers in the unorganised sector, these Codes will not be experienced in their provisions, but in the quality of state notification of the rules, the roll-out of e-Shram registration and the availability of grievance redressal. The success of the 2025 Codes in closing the 100-year gap between the promise of law and the reality of lives will depend on the quality of its implementation.

Written by 
Mukul Kumar BBA LL.B. 4th year
Indian Institute of Management, Rohtak

For most people in India today, air travel is no longer a luxury—it is a necessity. Whether it is students travelling for exams, professionals catching flights for work, or families planning vacations, airlines have become an essential part of everyday life. People book tickets with one basic expectation: that their flight will run on time and at a reasonable price.

But what happens when that expectation suddenly breaks?

In December 2025, thousands of passengers across India were left stranded when IndiGo cancelled a large number of flights. Airports were crowded, people missed important events, and many had to buy last-minute tickets at much higher prices. For an ordinary passenger, this felt like a failure of service. But for the law, it raised a much bigger question—can such conduct by a dominant airline become a competition law issue?

This is where the Competition Commission of India stepped in. The regulator started examining whether IndiGo, being the largest airline in India, had abused its dominant position.

This issue is not just about one airline. It reflects a larger problem: when one company becomes too powerful in a market, even its mistakes or decisions can affect millions of people.

2. UNDERSTANDING ABUSE OF DOMINANCE (LEGAL FRAMEWORK)

Under Indian law, especially the Competition Act, 2002, being a big company is not illegal. In fact, companies are encouraged to grow and succeed. However, the law steps in when a company starts misusing its power.

This is called abuse of dominance, and it is covered under Section 4 of the Act.

In simple terms, a company is dominant when:

• It has a very high market share 
• Consumers depend heavily on it 
• Competitors are too weak to challenge it 

But dominance becomes a problem when the company:

• Charges unfair prices 
• Reduces supply to control the market 
• Takes advantage of consumers who have no other option 

A famous example is the case of DLF Limited v. CCI, where the company was penalised for imposing unfair conditions on buyers because it was dominant in the housing market. Similarly, in the Google case, the CCI found that Google abused its dominance by favouring its own services.

These cases show that the law focuses not on size, but on how that size is used.

3. MARKET REALITY: WHY INDIGO’S ROLE MATTERS

The aviation sector in India is not fully competitive anymore. Over the years, many airlines have shut down or merged, leaving only a few major players.

Today, IndiGo controls a very large share of the domestic market. A huge number of passengers depend on it and on many routes, there are very limited alternatives. Its decisions directly affect prices and availability 

To understand this better, think of a simple situation. Imagine there is only one big bus operator in your city. If that operator cancels buses, you have no option but to wait or pay extra somewhere else. The same logic applies here, but on a much larger scale.

Because of this dominance, even a temporary disruption by IndiGo can affect the entire aviation market.

4. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE INDIGO CASE?

In December 2025, IndiGo cancelled thousands of flights across India. The airline explained that this happened due to pilot shortages, operational issues & regulatory changes. 

While such problems can happen in any business, the scale of the disruption made it serious.

Passengers faced two main problems: Flights were not available & ticket prices increased suddenly.This situation created what is called “artificial scarcity”—when supply becomes limited in the market.

Now, scarcity itself is not illegal. But if it is caused or worsened by a dominant company, it can become a competition issue.

5. WHERE THE COMPETITION CONCERN ARISES

The main concern in this case is whether IndiGo’s actions had an unfair impact on the market.

First, the cancellations reduced the number of available seats. In a competitive market, other airlines would increase their flights to fill the gap. But because the market is concentrated, this did not happen effectively.

Second, ticket prices increased sharply. Many passengers had to pay much higher fares for last-minute bookings. This raises the question of exploitative pricing, where a dominant firm takes advantage of consumer dependency.

A similar situation can be seen in ride-hailing apps during peak hours. When demand increases and supply is limited, prices surge. However, if one app completely dominates the market, such pricing can become problematic because users have no real alternative.

In the IndiGo case, the combination of reduced supply + increased prices is what triggered legal scrutiny.

6. IS THIS REALLY ABUSE OF DOMINANCE?

Not every problem in the market is a legal violation. Sometimes, companies face genuine operational challenges. IndiGo argued that the cancellations were not intentional but due to practical difficulties.

This brings us to a key legal principle: Competition law focuses on effect, not intention. Even if there was no intention to harm consumers, the question is: Did the actions reduce competition? Did consumers suffer unfairly? 

At the same time, there is a valid counter-argument. If every operational failure is treated as abuse, companies may become overly cautious, and business efficiency may suffer.

So, the law must strike a balance between protecting consumers and allowing businesses to function freely 

7. COMPARISON WITH OTHER REAL SITUATIONS

The IndiGo case is not an isolated example. Similar concerns have appeared in other sectors:

• In the telecom sector, when a few companies dominate, price changes affect the entire market 
• In digital platforms, companies like Google or Amazon have been investigated for using their dominance unfairly 
• Even in food delivery apps, surge pricing during high demand has raised questions 

These examples show a common pattern: When markets become concentrated, consumer choice reduces, and when choice reduces, the risk of abuse increases.

8. WHY THIS CASE IS IMPORTANT

This case is important because it expands the scope of competition law.

Traditionally, competition law focused on Cartels, Price fixing & Predatory pricing. But now, it is also looking at: Service disruptions, Consumer inconvenience & Market dependency. This shows that the law is evolving with real-world problems.

It also raises a larger question: Should sectors like aviation have stronger regulatory oversight, since they affect daily life so directly?

9. CONCLUSION

The IndiGo investigation is more than just a case about flight cancellations. It is about understanding how power works in modern markets.

When a company becomes dominant, its actions—whether intentional or not—can have a wide impact. This creates a responsibility to act carefully and fairly. At the same time, regulators must ensure that they do not interfere too much in business operations. The goal of competition law is not to punish companies, but to maintain fairness in the market.

In the end, this case highlights a simple but important idea: Markets work best when consumers have real choices. And when those choices disappear, the law must step in to restore balance.

Article Written by 
Lovepreet Kaur, B.A. LL.B., 2nd year
Army Institute of Law, Mohali

Arbitration in India was envisioned as a dynamic alternative to the country’s overburdened judiciary, which carries a pendency of over 50 million cases across all levels (Law Commission of India, 2014). The Arbitration and Conciliation Act, 1996, modelled on the UNCITRAL Model Law, was a legislative effort to align India with international best practices and attract foreign investment by offering a credible dispute resolution mechanism outside the courts. Three decades on, however, it is revealed that Indian arbitration has, in many respects, replicated the delays, costs, and procedural complexity of the very court system it sought to supplement. This article examines the structural and cultural forces behind this drift and evaluates whether recent reforms can restore arbitration’s original promise.

The Arbitration and Conciliation Act, 1996, replaced the Arbitration Act of 1940, which had been widely criticised for enabling rampant judicial interference at every stage of arbitral proceedings. The 1940 Act required court permission even to proceed with an arbitration, rendering it little more than a preliminary step to litigation. The 1996 Act sought to correct this by limiting court intervention, providing for interim relief, and enabling the enforcement of foreign awards under the New York Convention, to which India is a signatory.

The aspirations were considerable. Arbitration was to be the vehicle through which India would become a preferred seat for international commercial arbitration, reducing the burden on High Courts and the Supreme Court and providing parties, particularly foreign investors, with confidence in dispute resolution. Institutions such as the Mumbai Centre for International Arbitration (MCIA) and the Delhi International Arbitration Centre (DIAC) were established to provide institutional frameworks for this vision.

Despite the promise of the 1996 Act, arbitration in India has been progressively encumbered by practices that mirror litigation. The problem manifests on multiple fronts. First, excessive judicial intervention has historically undermined the finality of arbitral awards. Indian courts, particularly before the 2015 and 2019 amendments to the Act, routinely entertained challenges to awards on expansive grounds, including the notoriously broad “public policy” exception under Section 34. The Supreme Court’s decision in ONGC v. SAW Pipes (2003) controversially widened public policy to include “patently illegal” awards, opening a back door for merits review that the Act had expressly sought to close.

Second, the appointment of arbitrators has been a significant flashpoint for court involvement. Before the amendment introduced by the Arbitration and Conciliation (Amendment) Act, 2019, parties frequently resorted to the courts under Section 11 to seek the appointment of arbitrators, thereby generating satellite litigation. The 2019 amendment transferred this function to arbitral institutions, but in practice, institutional arbitration remains a minority of cases; ad hoc arbitration, more susceptible to procedural inefficiency, continues to dominate the Indian landscape.

The cost and time profile of Indian arbitration has increasingly approximated that of domestic litigation. A report by the Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy (2020) found that arbitrations involving government entities routinely last five to ten years when post-award litigation is factored in. The government itself is the single largest litigant in Indian arbitration, and its tendency to challenge adverse awards under Sections 34 and 37 of the Act often as a matter of administrative habit rather than genuine legal merit has crippled the efficiency of the process.

Arbitrator fees have also emerged as a contentious issue. The Fourth Schedule to the 1996 Act provides a model fee schedule, but its application is inconsistent. In large infrastructure and construction disputes, which constitute a significant share of Indian arbitrations, fees for a three-member tribunal can run into crores of rupees, making arbitration inaccessible for mid-sized enterprises. The Law Commission of India in its 246th Report (2014) expressly flagged fee escalation as a structural impediment to the accessibility of arbitration.

A distinction between Indian arbitration and mature arbitration jurisdictions such as Singapore or London is the relative underdevelopment of institutional arbitration. The Singapore International Arbitration Centre (SIAC) and the ICC provide structured procedural frameworks, trained registrars, and effective case management that curtail the scope for procedural manoeuvring. In India, most arbitrations proceed on an ad hoc basis, with no supervising institution to enforce timelines, manage submissions, or resolve procedural disputes efficiently.

This institutional gap creates space for adversarial tactics familiar from court proceedings: repeated adjournments, frivolous interlocutory applications, and delays in filing written submissions. The Supreme Court in BCCI v. Kochi Cricket Pvt. Ltd. (2018) acknowledged the systemic nature of delays in arbitration proceedings and called for a cultural change among practitioners. However, cultural change of this nature requires sustained institutional pressure that ad hoc arbitration structurally cannot provide.

India has undertaken significant legislative reform in an attempt to address these pathologies. The Arbitration and Conciliation (Amendment) Act, 2015 introduced a twelve-month timeline for completion of arbitral proceedings (extendable by six months with party consent, and thereafter by court order), imposed a twelve-month limit on Section 34 challenges, and amended the public policy test to narrow its scope in line with the BALCO judgment (Bharat Aluminium Co. v. Kaiser Aluminium, 2012). The 2019 Amendment further created the Arbitration Council of India (ACI) to grade arbitral institutions and arbitrators, and mandated that Section 11 applications be decided within sixty days.

Yet the reforms have not fully delivered on their promise. The ACI had not become fully operational as of 2023, limiting its impact on institutional quality. Courts have continued to issue stay orders on arbitral awards under Section 36, often without adequate scrutiny of the conditions for stay, effectively enabling award-debtors, frequently public sector undertakings, to delay enforcement for years (Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy, 2020). The twelve-month timeline for proceedings, though well-intentioned, is widely regarded as aspirational rather than enforceable in complex cases.

For India to develop a genuine arbitration culture distinct from litigation, reform must operate on multiple levels. At the institutional level, the full operationalisation of the ACI and the promotion of institutional over ad hoc arbitration are essential. At the judicial level, a disciplined and consistent approach to the enforcement of the “minimal intervention” principle under Section 5 of the Act is necessary. The Supreme Court’s judgment in Patel Engineering Ltd. v. North Eastern Electric Power Corporation (2020) signals a more restrained judicial posture, but consistency across High Courts remains uneven.

Equally important is the reform of government arbitration policy. A dedicated framework limiting the right of public sector entities to challenge arbitral awards without substantive legal grounds, along the lines recommended by the Justice B.N. Srikrishna High Level Committee (2017), would reduce the volume of post-award litigation that is the primary driver of arbitration’s delayed timelines. Cultivating a new generation of trained arbitration practitioners, as envisioned under the ACI’s accreditation mandate, will also be essential to shift practitioner culture away from litigation habits. India’s arbitration future depends not on legislative intent, but on whether its practice ever matches its promise. 

From Alternative to Imitation: Is Arbitration becoming another form of litigation?

Arbitration in India was envisioned as a dynamic alternative to the country’s overburdened judiciary, which carries a pendency of over 50 million cases across all levels (Law Commission of India, 2014). The Arbitration and Conciliation Act, 1996, modelled on the UNCITRAL Model Law, was a legislative effort to align India with international best practices and attract foreign investment by offering a credible dispute resolution mechanism outside the courts. Three decades on, however, it is revealed that Indian arbitration has, in many respects, replicated the delays, costs, and procedural complexity of the very court system it sought to supplement. This article examines the structural and cultural forces behind this drift and evaluates whether recent reforms can restore arbitration’s original promise.

The Arbitration and Conciliation Act, 1996, replaced the Arbitration Act of 1940, which had been widely criticised for enabling rampant judicial interference at every stage of arbitral proceedings. The 1940 Act required court permission even to proceed with an arbitration, rendering it little more than a preliminary step to litigation. The 1996 Act sought to correct this by limiting court intervention, providing for interim relief, and enabling the enforcement of foreign awards under the New York Convention, to which India is a signatory.

The aspirations were considerable. Arbitration was to be the vehicle through which India would become a preferred seat for international commercial arbitration, reducing the burden on High Courts and the Supreme Court and providing parties, particularly foreign investors, with confidence in dispute resolution. Institutions such as the Mumbai Centre for International Arbitration (MCIA) and the Delhi International Arbitration Centre (DIAC) were established to provide institutional frameworks for this vision.

Despite the promise of the 1996 Act, arbitration in India has been progressively encumbered by practices that mirror litigation. The problem manifests on multiple fronts. First, excessive judicial intervention has historically undermined the finality of arbitral awards. Indian courts, particularly before the 2015 and 2019 amendments to the Act, routinely entertained challenges to awards on expansive grounds, including the notoriously broad “public policy” exception under Section 34. The Supreme Court’s decision in ONGC v. SAW Pipes (2003) controversially widened public policy to include “patently illegal” awards, opening a back door for merits review that the Act had expressly sought to close.

Second, the appointment of arbitrators has been a significant flashpoint for court involvement. Before the amendment introduced by the Arbitration and Conciliation (Amendment) Act, 2019, parties frequently resorted to the courts under Section 11 to seek the appointment of arbitrators, thereby generating satellite litigation. The 2019 amendment transferred this function to arbitral institutions, but in practice, institutional arbitration remains a minority of cases; ad hoc arbitration, more susceptible to procedural inefficiency, continues to dominate the Indian landscape.

The cost and time profile of Indian arbitration has increasingly approximated that of domestic litigation. A report by the Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy (2020) found that arbitrations involving government entities routinely last five to ten years when post-award litigation is factored in. The government itself is the single largest litigant in Indian arbitration, and its tendency to challenge adverse awards under Sections 34 and 37 of the Act often as a matter of administrative habit rather than genuine legal merit has crippled the efficiency of the process.

Arbitrator fees have also emerged as a contentious issue. The Fourth Schedule to the 1996 Act provides a model fee schedule, but its application is inconsistent. In large infrastructure and construction disputes, which constitute a significant share of Indian arbitrations, fees for a three-member tribunal can run into crores of rupees, making arbitration inaccessible for mid-sized enterprises. The Law Commission of India in its 246th Report (2014) expressly flagged fee escalation as a structural impediment to the accessibility of arbitration.

A distinction between Indian arbitration and mature arbitration jurisdictions such as Singapore or London is the relative underdevelopment of institutional arbitration. The Singapore International Arbitration Centre (SIAC) and the ICC provide structured procedural frameworks, trained registrars, and effective case management that curtail the scope for procedural manoeuvring. In India, most arbitrations proceed on an ad hoc basis, with no supervising institution to enforce timelines, manage submissions, or resolve procedural disputes efficiently.

This institutional gap creates space for adversarial tactics familiar from court proceedings: repeated adjournments, frivolous interlocutory applications, and delays in filing written submissions. The Supreme Court in BCCI v. Kochi Cricket Pvt. Ltd. (2018) acknowledged the systemic nature of delays in arbitration proceedings and called for a cultural change among practitioners. However, cultural change of this nature requires sustained institutional pressure that ad hoc arbitration structurally cannot provide.

India has undertaken significant legislative reform in an attempt to address these pathologies. The Arbitration and Conciliation (Amendment) Act, 2015 introduced a twelve-month timeline for completion of arbitral proceedings (extendable by six months with party consent, and thereafter by court order), imposed a twelve-month limit on Section 34 challenges, and amended the public policy test to narrow its scope in line with the BALCO judgment (Bharat Aluminium Co. v. Kaiser Aluminium, 2012). The 2019 Amendment further created the Arbitration Council of India (ACI) to grade arbitral institutions and arbitrators, and mandated that Section 11 applications be decided within sixty days.

Yet the reforms have not fully delivered on their promise. The ACI had not become fully operational as of 2023, limiting its impact on institutional quality. Courts have continued to issue stay orders on arbitral awards under Section 36, often without adequate scrutiny of the conditions for stay, effectively enabling award-debtors, frequently public sector undertakings, to delay enforcement for years (Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy, 2020). The twelve-month timeline for proceedings, though well-intentioned, is widely regarded as aspirational rather than enforceable in complex cases.

For India to develop a genuine arbitration culture distinct from litigation, reform must operate on multiple levels. At the institutional level, the full operationalisation of the ACI and the promotion of institutional over ad hoc arbitration are essential. At the judicial level, a disciplined and consistent approach to the enforcement of the “minimal intervention” principle under Section 5 of the Act is necessary. The Supreme Court’s judgment in Patel Engineering Ltd. v. North Eastern Electric Power Corporation (2020) signals a more restrained judicial posture, but consistency across High Courts remains uneven.

Equally important is the reform of government arbitration policy. A dedicated framework limiting the right of public sector entities to challenge arbitral awards without substantive legal grounds, along the lines recommended by the Justice B.N. Srikrishna High Level Committee (2017), would reduce the volume of post-award litigation that is the primary driver of arbitration’s delayed timelines. Cultivating a new generation of trained arbitration practitioners, as envisioned under the ACI’s accreditation mandate, will also be essential to shift practitioner culture away from litigation habits. India’s arbitration future depends not on legislative intent, but on whether its practice ever matches its promise. 

Article Written by
Anushka
BALLB, 4th Semester
Army institute of Law

Solitary confinement, a prison practice involving the isolation of inmates from human interaction for an extended period of time, has been a subject of debate regarding its status as a psychological form of torture. In the Indian context, solitary confinement has a direct bearing on the constitutional provision of Article 21 and the United Nations Nelson Mandela Rules on human rights.

History of Solitary Confinement

The history of solitary confinement dates back to the 18th century in the United States. This has its roots in the Quakers’ principle, which stated that solitary contemplation and prayer would lead to moral reform. This was a humane form of punishment in place of corporal punishment, as it emphasized the mental and spiritual rehabilitation of the prisoner. It was assumed that the prisoner would go through a process of reflection, repentance, and eventually rehabilitation.

It was soon realized that this process was doing more harm than good. The prisoners were going through extreme psychological trauma due to the isolation, which led to mental breakdowns, hallucinations, depression, panic attacks, anxiety, delusions, and even suicide. In 1890, the U.S. Supreme Court came close to declaring solitary confinement unconstitutional, and in the same year, it became a regular practice.

Legal Bases in India

The legal basis for solitary confinement in India is largely based on colonial legislation. Sections 73 and 74 of the Indian Penal Code, 1860 (as replicated in the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023) provide for its imposition as a measure of rigorous imprisonment. Section 73 provides for a maximum of three months in total, with no period of solitary confinement to exceed fourteen days, while Section 74 provides for a maximum of one-fourth of the term of imprisonment or three months, whichever is less, with no period to exceed seven days in every fortnight. The Prisons Act of 1894 requires solitary cells to provide for communication with prison officials and medical inspection daily after the first twenty-four hours of solitary confinement.

Section 74. Limit of solitary confinement

“In executing a sentence of solitary confinement, such confinement shall in no case exceed fourteen days at a time, with intervals between the periods of solitary confinement of not less duration than such periods; and when the imprisonment awarded shall exceed three months, the solitary confinement shall not exceed seven days in any one month of the whole imprisonment awarded.”

One of the most significant judgments regarding the isolation of convicts on death rows is the case of Sunil Batra vs. Delhi Administration. The rights of convicts were upheld in this case, and it was held that being locked up in a cell is dehumanizing for convicts. The Indian Constitution’s Article 21 is violated when the freedom of movement of a convict is curbed. Even in applying Section 30(2) to convicts on death row, there should be a wait until they have exhausted all legal avenues open to them to challenge their death sentence in court. This case has established a very important precedent in dealing with future cases related to solitary confinement.

Constitutional Scrutiny

Article 21 of the Constitution: “No person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty except according to procedure established by law” provides vast safeguards to prisoners, interpreting “life” very broadly to encompass dignity and mental health. The Supreme Court has repeatedly held that arbitrary solitary confinement violates this right.

The landmark case Sunil Batra v. Delhi Administration (1978) was significant, in which Justice Krishna Iyer called solitary confinement “banishment” and “psychic torture,” terming it a “grave inquest of soul.” The Court held that it was unconstitutional without judicial sanction, prohibiting prison superintendents from unilaterally subjecting prisoners to solitary confinement.

This was an extension of Charles Sobraj v. Superintendent, Central Jail (1978), in which solitary confinement was restricted to instances of threats to prison security.

In the case of Kishore Singh Ravinder Dev v. State of Rajasthan (1981), the Supreme Court again asserted that solitary confinement violates Articles 14 (equality), 19 (freedoms), and 21, which are permissible only in the “rarest of rare” situations with procedural justice. More recently, in 2023, the Punjab and Haryana High Court struck down solitary confinement for Umar Khalid and others, holding that less than ten minutes of outdoor time per day constitutes de facto isolation, violating dignity.

Human Rights Violations

Globally, solitary confinement is examined through the UN Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners (Nelson Mandela Rules, 2015), where Rule 44 describes it as “confinement for 22+ hours a day without meaningful human contact,” considering more than 15 days of its use as torture or cruel treatment. Rule 43 bans it for vulnerable sections such as juveniles, women, or mentally ill prisoners, which are often neglected in India.

India, despite not being a signatory to the UN Convention Against Torture (CAT), is still obligated by customary international law and its own human rights obligations. The UN Special Rapporteurs have denounced the use of solitary confinement, such as in G.N. Saibaba’s case in 2019, as “torturous” given his disability. Psychological effects such as hallucinations, anxiety, depression, and self-inflicted injuries are well-documented, with the Istanbul Protocol identifying them as indicators of torture.

Indian Historical Cases About Solitary Confinement

In the case of Unni Krishnan & Ors. v. State of Andhra Pradesh & Ors., the Supreme Court held that “one of the rights which finds its basis in Article 21 of the Constitution, which provides for the right to life, is the ‘right to escape solitary confinement.’

In this case, the Supreme Court holds that the right to life provided by Article 21 of the Indian Constitution includes the privilege against isolation.

In the case of Sunil Batra v. Delhi Administration, the Supreme Court made it very clear that the humanitarian petitions presented before the President of India had been dismissed on the grounds that they resembled other cases due to the unique cell repression that was unlawful.

Tamil Nadu State v. T.V. Vatheeswaran…

Deplorable Living Conditions Inside the Solitary Cells

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Conclusion

No one truly knows a nation until one has been inside its jails. A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens, but its lowest ones.”   -Nelson Mandela

Although the process of imprisoning an individual involves the cutting of some of the liberty so that the idea of punishment and deterrence is included in the interest of justice for the public and the victims of the crime, some of the principles of humanity can never be ignored under any circumstances. The life of the prisoner inside the prison would not even come close to the life outside the prison, but even then, the personhood of the prisoner cannot be ignored. The law would always strive towards achieving the balance between the interest of the prisoner and the interest of the public. While the idea of giving too much liberty to the prisoner in the name of human rights can never be justified, but some restrictions need to be imposed on the quantum of punishment.

The solitary confinement casts a dark shadow on humanity and hence, under no circumstances must it be allowed. Instead, a measure that complies with the human rights must be adopted in order for the civilization to remain intact and not degenerate into a state of barbarism.

Written by-
Hansika Bakshi, BA LLB (HONS)
University Institute of Legal Studies, Himachal Pradesh

India is known for its cultural diversity and the various customs that are practiced in the country. Due to this diversity, India has a huge wealth of Traditional Knowledge (TK) that has been accumulated over the years.

Traditional Knowledge (TK) is very important to the communities that own and practice it. This knowledge is passed on from one generation to another and helps in the earning of a livelihood and the maintenance of economic stability in life. Therefore, it is necessary to protect this knowledge in such a manner that it is not lost or destroyed over time.

The misuse of traditional knowledge is a common phenomenon, and this is mainly because the traditional knowledge is not documented in an appropriate manner. Due to this, multinational corporations are easily able to access this traditional knowledge and use it for their own economic gain.

One of the major issues facing the protection of traditional knowledge today is the lack of proper databases or records. This has led to an increase in cases of biopiracy, which is a crime of unauthorized use of traditional knowledge. The traditional communities find it hard to protect their traditional knowledge.

The Traditional knowledge of various products in India should be protected from misuse by different countries and India needs to further update in the field of patenting Indian traditional knowledge in order to be safeguarded against this reality.

TRADITIONAL KNOWLEDGE DEFINED

“Traditional knowledge refers to knowledge acquired over time by people in an indigenous society, in one or more cultures, based on experience and adjustment to a local culture and climate, and continuously predisposed by each generation’s developments and practises”.

TK is quite enormous and includes information related to different groups, such as:

• Knowledge of plants and animals and their properties
• Minerals and soils and their properties
• Organic and inorganic combinations
• Medicinal knowledge
• Folklore expressions in the form of music, dance, poem, crafts, storey, and art work

The ‘neem’ example where the neem tree was considered to have a broad range of applications in India is an ideal illustration of what amounts to TK. The same was mentioned in Indian texts written over 2000 years ago and used for centuries in agriculture, human and veterinary medicine, toiletries and cosmetics and also as an insect and pest repellent.

WHAT IS BIOPIRACY?

The term biopiracy is defined in the Oxford Dictionary as:
“the practice of commercially exploiting naturally occurring biotechnical or genetic material especially by obtaining patents that restrict its future use while failing to pay fair compensation to the community from which it originates.”

Biopiracy is the unauthorized appropriation of knowledge and genetic resources of farming and indigenous communities by individuals or institutions seeking exclusive monopoly control through patents or intellectual property.

Bio-piracy refers to the use of biological material and associated traditional knowledge without consent and for commercial gain, often without giving credit or compensation to the communities that developed and maintained that knowledge.

Both medicinal plants and traditional knowledge are pre-existing with indigenous communities, tribes, or locals. Since there is no proper documentation, exclusive patent rights are granted to those parties that are not the TK’s real owners.

The exploitation of traditional knowledge by corporations and individuals for profit is a significant issue in India. This has led to the misuse of traditional knowledge associated with various plant species, medicinal practices, and other natural resources, which are being utilized for commercial purposes without permission and recognition.

One notable example is the patenting of the turmeric plant’s medicinal properties by foreign corporations, despite the fact that the plant has been used in Ayurvedic medicine in India for thousands of years.

For thousands of years or centuries, however, the question of preserving traditional knowledge never arose; it has become very significant today. Various attempts to obtain the protection of intellectual property on naturally occurring substances have alerted developing countries such as India to the value of traditional knowledge.

These countries have only begun to realise the importance of traditional knowledge after the Western advanced scientific nations have begun to grant traditional knowledge rights of intellectual property in their nations. Such use can be called Bio Piracy, whereby unauthorised extraction of biological resources or traditional knowledge from developing countries is done to obtain patents without compensating the original holders of knowledge.

The Haldi (turmeric), neem and basmati biopiracy cases were turning point for India in the real sense as India after that took some drastic steps not only to protect its Traditional Knowledge (TK) but also GIs. A critical analysis of these cases is undertaken in discussion to be followed under convenient headings.

CASES STUDY OF LANDMARK BIO-PIRACY CONTROVERSIES

NEEM CASE (Azadirachta indica A. Juss)

The United States and India were involved in a biopiracy dispute over the rights to the neem tree.

For over 2,000 years, people in India have used the neem tree (every part of it) in everyday life:

• As a natural pesticide
• Medicine
• Fungicide
• Spermicide
• Toothbrushes from twigs

It was freely available to everyone and no one “owned” it.

W.R. Grace, an agricultural chemical company based in Florida, developed a technology to extract the active ingredient in the neem tree seed in a stable solution and patented the stabilization process and the stabilized form of the ingredient with the United States Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO).

W.R. Grace then obtained a European patent in 1994 jointly with the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) on the manufacturing process of the neem tree seed oil as a fungicide.

These patents meant that India, despite its ownership of the neem tree and having used the medicinal plant for centuries, had no legal rights to develop the plant for medicinal or curative purposes.

India challenged the patent on the grounds of:

• Lack of novelty
• Lack of inventive step

India was eventually successful, and the patent was revoked after years of legal struggle.

TURMERIC CASE (Curcuma longa Linn)

The turmeric case is a landmark case where a patent based on traditional knowledge was successfully challenged.

In 1995, a US patent was granted for turmeric’s wound-healing properties.

The Council of Scientific & Industrial Research (CSIR), New Delhi challenged the patent by proving:

• Turmeric had been used in India for centuries
• It was not a new invention

They submitted:

• Sanskrit texts
• Published research papers

The patent was revoked as it lacked novelty.

INDIAN LEGAL SCENARIO WITH RESPECT TO BIO-PIRACY

INDIA’S BIOLOGICAL DIVERSITY ACT, 2002

The Biological Diversity Act governs:

• Conservation of biodiversity
• Sustainable use
• Fair sharing of benefits

It requires prior approval before applying for intellectual property based on Indian biological resources.

THE PATENT ACT, 1970

• Prevents patenting of traditional knowledge
• Requires novelty, inventive step, and industrial applicability
• Section 3(p) bars patents based on traditional knowledge

GEOGRAPHICAL INDICATIONS ACT, 1999

• Protects products based on geographical origin
• Prevents misuse of traditional products
• Valid for 10 years (renewable indefinitely)

THE PROTECTION OF PLANT VARIETIES AND FARMER’S RIGHTS ACT, 2001

• Protects plant varieties
• Recognizes farmers as custodians
• Ensures benefit sharing

TRADITIONAL KNOWLEDGE DIGITAL LIBRARY (TKDL)

The TKDL was established in 2001 to combat biopiracy.

It:

• Digitizes traditional knowledge
• Translates it into multiple languages
• Helps patent examiners verify prior art

Patent applications are checked against TKDL to prevent misuse of traditional knowledge.

SUGGESTIONS TO ENSURE EFFECTIVE PROTECTION OF TRADITIONAL KNOWLEDGE

• Develop stronger legal frameworks
• Implement WIPO Treaty (2024)
• Strengthen TKDL
• Allow legal action against biopiracy
• Introduce strict penalties
• Promote indigenous participation
• Increase awareness and education

CONCLUSION

Bio-piracy is not just a legal issue; it is a matter of justice for indigenous communities who have preserved valuable knowledge for generations.

It involves the use of traditional knowledge for financial gain without recognition or compensation.

India has taken steps such as the TKDL, but more needs to be done. A balanced approach is required to:

• Protect traditional knowledge
• Promote innovation
• Ensure fair benefit sharing

Article Written by Shikha Sharma
BALLB(Hons.), UILS, HPU

 A Question That Won’t Leave Me Alone

I remember the first time I sat through a lecture on International Humanitarian Law and felt genuinely confused not by the legal texts themselves but by the enormous distance between what those texts said and what I kept seeing in the news. The Geneva Conventions were clear enough on paper. Civilians must be protected. Hospitals must not be bombed. Water supplies must not be deliberately cut off. Starvation must not be used as a weapon of war. They were bindi

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And yet week after week the news brought images that made those rules feel almost fictional. A maternity hospital in rubble. Children pulled from debris in cities under siege. Millions of people in camps having fled places where everything that international law promised them had been stripped away in a matter of days. The gap between what the law says and what actually happens to ordinary people in conflicts that gap felt enormous almost absurd.

This article is my attempt to work through that confusion. I want to understand why the system of civilian protection which on paper looks quite solid continues to fail so badly in practice. I’ll look at how the legal framework actually works what makes modern conflicts different from the wars these rules were designed for who is responsible when civilians are harmed and what can be done to close this gap. I don’t claim to have all the answers. But I think asking the right questions is at least a start.

Part One: What the Law Actually Promises

Before we talk about failure, it’s worth being clear about what success would look like. What exactly does international law promise to civilians caught in armed conflict?

The foundation is the Geneva Conventions of 1949 and their Additional Protocols of 1977. These instruments along with customary international humanitarian law establish a set of rules that are supposed to govern how wars are fought regardless of why the war started who was “right” or which side is winning. The core principle is called the distinction principle: parties to a conflict must always distinguish between combatants and civilians and must only direct attacks against military objectives.

The law goes further than just saying “don’t shoot civilians.” It prohibits indiscriminate attacks ,meaning attacks that cannot be directed at a specific military objective or whose effects cannot be limited as required by law. It prohibits disproportionate attacks — where anticipated civilian casualties would be excessive in relation to the expected military advantage. It requires precautions in attack — meaning parties must do everything feasible to verify that targets are military objectives, to choose methods and means that minimize harm to civilians, and to give effective advance warning when an attack may affect the civilian population.

There are also specific protections. Medical facilities and personnel must not be attacked. Humanitarian relief must be allowed through. Journalists must be protected. Cultural property must be respected. Children must not be recruited or used in hostilities. Sexual violence is prohibited. Torture is absolutely prohibited with no exceptions whatsoever.

Then there is International Human Rights Law, which continues to apply even in situations of armed conflict. And then there is International Criminal Law like the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC) which makes individual leaders criminally responsible for war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide.

Reading all of this you almost want to say: well, the system is actually quite comprehensive. What’s the problem? The problem is that having a rule and having a rule that is followed are two very different things. And in practice, the gap between these two is filled with a staggering amount of human suffering.

Part Two: Why Modern Conflicts Are Different

Part of the reason the gap exists is that the legal framework was designed with a particular kind of war in mind  essentially, a conflict between two state armies fighting each other on a battlefield, with civilians on the side. That vision of warfare has not described most conflicts for several decades.

Modern armed conflicts are overwhelmingly non-international in character , they involve non-state armed groups, either fighting a government or fighting each other. Groups like ISIS, the Taliban, various armed factions in sub-Saharan Africa, rebel movements in Latin America  these actors are not signatories to the Geneva Conventions. They are bound by customary international law and Additional Protocol II applies to many of them but enforcing obligations against a non-state actor is a completely different challenge from holding a state government to account.

This creates an immediate complication. When a state army commits a violation, you can go through diplomatic channels, refer the case to international bodies, appeal to the state’s own legal system, or push for sanctions. When a non-state armed group commits atrocities, many of these channels simply don’t exist. The group may have no address, no diplomatic representation, no interest in maintaining international legitimacy, and in some cases an active ideology that celebrates the killing of civilians.

But it would be wrong to simply blame the failures of civilian protection on non-state actors. State militaries commit serious violations too  often with greater technological capacity to cause harm at scale. Aerial bombardments of civilian infrastructure, sieges that cut off food and water, the weaponization of displacement these are tactics used by state actors and their allies, sometimes in conflicts that receive considerable international attention.

What modern conflicts also tend to share is an increasingly blurred distinction between civilian and military spaces. Urban warfare that is fighting in dense cities makes the application of distinction and proportionality principles enormously complicated in practice. When armed groups deliberately embed themselves within civilian populations, using hospitals, schools, and residential buildings as bases of operation does that change the legal calculus? International law says yes, to some extent  but it also says that even the presence of combatants in a civilian area does not strip that area of its civilian character entirely. Attacking a civilian-populated building because a sniper is on the roof is not a straightforward legal decision and arguments about military necessity have been stretched in ways that the drafters of these conventions could probably never have anticipated.

There is also the problem of new technologies. Drone warfare, autonomous weapons systems, cyber attacks on civilian infrastructure these raise legal questions that existing frameworks address only partially or not at all. Who is responsible when an algorithm makes a targeting decision? What does “feasible precautions” mean when a system operates faster than human reaction time? These are not hypothetical questions anymore.

Part Three: The Accountability Problem

Even when violations are clear and well-documented, accountability remains elusive. This I think is one of the central reasons the gap persists. If there were consistent, reliable consequences for harming civilians, the calculations of commanders and political leaders might change. But accountability for violations of international humanitarian law is the exception not the rule.

The International Criminal Court was established in 2002 with the explicit purpose of ending impunity for the gravest crimes. It has jurisdiction over war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. In principle, this is a powerful tool. In practice, it is severely constrained.

The ICC can only exercise jurisdiction when a state is unwilling or unable to prosecute its own nationals. Many of the world’s most powerful states like the United States, Russia, China, India are not party to the Rome Statute and therefore fall largely outside the court’s reach. Cases can be referred to the ICC by the United Nations Security Council but the permanent members of the Security Council have veto power which means that situations involving their interests or those of their allies are routinely blocked from referral. The result is a court that tends to prosecute leaders from weaker states or from conflict situations where the geopolitical interest of major powers is limited.

Beyond the ICC, there are ad hoc international tribunals, hybrid courts, and domestic prosecutions. But these too are patchy, slow, expensive, and dependent on political will. The architects of the Nuremberg Tribunals after World War Two hoped to establish a principle that leaders who ordered atrocities would face personal criminal liability  that the defense of “I was just following orders” would not save anyone. That principle has been affirmed many times. Whether it actually deters anyone is much less certain.

There is also the problem of what happens after documentation. Organizations like Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International and the UN Commission of Inquiry produce extraordinarily detailed accounts of violations. Investigations by journalists and researchers document specific incidents, identify specific commanders, trace chains of command. This documentation matters enormously for the historical record and for eventual accountability processes. But in the immediate term it rarely stops the violations from continuing.

The most cynical reading of this situation is that powerful states and their allies are effectively immune from accountability while smaller actors face prosecution mainly when it serves geopolitical interests. That reading has uncomfortable evidence behind it. I don’t think it tells the whole story but it captures a real structural problem.

Part Four: The Humanitarian Response and Its Limits

Separate from questions of accountability is the question of what happens to civilians who are caught in conflict right now, not in some future post-conflict justice scenario. This is the work of organizations like the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), UNHCR, UNICEF, MSF (Doctors Without Borders), the World Food Programme, and dozens of others.

The humanitarian system has expanded enormously since the mid-twentieth century. The global response to major crises now involves billions of dollars, hundreds of organizations, and hundreds of thousands of humanitarian workers. In some conflict zones, humanitarian operations are the primary thing standing between millions of civilians and death from hunger, disease, or exposure.

But the humanitarian system is under enormous strain and some of its limitations are structural.

First, there is the problem of access. Humanitarian organizations can only help people they can reach. When a government or armed group deliberately blocks humanitarian access as has happened in numerous conflicts the legal protections on paper become meaningless. International law requires parties to allow humanitarian relief to pass through to civilian populations in need. That requirement is frequently ignored, and the consequences are devastating. Sieges and blockades that cut off civilian populations from food, water and medicine are among the most serious humanitarian violations and they are not uncommon.

Second, there is the chronic underfunding of the humanitarian system relative to need. Global humanitarian appeals are consistently funded at only a fraction of what is requested. The gap between funding and need has widened considerably as the scale and duration of crises has grown. This is not purely an international law failure  it is a political and economic failure  but it means that even when access exists, the resources to deliver adequate help often don’t.

Third there is the problem of aid becoming part of the conflict economy. In prolonged conflicts, humanitarian assistance can be diverted, taxed, weaponized, or manipulated by armed actors. This does not discredit the humanitarian enterprise, but it does complicate the picture considerably. Relief that reaches one community and not another can affect the balance of power in local conflicts. Aid operations that must negotiate access with armed groups inevitably create relationships that have political implications. These are not problems with easy solutions.

Part Five: Specific Cases That Illustrate the Gap

I want to bring this discussion down from the level of abstract principles to something more concrete. Without turning this into a list of atrocities, I think a few specific examples illustrate why the gap between promise and pain is so persistent.

Syria has been one of the most catastrophic cases of the failure of civilian protection in recent decades. Over the course of more than a decade of conflict, virtually every protection norm in the rulebook was violated by multiple parties. Government forces used barrel bombs against civilian neighborhoods, systematically targeting hospitals and medical infrastructure, besieging populations into starvation, and using chemical weapons. Non-state armed groups committed mass executions of civilians, used human shields, and carried out terrorist attacks. Foreign states intervened with their own strikes, some of which caused significant civilian casualties. The Security Council was paralyzed by great power rivalry. Hundreds of thousands of civilians died. Millions were displaced. Accountability remains almost entirely absent.

What Syria demonstrated, among other things, was that documentation alone is not enough. The violations were documented in extraordinary detail in real time by journalists, human rights investigators, and UN bodies. The Security Council received briefings. Leaders knew what was happening. And it continued largely unabated.

Yemen provides another grim illustration, with the added dimension of involving a Saudi-led coalition that includes states with close relationships with Western governments that publicly proclaim strong commitments to international humanitarian law. The conflict has produced one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises, with civilians dying from airstrikes, from the spread of cholera and other preventable diseases, from hunger, and from the direct effects of combat. Arms sales to the Saudi-led coalition by states including the United States and the United Kingdom have been contested in domestic and international courts, raising questions about whether those states share legal responsibility for violations committed with their weapons.

The Democratic Republic of Congo has experienced decades of conflict in which civilians have faced mass atrocities such as sexual violence used as a deliberate weapon of war, displacement of millions, the recruitment of child soldiers, massacres of entire communities. International peacekeeping forces have been present for many years, but the question of what peacekeepers can and should do to protect civilians has been contested, with some serious failures of protection occurring even in areas where UN peacekeepers were deployed.

What these cases have in common is not a failure of the legal framework in terms of text. The failure lies in the political will to enforce them, in the structural limitations of accountability mechanisms, in the manipulation of humanitarian access, and in the fundamental reality that for many armed actors, the expected benefits of harming civilians outweigh the expected costs.

Part Six: The Role of States and Double Standards

One thing that studying this area has forced me to confront is the degree to which states that present themselves as champions of international humanitarian law apply that law selectively or not at all when their own interests are at stake.

Western governments have been vocal in condemning violations by adversaries while maintaining much more reticent positions on violations by their allies. The contrast in responses to different conflicts  the level of condemnation, the readiness to support accountability mechanisms, the scale of humanitarian response often tracks geopolitical interest more closely than the actual severity of civilian harm. This double standard is not lost on the people living through conflict in the Global South and it does real damage to the perceived legitimacy of the international humanitarian law framework.

This is not a problem exclusive to any one group of states. States at every level of the international system apply international law inconsistently, emphasize their adversaries violations while minimizing their own, and treat accountability as a political tool rather than a principled commitment.

There is an important debate within international law scholarship about whether this inconsistency is, in some sense, inevitable. whether the framework of international law always was and always will be a reflection of power relations rather than a neutral body of rules  or whether it represents a failure to live up to genuine principles that still have real normative force. I find myself somewhere in the middle of that debate. I think the rules do matter they create constraints, establish expectations, generate costs for violations, and give advocates something to push back with. But I also think that pretending the system is neutral or uniformly enforced does more harm than good.

Part Seven: What Could Be Done Differently?

After all of this  after surveying the failures, the structural problems, the political obstacles  it seems only fair to ask whether there is any realistic path toward better protection of civilians. I don’t want to end up in a position of pure cynicism, partly because I think that would be intellectually dishonest and partly because it would make the suffering described above seem simply inevitable. A few things seem genuinely worth considering:

Strengthening accountability mechanisms — not necessarily by adding more legal instruments, but by making existing ones work better. The ICC’s effectiveness could be increased by expanding its membership, reforming the Security Council referral mechanism, and improving cooperation from states on arrest warrants. Complementarity  the principle that states should prosecute their own  needs to be taken more seriously, with international support for domestic war crimes investigations.

Better protection of medical facilities and humanitarian workers — this specific problem has received increased attention in recent years, including a UN Security Council resolution specifically affirming that attacks on medical facilities constitute a serious violation. Making this more operational would require better monitoring, faster documentation, and actual consequences.

More serious engagement with non-state armed actors — this is politically uncomfortable but practically necessary. If non-state actors are parties to most of today’s conflicts, engaging them on humanitarian law obligations  even through channels that fall short of formal negotiation  matters. Some organizations have done this work; it needs to be expanded.

Addressing the root causes of accountability failures — this means confronting the great power dynamics that allow Security Council vetoes to block accountability. It also means being honest about arms transfers and the responsibilities of states that supply weapons to parties committing violations.

Meaningful civilian protection mandates in peacekeeping — the UN has struggled for years with the gap between the rhetoric of civilian protection in peacekeeping mandates and the practical capacity and political will to deliver it. Getting this right requires honest assessment of what peacekeepers can realistically do and what support they need.None of these are easy. Most of them run into serious political obstacles. And I am aware that proposing institutional reforms can feel almost absurdly inadequate when confronted with the scale of suffering involved.

But I also think there is something to be said for maintaining standards even when they are violated — for insisting that violations are violations, that they matter, and that accountability should follow. The history of international humanitarian law, going back to Henry Dunant watching the wounded die at Solferino in 1859 and deciding something had to be done, is a history of incremental, imperfect, contested progress. The Geneva Conventions themselves were once aspirational documents. So was the idea of an international criminal court.

Part Eight: The Role of Civil Society and Ordinary People

I want to say something about the role of ordinary people like students, journalists, NGO workers, lawyers, researchers in this picture because I think it matters more than it might seem.

The gap between promise and pain in civilian protection is not maintained only by powerful leaders and states. It is also maintained by silence, indifference, and the sense that these things happen far away and that there is nothing to be done. Every time a serious violation is documented and responded to with nothing more than a brief news cycle, the message is sent that there are no costs for harming civilians.

Civil society organizations play an essential role in keeping accountability on the agenda even when political actors would prefer to move on. Investigative journalists who spend years building cases against specific commanders, even when prosecution seems distant, create a record that matters. Lawyers who bring test cases in domestic courts about arms exports or command responsibility push the law in new directions. Academics and students who study these questions, ask hard questions about double standards, and refuse to accept that the way things are is the way things have to be .

I am not trying to be naively optimistic about any of this. The suffering described in this article is real, ongoing, and immense. The structural problems are serious. But I think the alternative that is accepting the gap as simply inevitable and permanent  is both wrong on the evidence and ethically unacceptable.

Conclusion: Sitting With the Tension

I started this article with a sense of confusion that is the confusion of a student who found the distance between what international law promises and what actually happens to civilians in conflict genuinely difficult to process. I don’t think I’ve resolved that confusion entirely and I’m not sure it should be fully resolved. The tension between the legal ideal and the lived reality is the productive place from which improvement might eventually come.

What I have come to believe is that the problem is not that the rules don’t exist or that they are fundamentally wrong. The rules are actually quite well developed. The problem is a combination of political will, structural accountability failures, the changing character of modern warfare, and the selective application of principles by powerful actors who benefit from a system where they are less often held to account.

Closing the gap between promise and pain will require changes at every level, in how states behave, in how international institutions are structured, in how accountability is pursued, and in how the rest of us respond when we learn what is being done in the name of military necessity to people who are just trying to survive. That is a long-term project, and an imperfect one. But it seems to me one worth working on.

The fact that real people , the children in hospitals, families sheltering from bombardments, civilians trapped between armed groups with no interest in their survival are living and dying in this gap makes sitting with comfortable academic detachment difficult. Maybe that discomfort is part of what the study of international humanitarian law is actually for.

References used:

• Geneva Conventions (1949) and Additional Protocols I and II (1977)
• Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (1998)
• ICRC, Customary International Humanitarian Law (Henckaerts and Doswald-Beck, 2005)
• Human Rights Watch, Annual World Reports (various years)
  

Article written by Suhavi Kaur
BCom LLB (Hons), 4th year,
University Institute of Legal Studies, Panjab University, Chandigarh 

Scheduled castes and scheduled tribes have historically been the victims of various forms of atrocities, and the unfortunate discrimination still hides in contemporary society. To overcome this traditional issue, the government tried to integrate them into society by passing various laws and introducing numerous pieces of jurisprudence. Among all the reforms, a special act was introduced as the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, 1989. This was recently put before a Division Bench of the Supreme Court, seated by Justice Prashant Kumar Mishra and Justice Manmohan, and delivered a definitive ruling in Chinthada Anand v. State of Andhra Pradesh. The judgment tried to highlight a sensitive and recurring question in Indian jurisprudence.

 Supreme Court’s Clear Verdict: Once a Christian Pastor, No SC/ST Protection

In a ruling that cuts straight to the heart of how caste, religion, and law intersect in India, the Supreme Court has once again made it clear: publicly embracing a faith outside the Hindu, Sikh, or Buddhist fold comes with real legal consequences, especially when claiming Scheduled Caste benefits and protections.

The case that brought this issue back into focus involves Chinthada Anand from Guntur district in Andhra Pradesh. By birth, he belonged to the Madiga community, listed as a Scheduled Caste in the state. But for more than ten years, Anand had been living openly as a Christian. He wasn’t just attending services—he was working as a pastor, leading Sunday prayer meetings in people’s homes and holding a leadership role in a local pastors’ group.

In January 2021, two incidents occurred where Anand claimed that members of the Reddy community (categorised as Other Caste) stopped him, roughed him up, and abused him using caste slurs. He filed a complaint, and the police registered an FIR that included serious charges under the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act—specifically Sections 3(1)(r), 3(1)(s), and 3(2)(va)—along with usual IPC sections for assault and intimidation.

The accused moved the Andhra Pradesh High Court under Section 482 CrPC, asking it to quash the proceedings. Their main point was simple and direct: Anand had been practising Christianity and functioning as a Pastor for a decade, so under the Constitution (Scheduled Castes) Order, 1950, he could no longer claim to be a member of a Scheduled Caste. The High Court agreed and quashed the FIR. Anand then took the matter to the Supreme Court.

Going Back to Constitutional First Principles

The Supreme Court looked at the issue from the basics. Article 341 of the Constitution gives the President the power to notify which castes are to be treated as Scheduled Castes. The 1950 Order that followed has a clear religious condition in Paragraph 3: no person who professes a religion different from Hinduism, Sikhism, or Buddhism can be considered a member of a Scheduled Caste.

The Court noted that Parliament later added Sikhism (in 1956) and Buddhism (in 1990), but Christianity was never brought into the fold. That exclusion, the judges emphasised, is absolute.

What Does It Mean to “Profess” a Religion?

Much of the judgment turned on the meaning of the word “profess.” Drawing from the 1965 case of Punjabrao v. D.P. Meshram, the Court explained that professing a religion isn’t just a private belief locked away in your heart. It’s about open, public conduct — how you live and present yourself to the world.

In Anand’s case, the facts spoke loudly. He hadn’t been quietly converting in private. For over a decade, he had been leading prayers, preaching, and serving in a leadership capacity within the Christian community. Holding Sunday services in different homes was seen as an unmistakable public declaration of his Christian faith. Because of this consistent public conduct, the Court held that his original Madiga SC status stood eclipsed under the law. He could not, therefore, be treated as an aggrieved person entitled to invoke the SC/ST Act.

Seven Key Postulates for Future Cases

In what will probably become one of the most-quoted parts of the judgment, the Supreme Court laid down seven clear principles to guide lower courts and lawyers in similar disputes. Among the important takeaways:

• The bar on Christians and Muslims claiming SC status is absolute. Conversion leads to an immediate loss of statutory benefits and protections.
• You cannot simultaneously draw spiritual comfort from Christianity while claiming legal and economic benefits reserved for the Scheduled Castes. The two paths are mutually exclusive.
• Anyone claiming to have “reconverted” to Hinduism must prove not just their original SC birth and a genuine change of heart, but also acceptance back into the original caste community — often the toughest part.
• The rule is different for Scheduled Tribes. The ST Order has no religion-based exclusion, so a tribal person converting to Christianity can still retain ST status if they keep their tribal customs and community ties alive.

The Court also shut down arguments based on a 1977 Andhra Pradesh government order that gave some concessions to Christian converts. While states can offer welfare schemes through executive orders, they cannot override or modify a Presidential Order or a central law like the SC/ST Act. The power to define Scheduled Castes rests with the President, and states cannot enlarge or alter that list.

What About the Regular IPC Charges?

After removing the SC/ST provisions, the Court still had to examine whether the ordinary IPC offences (assault, wrongful restraint, intimidation) deserved to go to trial. Following the Bhajan Lal guidelines, it looked at the evidence: the medical report showed only simple injuries, and statements from independent witnesses were inconsistent. Some even said the matter had been sorted out on the spot, and there was little support for claims of a large mob attack.

When the basic foundation of a complaint looks shaky or improbable, the Court said, the High Court is right to step in under Section 482 CrPC and quash proceedings to stop misuse of the legal process.

What This Means Going Forward

This verdict is a straightforward reminder that Indian law takes a rather formal and strict view when it comes to caste-based reservations and atrocity protections. Article 25 gives every citizen the freedom to choose and practise any religion, but that choice isn’t cost-free when it comes to affirmative action benefits.

In the end, the Supreme Court has drawn a bright line: once someone publicly steps outside the Hindu-Sikh-Buddhist framework and continues to live that faith openly, the special shield of the SC/ST Act no longer applies. In our increasingly litigious times, where questions of caste, conversion, and reservations keep coming up, this clarity from the apex court will shape arguments and outcomes for years to come.

Article Written by: Vishrut Rai
BCOM LLB(HONS)
UILS, PANJAB UNIVERSITY                                                                 

The bedrock of property law is the maxim “nemo dat quod non habet”, i.e. no one can convey a better title than what they possess. This principle traditionally prioritises the static security of the original owner’s title over the dynamic security of commercial transactions. However, a rigid application of this rule would stifle commerce, leaving innocent purchasers vulnerable to hidden defects in title.

To address this, Section 41 of the Transfer of Property Act, 1882 (TPA) enshrines the doctrine of the “Ostensible Owner.” This provision acts as an equitable exception, designed to protect a bona fide purchaser for value who, despite exercising reasonable care, is misled by the apparent ownership of a transferor.

The doctrine is not merely a statutory rule but a manifestation of the principle of natural equity. It dictates that if a loss must occur between two innocent parties, the valid owner and the innocent buyer, it must be borne by the party whose conduct, negligence, or acquiescence facilitated the fraud.

The Genesis and Nature of Ostensible Ownership

An “ostensible owner” is defined as a person who holds all the indicia of ownership, such as possession, enjoyment, and entries in official records, without having the actual legal title.

The legal recognition of this concept in India traces back to the Privy Council’s landmark decision in Ramcoomar Koondoo v. John and Maria McQueen (1872). The Council established that if a valid owner permits another to hold themselves out as the owner, and a third party purchases the property for consideration in good faith, the actual owner is estopped from asserting their title.

This estoppel is rooted in the conduct of the real owner. It is their “holding out” of the other person as the owner, whether through express consent or implied acquiescence, that triggers the protection of Section 41, often overlapping with the principles found in Section 121 of the Bharatiya Sakshya Adhiniyam, 2023.

The Statutory Architecture: Prerequisites for Protection

For Section 41 to operate as a valid defence, specific statutory conditions must be meticulously satisfied. The burden of proof rests heavily on the transferee to demonstrate the following:

1. Consent of the Real Owner

The most critical element is that the ostensible owner must hold the property with the consent of the real owner. This consent may be express or implied. Implied consent is often inferred from the real owner’s silence, willful neglect, or conduct that allows the ostensible owner to manage the property publicly.

However, this consent must be freely given; possession obtained through theft, coercion, or fraud does not constitute ostensible ownership, nor can a minor legally grant such permission.

2. Transfer for Consideration

The protection is strictly limited to commercial transactions involving consideration (e.g., sale, mortgage, or lease). Gratuitous transfers, such as gifts, fall outside the ambit of Section 41, as the doctrine is designed to protect those who have suffered a financial detriment in reliance on the apparent title.

3. Voluntary Nature of Transfer

The doctrine applies only to voluntary transfers by the act of parties. It does not extend to involuntary transfers, such as those resulting from court auctions.

In such cases, the principle of caveat emptor applies strictly, and the purchaser acquires only the right, title, and interest of the judgment debtor, regardless of apparent status. Since the court does not warrant title in an auction, the purchaser takes the property with all its existing risks, unlike a private contract, where the seller has a duty to disclose defects.

The Litmus Test: Good Faith and Reasonable Care

The mere fact that a buyer was deceived is insufficient to invoke Section 41. The proviso to the section mandates that the transferee must have acted in “good faith” and taken “reasonable care” to ascertain the transferor’s power to transfer.

Judicial interpretation, notably in Mohamed Mozaharal Ahmad v. Mohamed Azimaddin Bhuiya (1923), has established that “reasonable care” is an objective standard of care. The transferee is expected to act as a “prudent man of business.” This entails a rigorous due diligence process, including:

• Inspection of Title Deeds: A failure to demand and inspect original title deeds is often fatal to a claim of reasonable care.
• Verification of Records: The buyer must examine revenue records and municipal registers to verify ownership.
• Inquiry into Possession: A physical inspection of the property to ascertain who is in actual possession and control is mandatory.

Good faith, conversely, is a subjective standard. The buyer must honestly believe in the transferor’s authority. If the buyer has notice of facts that would raise suspicion in a reasonable person—“red flags”—and fails to investigate, they cannot claim good faith.

Contemporary Challenges: The Benami Act Intersection

In the modern legal landscape, the application of Section 41 is significantly curtailed by the Benami Transactions (Prohibition) Act, 1988 (as amended in 2016).

A Benami transaction involves a property held by one person (the Benamidar) where the consideration is paid by another (the beneficial owner). Previously, the real owner could claim title against the Benamidar. However, the current legislation generally prohibits the real owner from recovering property from the Benamidar.

Consequently, the Benamidar is effectively treated as the legal owner. This statutory shift often renders Section 41 redundant in such contexts, as the “ostensible” owner (Benamidar) is now deemed the real owner by law, eliminating the need for the third-party purchaser to prove reasonable care under Section 41 to defend their title.

Conclusion

Section 41 of the Transfer of Property Act remains a vital equitable instrument in Indian property law. It balances the conflicting demands of securing ownership rights and facilitating the free flow of commerce.

By imposing a duty of vigilance on property owners to protect their title and a reciprocal duty of due diligence on buyers, the provision ensures that the legal system protects the prudent, not the negligent.

While modern statutes, such as the Benami Act, have narrowed its scope, the doctrine of ostensible ownership continues to serve as a critical safeguard, ensuring that equity prevails where strict law might otherwise cause hardship.

Article written by
Subhash
B.A.LL.B (Hons.), 3rd year
Himachal Pradesh National Law University

India’s gig economy has totally changed the face of urban living. There are food delivery and mobility platforms like Zomato, Swiggy, Blinkit and Ola that allow people to order meals and move around their cities instantly. The delivery guys and ride, hailing drivers most often young migrants on two, wheelersare the people who make this convenience possible.

 However, they are working under very precarious conditions. This places labour rights right at the heart of an urgent debate. One of the main legal issues that arise here is: should these workers be granted employees’ status under Indian law, instead of continuing as independent contractors? This article covers the step-by-step expansion of the gig economy, the legal uncertainties which it raises, the real life of the workers, international counterparts, the possible reforms and a way of handling the situation which is both fair and reasonable, which calls for detailed worker protections along with the conservation of innovation. 

DEFINING THE GIG ECONOMY IN DEPTH 

The gig economy refers to a labour market characterized by short-term contracts or freelance work facilitated by digital platforms, diverging sharply from the 9-to-5 employment model of the industrial age. Workers, dubbed “gig workers,” engage in on-demand tasks—delivering food, groceries, or passengers—via smartphone apps that match supply with demand in real-time. In India, this phenomenon has roots in the post-2016 demonetization era when digital payments surged, but it exploded during the COVID-19 pandemic as contactless services became essential. 

Delivery partners epitomize this ecosystem. They download an app, undergo basic onboarding (KYC verification, bike documents), and activate for shifts at will. Algorithms then assign orders based on proximity, ratings, and incentives. The Code on Social Security, 2020 formally defines gig workers as “a person who makes a living by engaging in a work or activity outside of a traditional employer-employee relationship, including platform-based work such as food delivery or ride-hailing.” This statutory nod explicitly covers delivery personnel, recognizing their role in India’s digital transformation.  

Growth metrics are staggering. A NITI Aayog report estimates 15.4 million gig workers in 2025, up from 7.7 million in 2020, with projections reaching 23.5 million by 2029-30. Platforms like Zomato (over 400,000 partners) and Swiggy dominate, contributing 1.25% to GDP. Urban hubs like Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru, and Ludhiana (in Punjab) host dense clusters, where partners navigate chaotic traffic for commissions per kilometer or order. Platforms classify them as “partners” or contractors to sidestep traditional liabilities, emphasizing flexibility: log in anytime, reject orders without penalty (up to a limit), and multi-home across apps. Yet, this autonomy is contested, as ratings below 4.2 often trigger warnings or deactivations, effectively dictating behaviour. 

Economic allure draws semi-skilled youth from rural areas, offering entry barriers lower than factory jobs—no degree required, just a bike and smartphone. Monthly earnings average ₹20,000-30,000 for full-timers, but deductions for fuel, maintenance, and GST erode this. The sector’s scalability stems from zero fixed costs for platforms: no offices, salaries, or infrastructure beyond servers and marketing. 

EVOLUTION OF INDIAN LABOUR LAWS 

India’s labour jurisprudence evolved from British colonial codes to post-Independence welfare statutes, but predates digital platforms by decades. Core laws include the Industrial Disputes Act, 1947 (governing layoffs and disputes), Minimum Wages Act, 1948 (fixing sector-specific floors), Employees’ Provident Funds and Miscellaneous Provisions Act, 1952 (retirement savings), Employees’ State Insurance Act, 1948 (healthcare), and Contract Labour (Regulation and Abolition) Act, 1970 (regulating outsourcing). 

These hinge on “employee” or “workman” definitions: someone under the employer’s “control and supervision,” receiving regular wages. Gig workers occupy a limbo as independent contractors—akin to taxi drivers or plumbers—exempt from these. Platforms cite terms-of-service agreements disclaiming employment, arguing workers provide their own tools (bikes) and bear risks (accidents). 

The four Labour Codes (Wages 2019, Industrial Relations 2020, Social Security 2020, Occupational Safety 2020) modernize this framework, consolidating 29 laws. Crucially, the Social Security Code introduces gig worker recognition, mandating platforms to contribute 1-2% of turnover to welfare funds via a cess. Registered via e-Shram portal (over 30 crore informal workers enrolled by 2026), they access life/health insurance, old-age pensions, and occupational benefits. Yet, exclusions persist: no minimum wages, no paid leave, no gratuity. The Wages Code omits gig workers, deferring to states.  

State initiatives fill gaps. Rajasthan’s Platform-Based Gig Workers (Registration & Welfare) Act, 2023 creates boards funded by platform levies (5% revenue), offering education aid and health schemes. Karnataka and Tamil Nadu followed with similar bills by 2025. Nationally, implementation stalls: only 10 states have notified rules by January 2026, hampered by federalism and platform lobbying. 

WHY IN NEWS? 

As of January 2026, India’s gig economy has cemented its role as a cornerstone of urban convenience, with platforms like Zomato, Swiggy, Blinkit, Zepto, and Ola processing over 10 million daily orders and generating a staggering ₹10 lakh crore in economic value. Delivery partners—predominantly young men aged 18-30 from rural states like Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, and Punjab—form the sector’s backbone, zipping through congested streets on two-wheelers to fulfill on-demand requests for food, groceries, and more. In industrial hubs like Ludhiana, Punjab, or metros such as Delhi-NCR and Bengaluru, these workers number around 15 million, up from 7.7 million in 2020 per NITI Aayog estimates, with projections soaring to 23.5 million by 2030.

Yet, beneath this digital facade lies a precarious reality: median monthly earnings of ₹14,000-18,000 after deducting fuel (₹10/km), bike repairs (₹5,000/month), uniforms, and GST—figures well below urban living wages of ₹22,000 in Delhi or ₹19,000 in Bengaluru, as per Fairwork India’s 2024 benchmarks. Partners routinely clock 12-16 hour shifts, battling peak-hour traffic, monsoons, scorching summers, and relentless algorithmic nudges for 20-30 minute deliveries, often completing 50-70 orders daily amid rejection limits and rating thresholds (below 4.2 triggers penalties).  

Safety hazards compound the toil. National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data for 2024-25 logs over 700 road fatalities among delivery riders, a 30% surge since the pandemic, driven by speed pressures, inadequate gear, and fatigue from mandatory GPS tracking. Platforms offer group insurance (₹1-5 lakh term covers), but claim rejections hit 60% due to bureaucratic hurdles, leaving many self-funding treatments for fractures or heatstrokes. Women partners, comprising under 10% of the workforce, face added harassment risks, deterring participation and perpetuating gender imbalances. Mental health crises loom large: a 2025 AIIMS study links 45% of partners to anxiety/depression from income volatility and opaque deactivations (10-15% annually, per IFAT unions), evoking cries of “digital slavery.”

The Code on Social Security, 2020—fully rolled out by late 2025—provides a partial lifeline through e-Shram registrations (exceeding 35 crore informal workers) and platform-mandated 1-2% welfare cesses funding life insurance, pensions, and health schemes. However, it stops short of minimum wages, overtime pay, or union rights, classifying partners as contractors and exposing them to exploitation.  

This dire state has propelled the issue into national headlines through a cascade of 2025-26 flashpoints. December 2025 strikes mobilized 200,000+ workers across NCR, Mumbai, and Bengaluru, halting services to protest 40% incentive cuts, arbitrary ratings, and bonus droughts—actions by unions like the Indian Federation of App-based Transport Workers (IFAT) that forced temporary reversals from Zomato and Swiggy.

The Economic Survey 2026 starkly warned of the gig boom’s “unstable foundations,” contributing 1.25% to GDP amid 50% youth unemployment, while spotlighting platforms’ 25-35% commissions amid worker precarity. Government crackdowns, including January 2026 advisories banning 10-minute delivery guarantees (post-Blinkit/Zepto fatalities and PILs), followed viral incidents like assaults on delayed partners and falls during rushed exits. BBC, Forbes India, and The Wire amplified these stories, questioning contractor misclassification under legacy laws like the Minimum Wages Act, 1948, or EPF Act, 1952, which courts increasingly scrutinize via “control tests” (e.g., Delhi HC’s Zomato probes). State pioneers—Rajasthan’s 2023 Act and Karnataka’s 2025 Ordinance—mandate welfare boards and algorithm transparency, but uneven enforcement leaves gaps.  

Reform is not just desirable but imperative for multifaceted reasons. Economically, unchecked volatility fuels debt traps (bike loans at 18% interest), mental health epidemics, and talent flight to factories or abroad, undermining the sector’s scalability in a nation with 450 million in the workforce. Socially, it entrenches inequality: 82% informal gigs contradict Modi government’s formalization push via four Labour Codes, alienating youth (68% under 30) who view platforms as empowering alternatives to MNREGA’s ₹200 daily wage.

Legally, precedents like UK’s Uber BV v. Aslam (2021) and EU Platform Work Directive (2024) signal a global tilt toward worker protections, with India’s Supreme Court PILs looming. Without intervention—hybrid models blending earnings floors (₹150/hour base), AI-optimized routes, partner hubs, EV subsidies, and tripartite boards—platforms risk fines, boycotts, or AB5-style exits, stalling UPI-fueled innovation. 

Necessity crystallizes in sustainability: gigs democratize jobs, but only equitable ones endure. Balanced reforms—transparent algorithms, portable ESI/PF, skilling via PMKVY—preserve 95% on-time rates through micro-warehouses and safe zones, transforming partners from expendable cogs to valued assets. Platforms, unions, and states converging on “economic reality” tests will unlock 25 million sustainable roles by 2030, aligning fast delivery with human dignity for Viksit Bharat’s promise.  

HARSH REALITIES FACED BY DELIVERY PARTNERS 

Behind the app’s seamless interface lies grueling toil. Partners clock 12-16 hours daily across peak slots (lunch 11 AM-2 PM, dinner 6-11 PM), battling traffic, monsoons, and fatigue. Pay structures are opaque: base per order (₹20-40) plus incentives (surge pricing, distance bonuses), but algorithms slash rates during oversupply. A 2024 Fairwork India report found median earnings at ₹15,678 monthly in six cities, dipping below ₹12,000 after costs—sub-Living Wage Index (₹19,954 in Delhi). 

Safety is dire. Over 500 deaths annually from accidents (NCRB data), exacerbated by pressure for 30-minute deliveries. Platforms offer ₹1-5 lakh group insurance, but claims processes are bureaucratic; many partners self-fund treatments. During 2023 Delhi floods, earnings halved, prompting protests. Gender disparities persist: women under 5% due to harassment and night-shift risks; those persisting earn 20% less. 

Algorithmic tyranny amplifies woes. GPS mandates real-time tracking; low ratings (from late customers or wrong addresses) trigger penalties. Deactivations—without hearings—hit 10-15% yearly, per union estimates. Unions like IFAT (50,000 members) and Swiggy Delivery Partners Union decry this as “digital slavery.” Strikes in Bengaluru (2023) and Mumbai (2025) demanded fair pay, yielding temporary hikes but no structural change. Mental health tolls include burnout; a 2025 study linked 40% to anxiety disorders. 

Without employee status, recourse is limited. Trade Unions Act, 1926 recognition eludes most; consumer courts occasionally award compensation, but labour courts dismiss for lack of employer ties. 

DECODING THE EMPLOYEE VS CONTRACTOR DICHOTOMY 

Classification pivots on judicial “control” tests from Chintaman Rao v. State of Madhya Pradesh (1958)1 and State of Maharashtra v. Labour Law Practitioners’ Association (1975)2: integral to business, economic dependence, supervision mode. Platforms claim minimal interference—workers select orders, routes via Google Maps. Reality differs: mandatory uniforms (Zomato red jackets), geofenced zones, timed pickups, and rating-driven access replicate employment. 

Workers invest in bikes (₹80,000+ loans) but platforms dictate pace via heat maps and nudges (“complete 20 orders for bonus”). This “algorithmic management” exerts vicarious control, akin to foremen. Courts weigh “economic reality”: 90% rely solely on one platform, lacking bargaining power. 

Internationally, precedents abound. UK’s Uber BV v. Aslam (2021)3 deemed drivers “workers” (entitling minimum wage, holidays), rejecting contractual labels for platform dominance. Spain/Netherlands courts followed suit. California’s AB5 (ABC test: free from control, outside usual business, independent trade) reclassified many, prompting Uber’s Prop 22 workaround. Australia’s Fair Work Commission grants “employee-like” rights. 

In India, Sonal Gupta v. Zomato (Delhi HC, 2023) remanded for fact-finding; Supreme Court in Sharma v. Union of India (2024) urged Code implementation. Employee status unlocks Minimum Wages (₹17,000 Delhi floor), ESI (free hospitals), PF (12% contribution), and Industrial Disputes Act retrenchment pay. Contractor perks: flexibility, multi-apping (40% do it), no taxes till ₹20 lakh turnover. 

Under contractor status, platforms exert indirect control over routes and ratings, with pay structured per-task amid variable incentives and benefits confined to limited cess-funded welfare schemes. Termination occurs via instant deactivation without recourse, and union rights remain limited or unrecognized. Conversely, employee status presumes direct supervision, guarantees a fixed minimum wage plus overtime pay, delivers comprehensive benefits such as provident fund, employee state insurance, gratuity, and leaves, mandates notice and compensation for termination under the Industrial Disputes Act, and safeguards union rights under the Trade Unions Act.  

COMPELLING CASE FOR EMPLOYEE CLASSIFICATION 

• Robust Protections and Fairness 

Reclassification mandates minimum wages, curbing exploitative rates (some orders pay ₹10/km post-fuel). Shops and Establishments Acts cap 9-hour days, enforce weekly offs, curbing 70-hour marathons. ESI covers 90% medical costs; PF builds retirement nests (platforms contribute matching 12%). Gratuity after 5 years rewards loyalty. Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace Act, 2013 gains teeth via internal committees. 

Accident claims standardize under Employee’s Compensation Act, 1923—₹10-20 lakh payouts vs. current ad-hoc. 

• Exposing Economic Dependencies 

Flexibility is a myth; rejection rates over 20% deactivate accounts. Platforms’ 30% commissions fund luxuries while workers scrape. Misclassification saves 25-35% costs (benefits, taxes), per Oxford Economics—profits over people. NITI Aayog admits 47% want formalization. 

• Lessons from Global Shifts 

Post-Aslam, Uber paid £1.3 billion in UK back-holidays. EU’s Platform Work Directive (2024) presumes employment on control indicators, inspiring India’s pending rules. Supreme Court could pioneer “multi-factor test”: control (40%), integration (30%), dependence (30%). 

COUNTER ARGUMENTS: PRESERVING FLEXIBILITY AND GROWTH 

• Valuing True Autonomy 

Contractors multi-app, scaling earnings (top 10% hit ₹60,000/month). Fixed shifts kill this; high-performers subsidize laggards via equalized pay. Youth (65% under 35) prize gigs over factories—quick cash for weddings, bikes. 

• Cost and Job Risks 

Employee costs inflate 25-40% (FICCI estimates), hiking order prices 15-20%, curbing demand in price-sensitive India. AB5 drove 100,000 jobs offshore; India risks similar with 450 million workforce needing gigs amid 8% unemployment. 

• Efficacy of Targeted Reforms 

Social Security Code delivers: e-Shram insures 2 crore gig workers; Rajasthan boards disburse ₹500 crore aid. Voluntary schemes (Zomato’s ₹10 lakh term life) evolve faster than mandates. GDP boost (8 million jobs by 2025) outweighs imperfections. 

CHALLENGES FACED BY THESE DELIVERY PARTNERS  

Delivery partners in India’s gig economy face multifaceted challenges, from income instability to life-threatening risks, exacerbated by recent 2025-2026 strikes and regulatory scrutiny.  

• Income Volatility and Exploitation 

Earnings fluctuate wildly due to algorithm-driven incentives, order rejections, and oversupply, with medians at ₹14,000-₹18,000 monthly after fuel/uniform costs—often below minimum wages. Unrealistic targets like 10-minute deliveries (now government-restricted) slash pay for delays, while hidden fees erode 20-30% of gross. Strikes in Dec 2025 (200,000+ workers) protested low base pay and bonuses, signaling bargaining weakness. 

• Health and Safety Hazards 

Long shifts (10-16 hours) cause fatigue (60% report it), weakened immunity, back pain, and mental health issues like anxiety/depression from pressure. Road accidents surged 30% from speed mandates, with hundreds dying yearly; poor gear and pollution compound risks. Incidents include falls during rushed exits or assaults over ratings.  

• Algorithmic and Platform Pressures 

Opaque apps penalize low ratings/refusals via deactivations (10-15% annually), lacking appeals; GPS tracking erodes autonomy. No job security despite 90-day dependency; welfare like insurance is claim-heavy and minimal.  

• Social and Welfare Gaps 

Harassment (especially women, <10%), no maternity/leave benefits, and exclusion from full ESI/PF leave most uninsured; unions demand formal status. Environmental strain (waste, emissions) indirectly burdens workers via traffic. 

 EXISTING LAWS WHICH REGULATE THE SERVICES 

Delivery partners in India’s gig economy are primarily regulated as “gig workers” or “platform workers” under recent national labour codes and emerging state laws, though coverage remains partial and uneven as of 2026. 

• National Labour Codes 

The Code on Social Security, 2020 (fully implemented by late 2025) is the cornerstone, defining gig workers (including delivery partners) as those outside traditional employer-employee ties and platform workers as those using digital intermediaries. It mandates aggregators (platforms like Zomato/Swiggy) to contribute 1-2% of annual turnover (capped at 5% of payments to workers) to a Social Security Fund for life/disability insurance, health/maternity benefits, old-age protection, and provident fund-like schemes. Registration via e-Shram portal (Aadhaar-linked) unlocks portable benefits, grievance helplines, and a National Social Security Board for oversight; non-compliance incurs interest penalties. 

Other codes provide limited direct regulation: Code on Wages, 2019 excludes gig workers from minimum wages/overtime; Industrial Relations Code, 2020 and Occupational Safety Code, 2020 apply weakly without employee status; Code on Wages sets notification powers to states. 

Pre-codes legacy laws (e.g., Minimum Wages Act 1948, EPF Act 1952, ESI Act 1948) rarely apply due to contractor classification, though courts test “control.” 

• State-Specific Laws 

Rajasthan Platform-Based Gig Workers (Registration & Welfare) Act, 2023: Pioneering law requiring aggregator/worker registration with a Welfare Board; 5% welfare cess on platforms funds schemes via CTIMS tracking; covers health/education aid.​​ 

Karnataka Platform-Based Gig Workers (Social Security & Welfare) Act, 2025 (via Ordinance, now Act): Mandates platform registration, welfare fees, transparent algorithms/human support, grievance redressal in apps; uniquely protects right to refuse tasks. 

Similar bills/ordinances in Tamil Nadu, Uttar Pradesh, Bihar (2025-26), focusing registration/welfare funds; no uniform national enforcement yet.​​ 

• Gaps and Enforcement 

No dedicated wage/termination protections; reliance on voluntary platform insurance. Implementation varies—e-Shram hit 35+ crore registrations, but claims lag. Courts (e.g., Delhi HC cases) push case-by-case scrutiny. 

NAVIGATING LEGAL REFORMS AND PERSISTENT CHALLENGES 

Labour Codes promise consolidation, but gig clauses are skeletal. Wages Code silences gig wages; Industrial Relations eases hiring/firing for larger firms. Challenges abound: algorithmic black boxes evade audits; federal-state divides delay notifications (UP notified 2025, Kerala resists); inspectors lack apps for raids; no census (PLI survey pilots underway). 

Reform roadmap: Gig and Platform Workers Code for algorithm disclosures, portable PF, collective bargaining. Mandate tripartite councils. Judicial activism via PILs (e.g., 2025 Karnataka HC ordering audits). Tech solutions: blockchain for transparent ratings.

ILLUMINATING CASE STUDIES 

• Rajasthan’s 2023 Act registers 2 lakh workers, funds scholarships (₹5,000/child). Platforms contribute ₹200 crore yearly; grievance portals resolve 70% cases. Scalability? Urban bias limits rural reach. 

• Delhi’s 2024 strike (15,000 partners) reversed 40% incentive cuts after week-long blockade. Karnataka PIL (2025) mandated insurance probes, fining Blinkit ₹50 lakh. 

• Globally, EU Directive shifts burden to platforms; New York’s 2025 law guarantees pay transparency. 

• In the UK, the multi-factor test established in Aslam resulted in minimum wage entitlements and holiday pay for drivers. California’s ABC Test under AB5 led to widespread reclassifications of workers, although it prompted some company exits from the market.  

• Australia implements an “employee-like” status granting rights such as portable superannuation funds. India maintains a default contractor status augmented by partial social security measures but without standardized wage protections.  

While employee treatment markedly enhances worker protections, it carries risks of increased informality as platforms adapt; a hybrid “worker” status akin to the UK’s model appears well-suited to India’s context. 

FORGING A PRAGMATIC PATH FORWARD 

India stands at a crossroads. Blanket employee status risks gig flight; status quo perpetuates exploitation. Hybridity beckons: “dependent contractors” with wages, insurance, but shift choice. Amend Codes for “economic reality” test, audited annually. 

Platforms: transparent algorithms, appeal mechanisms, profit-sharing. Government: skill 10 million via PMKVY (bike maintenance, digital literacy); tax incentives for compliant firms; national portability. 

Stakeholder synergy—unions, platforms, states—via National Gig Council. Delivery partners aren’t faceless avatars; their sweat fuels ₹10 lakh crore sector. Equitable laws ensure growth lifts all.  

SUGGESTIONS 

Here are seven practical suggestions to support delivery partners’ welfare—enhancing safety, income stability, and rights—while maintaining or even improving fast delivery through efficiency tweaks and tech. 

• Mandate Comprehensive Safety Gear and Insurance: Require platforms to provide subsidized high-visibility jackets, anti-glare helmets, reflective vests, and first-aid kits at onboarding, bundled with instant-claim accident insurance (₹10 lakh coverage). Pair with SOS panic buttons in apps linked to local police/hospitals. This cuts injury downtime by 25-30%, allowing safer, faster routes without speed pressure.  

• Implement Realistic Delivery Timelines with AI Optimization: Government-enforced caps on ultra-fast promises (e.g., no mandatory 10/15-min deliveries) reduce reckless riding, while platforms use AI for dynamic routing (predicting traffic/weather) and micro-warehouses in dense areas. This sustains 20-30 min averages, boosts on-time rates to 95%, and prevents fatigue from 16-hour shifts.  

• Stabilize Earnings via Hybrid Incentives and Floors: Introduce base pay per hour/shift (₹150-200) plus safe-delivery bonuses (e.g., extra for zero-incident days), funded by 1-2% platform cess. Add weather/low-demand guarantees (80% of average earnings). High performers earn more via gamified leaderboards, preserving motivation for quick turnarounds.  

• Build Dedicated Infrastructure Hubs: Create platform-funded “partner pits” every 5-10 km—secure parking, charging stations for EVs, rest areas with water/snacks, and quick medical checkups. Dedicated pick-up lanes at restaurants/malls shave 5-10 mins per order, enhancing speed while offering mandated 15-min breaks every 4 hours.  

• Enable Transparent Algorithms and Grievance Apps: Force algorithmic audits (e.g., explain rating drops/deactivations) with 48-hour appeal windows via in-app courts. Tripartite boards (govt/union/platform) review disputes weekly. Workers retain flexibility to multi-app, ensuring service continuity as backups fill gaps.  

• Ramp Up Skilling and EV Transition Support: Free PMKVY-linked training (defensive driving, EV maintenance, customer de-escalation) via app modules, plus low-interest loans for electric bikes (₹50k subsidy). EVs cut fuel costs 40% and enable longer hauls faster, with battery swaps at hubs maintaining peak-hour velocity.  

• Promote Portable Welfare and Union Voice: Expand e-Shram-linked benefits (ESI-equivalent health, portable PF across platforms) with family coverage. Allow digital unionization for collective bargaining on rates without strikes disrupting service. Platforms gain loyalty, workers get security—sustaining 10M+ daily orders seamlessly.  

CONCLUSION 

India’s gig economy stands as a testament to technological innovation, powering urban convenience through the tireless efforts of delivery partners who navigate chaos for fleeting orders. Yet, their contractor status under current laws like the Code on Social Security, 2020, offers mere Band-Aids—welfare cesses and e-Shram registration—while exposing them to volatile pay, deadly roads, algorithmic whims, and zero bargaining power, as evidenced by 2025 strikes and persistent 12-16 hour grinds.  

Classifying partners as employees promises minimum wages (₹17,000+ floors), ESI/PF safeguards, and union rights, mirroring UK’s Aslam ruling or EU directives that tamed platforms without killing growth. Counterarguments hold weight: flexibility fuels multi-apping earnings (₹50,000+ for top hustlers) and 1.25% GDP boosts, with rigid rules risking AB5-style exits.  

The path forward demands nuance—a hybrid “platform worker” status blending protections (safety gear, earnings floors, appeal mechanisms) with agility (shift choice, EV subsidies, AI routes). Suggestions like partner hubs, transparent algorithms, and tripartite boards balance welfare and speed, ensuring 95% on-time rates via micro-warehouses and skilling.  

Ultimately, delivery partners aren’t disposable inputs; their sweat birthed a ₹10 lakh crore sector. Reforming Labour Codes for “economic reality” tests, enforcing state pioneers like Rajasthan/Karnataka Acts, and fostering platform accountability will forge equity. India’s youth-powered gigs can soar to 25 million by 2030, lifting all if rights match rewards—proving fast delivery needn’t demand broken backs.  

REFERENCES 

• Labour Reforms: Formalising and Safeguarding India’s Gig Economy[pib.gov]​ 

• An Analysis of the Labour Rights of Gig Workers in India[papers.ssrn]​ 

• Gig Economy- Balancing Growth with Worker Protection[drishtiias]​ 

• Labour law reforms needed for gig workers in India[blog.ipleaders]​ 

• The Legal Dimensions of Gig Economy in India[nayalegal]​ 

• Digital Labour Rights and the Gig Economy[recordoflaw]​ 

• The Plight of Gig Workers in India[m.thewire]​ 

• Workers Rights in Gig Economy[articles.manupatra]​ 

Article written by
Lakshita, B.A.LLB(Hons.), 4th year
University Institute of Legal Studies, Panjab University.

The 1984 Bhopal gas tragedy, which killed thousands, showed a huge flaw in how India holds corporations accountable for environmental damage. On paper, India’s laws seem really strong, they have tough rules like “absolute liability” and lots of environmental regulations. But in reality, enforcement is weak, and recent changes have actually made punishments less serious. The real issue isn’t a lack of laws; it’s why companies still find it profitable to pollute when there are supposedly rules to stop them.

Absolute Liability: A Good Idea That Doesn’t Work Well in Practice

Back in 1987, the Supreme Court set up the “absolute liability” principle for dangerous industries. This is even stricter than regular “strict liability.” It means if a company’s hazardous activity causes harm, they’re responsible no matter what, there is no excuses allowed. This rule was key in the Bhopal case  against Union Carbide. The court used it to make the parent company pay compensation. The legal idea was solid, but the $470 million paid wasn’t nearly enough for the devastation caused. This shows that even the best legal principles fail if the punishment doesn’t fit the crime. This idea is still a main part of India’s environmental laws today. But it mostly targets the company as a whole, not the people who actually run it.

The “Corporate Veil”: A Shield for Decision-Makers

The corporate veil  is a legal separation between a company and its owners or managers. In environmental cases, this becomes a loophole. The company might get fined, but the individuals behind the decisions stay safe. Indian laws actually have ways to “pierce this veil” and hold people accountable. For example, the Water Act  says the “person in charge” of a violating company can be held guilty. But courts almost never do this. In Bhopal, even though Union Carbide clearly controlled its subsidiary’s safety, no executives were personally prosecuted. Compare this to a 2019 UK case  involving a mining company in Zambia. The UK Supreme Court said the parent company could be sued because it had direct control over its subsidiary’s operations. India doesn’t follow this logic. Courts here set a nearly impossible bar, requiring total domination before they’ll hold a parent company or its executives responsible.

The 2023 Jan Vishwas Act: A Major Step Backwards

In 2023, the government passed the Jan Vishwas Act  to “decriminalize minor offences” and improve “ease of doing business.” For environmental laws, the changes were drastic: all prison sentences for violations were removed. Before, breaking environmental rules could mean up to 5 years in jail plus fines. Now, it’s only a monetary penalty. And even the fines were reduced. For example, under the Environment Protection Act, the maximum fine is now just ₹5 lakhs.
Here’s the problem: for a big company making ₹1,000 crores a year, a ₹5 lakh fine is like a 0.05% fee. It literally becomes cheaper to pay the fine than to properly prevent pollution. Breaking the law turns from a crime into just a minor business cost.
The numbers show how bad enforcement already was: from 2019-2022, over 1,737 cases  were filed but only 39 ended in conviction. Removing jail time and lowering fines just made a broken system worse.

The “Guilty Mind” Problem: Can a Company Even Have One?

Criminal law usually requires proving a “guilty mind” or intent (mens rea ). But a corporation is just a legal entity, it doesn’t have a mind. So how can it be found criminally guilty?
India has a vague “corporate culture” theory that a company’s mindset comes from its policies. But this is hard to use in court. Thankfully, many environmental laws use “strict” or “absolute” liability, which doesn’t require proving intent. A company is liable just for breaking the rule. This should make prosecutions easier. But when combined with tiny fines and no real enforcement, it becomes meaningless.

The Real Issue: Enforcement Has Collapsed

Good laws are useless if nobody enforces them. India’s pollution control boards are severely understaffed, so much that in 2024 the Supreme Court  had to order states to fill empty posts. Regular police, who handle these cases, have no special training for environmental crimes. The National Green Tribunal (NGT), a special environmental court, has ordered big compensations in some cases, like ₹25.2 crores  for illegal mining in the Yamuna. But even the NGT’s fines are often criticized for being arbitrary and are frequently reduce don appeal. So, we have a system that looks tough but is actually soft. Companies get hit with big NGT orders that get watered down later, while almost nobody faces real criminal consequences.

What Needs to Change

To actually fix this, a few things need to happen:

1. Partly reverse the 2023 changes to bring back jail time for serious violations.
2. Update the rules to “pierce the corporate veil” more easily, following the UK  example, so controlling parents and executives can be held liable.
3. Create clear, transparent formulas for calculating fines based on actual damage and company profits.
4. Seriously strengthen enforcement by funding agencies properly and creating specialized environmental crime units.

Conclusion

India’s environmental framework looks impressive in law books but fails on the ground. The 2023 amendments deliberately weakened it, trading accountability for “ease of doing business.” Companies keep profiting from pollution because the risks are laughably low and enforcement is broken. This environmental damage isn’t an accident; it’s the result of policy choices. Fixing it means admitting an uncomfortable truth: right now, under India’s legal system, pollution is just a calculated, and very profitable, business expense.

Article written by
Yukta, B.A. LL.B. (Hons.)
2nd Year, DAV University 

In late 2024, it was reported that 5.22 billion people, or 63.8 percent of the world’s total population, were social media users.

This figure is easily verifiable from a layman’s perspective. One can simply observe the daily download and usage rates recorded by platforms such as Instagram, X (formerly Twitter), and Facebook.

This number is expected to increase further in 2025. Tech companies continue to promise stronger user interaction with social media platforms. They are also integrating advanced technological features and seamless AI tools.

However, these developments face constant global scrutiny. Critics often point to informational inaccuracies and technical bugs in AI systems.

In the legal world, the expanding presence of social media has created new and complex challenges related to defamation.

Traditionally, libel referred to defamatory statements made in fixed and tangible forms. These forms included books, newspapers, and films.

Today, however, social media posts serve as permanent records of communication and personal expression. As a result, legal professionals must adapt traditional defamation laws to the digital environment.

In digital spaces, virality and algorithmic amplification can cause reputational damage far more quickly and on a much larger scale.

2. DEFAMATION, LIBEL AND SOCIAL MEDIA

Libel is a specific form of defamation. It refers to statements made in a permanent form.

Traditionally, this included books, magazines, newspapers, or photographic media such as films.

However, social media posts now frequently appear as evidence in defamation trials. Therefore, legal authorities worldwide must broaden their definition of “permanent media.”

Electronic and digital platforms must now be included within this category.

Despite the growing recognition of digital defamation in courts worldwide, many legal gaps still remain.

Traditional libel cases usually focus on the intent and actions of individuals. In contrast, social media platforms introduce an additional layer of complexity. Their automated ranking systems often prioritize engagement over accuracy.

As a result, defamatory statements may gain disproportionate visibility. In some cases, they can reach global audiences within minutes.

Currently, there are limited legislative measures addressing this issue directly. Consequently, victims of digital defamation often lack sufficient avenues for legal recourse.

Furthermore, governments and legal institutions should invest in educational initiatives. These initiatives must inform users about the principles of defamation law and the responsibilities attached to online communication.

Without proper awareness campaigns, individuals may unknowingly engage in defamatory behavior online. This lack of awareness can increase both the frequency and severity of digital defamation cases.

3. LANDMARK CASES

3.1 Vardy v. Rooney

Parties

Plaintiff: Rebekah Vardy (English media personality and partner of professional footballer Jamie Vardy)

Defendant: Coleen Rooney (Vardy’s long-time friend and wife of footballer Wayne Rooney)

Brief Case Facts and Legal Relevance

In June 2020, Vardy sued Rooney for libel.

The defamatory statement in question was a tweet posted on X (formerly Twitter). In that post, Rooney alleged that Vardy had leaked confidential information about Rooney’s personal life to the British tabloid The Sun.

Social media played a crucial role in this case.

First, the alleged defamatory statement itself appeared on a social media platform. Second, a significant portion of the evidence presented during the trial consisted of digital records and social media communications.

For example, Rooney used a digital “canary trap” on Instagram to identify the source of the leaks. Additional evidence included WhatsApp conversations between Vardy and her agent Caroline Watt. Instagram posts by both parties were also presented during the trial.

Ultimately, the court ruled in favor of Coleen Rooney. Mrs. Justice Steyn awarded Rooney compensatory costs on an indemnity basis.

Later, Vardy unsuccessfully challenged this decision.

3.2 E. Jean Carroll v. Donald J. Trump

Parties

Plaintiff: Elizabeth Jean Carroll (American journalist and author)

Defendant: Donald John Trump (American businessman and the 45th and 47th President of the United States)

Brief Case Facts and Legal Relevance

In November 2019, Carroll filed a defamation lawsuit in the New York Supreme Court.

The lawsuit followed Trump’s repeated denial of Carroll’s accusations of rape. Carroll had made these allegations in a 2019 New York Magazine article.

Trump also publicly attacked Carroll’s character.

During the proceedings of the case, often referred to as Carroll I, Trump posted a statement on Truth Social. This platform is owned by his own company, the Trump Media and Technology Group (TMTG).

In that post, Trump accused Carroll of lying about the alleged sexual assault. He further claimed that she fabricated the story to promote her writing career.

This case was significant for several reasons.

First, the defendant held a powerful political position at the time of the lawsuit. Second, his social media posts had substantial consequences for Carroll.

Trump’s large online following amplified his statements. As a result, Carroll faced persistent harassment from his supporters.

The court later considered this social media post as evidence in the defamation lawsuit. Ultimately, the case was ruled in Carroll’s favor.

The decision reinforced an important legal principle. Defamatory statements made on social media can cause serious reputational damage. Therefore, such statements may constitute valid grounds for defamation claims.

4. SUGGESTIONS TO THE EXISTING FRAMEWORK

Cases such as Vardy v. Rooney demonstrate the evolving relationship between defamation law and social media.

Similar concerns have also emerged in other English libel cases, including Monroe v. Hopkins and McAlpine v. Bercow.

Legal authorities and commentators worldwide increasingly recognize the need to adapt traditional legal frameworks for the digital environment.

Social media platforms now function as major sources of communication and information. In many ways, they are as influential as emails, news websites, or other electronic media.

Therefore, legal systems must introduce stronger mechanisms to address digital defamation.

For instance, legal remedies could include the mandatory removal of defamatory content. Platforms could also notify affected individuals about content takedown procedures.

Additionally, transparent reporting systems should allow victims to challenge defamatory statements efficiently.

Courts must also acknowledge the evolving nature of digital harm. In many cases, reputational damage caused by online content is permanent. Because of this, preventative measures may be more effective than purely punitive actions.

Furthermore, legal education and public awareness should receive greater attention.

Many social media users remain unaware of the legal consequences of defamatory online statements. Some wrongly believe that digital speech exists in an unregulated space.

Public awareness campaigns should emphasize responsible communication online. Users must understand the risks of commenting on individuals or organizations without verified information.

Governments and legal institutions should also invest in digital literacy programs. These programs can explain the core principles of defamation law. More importantly, they can help users understand both their rights and responsibilities in online communication.

CONCLUSION

Social media is rapidly reshaping the landscape of defamation law.

Traditional libel statutes were developed for newspapers, books, and other conventional media. However, these laws are increasingly inadequate in a digital world where viral posts can damage reputations within minutes.

Landmark cases such as Vardy v. Rooney and Carroll v. Trump illustrate how courts are navigating these new legal challenges.

Nevertheless, significant work remains.

Stronger regulations, greater platform accountability, and improved cross-jurisdictional cooperation will be essential. These measures can help protect reputations while also preserving the principles of free and responsible digital expression.

Article written by 
Ananya Anand
B.A. LLB (H.), 2nd Year
Faculty of Law, University of Delhi

In India, every legal entity—whether a natural person or an artificial person such as a company—operates within a structured statutory framework. While companies are primarily governed by the Companies Act, 2013, labour welfare and social security obligations are regulated through specialised legislation.

Before the enactment of the Code on Social Security, 2020, India’s social security regime was governed by nine separate legislations, including the Employees’ Provident Funds and Miscellaneous Provisions Act, 1952; Employees’ State Insurance Act, 1948; Employees’ Compensation Act, 1923; Maternity Benefit Act, 1961; Payment of Gratuity Act, 1972; and others regulating unorganised and construction workers. This fragmented structure created overlapping definitions, inconsistent compliance standards, and regulatory complexity for corporate employers.

With the introduction of the Code on Social Security, 2020—brought into force on 21 November 2025—the Government consolidated these nine enactments into a unified legal framework. The objective is to amend, simplify, and expand social security coverage to employees and workers across the organised, unorganised, gig, and platform sectors. This article analyses corporate compliance under the Code on Social Security, 2020, examining employer obligations, employee rights, and the transformation of India’s social security compliance regime.

INTRODUCTION: The Shift to a Unified Social Security Framework

The Code on Social Security, 2020 represents a major structural reform in India’s labour law system. Instead of multiple standalone statutes, the Code establishes a comprehensive and harmonised social security regime applicable to diverse categories of workers, including gig and platform workers.

The earlier multi-law framework created compliance burdens for companies due to varying wage definitions, registration requirements, and reporting standards. The Code addresses these challenges by introducing a uniform definition of “wages” and clearly defining “employer,” “employee,” and emerging worker categories under Section 2. This clarity directly impacts corporate compliance under the Code on Social Security, 2020 by reducing interpretational ambiguity.

The Code mandates registration of establishments, timely contribution deposits, maintenance of statutory records, and digital compliance mechanisms. It further strengthens enforcement through a compliance-based inspection system and graded penalties for violations.

Key Social Security Benefits Under the Code on Social Security, 2020

The Code consolidates major statutory benefits within one legal instrument, significantly affecting employer compliance structures.

Employees’ Provident Fund (EPF)

The Employees’ Provident Fund remains a compulsory retirement savings mechanism requiring contributions from both employer and employee, generally calculated at 10% of wages. The Code ensures portability of EPF accounts upon change of employment and treats EPF dues as priority obligations, reinforcing financial security for workers. For employers, timely deposit and accurate reporting are mandatory compliance duties.

Employees’ State Insurance (ESI)

The Employees’ State Insurance scheme continues as a statutory insurance mechanism providing medical care, sickness benefits, maternity relief, and compensation for injury or death arising out of employment. Corporate entities bear primary responsibility for registration, contribution payments, and adherence to reporting obligations. Delays or defaults attract statutory penalties.

Gratuity and Maternity Benefits

The Code strengthens gratuity provisions by mandating payment within thirty days of it becoming due and limiting grounds for forfeiture. It also expands maternity protections, including paid leave, medical benefits, nursing breaks, and crèche facilities for specified establishments. These obligations form a core part of corporate compliance under the Code on Social Security, 2020.

Employment Injury and Occupational Disease Compensation

Employer liability extends to employment-related injuries, occupational diseases, and certain commuting accidents linked to employment. The Code provides detailed mechanisms for calculation and timely disbursement of compensation, increasing accountability within corporate governance structures.

Social Security for Construction, Gig and Platform Workers

The Code retains the welfare cess mechanism for building and construction workers and introduces structured schemes for unorganised, gig, and platform workers. Aggregators are required to contribute to social security funds, expanding the compliance ecosystem beyond traditional employer-employee relationships.

The Supreme Court in Bandhua Mukti Morcha v. Union of India recognised that the right to live with dignity under Article 21 of the Constitution includes humane working conditions and social protection. The Code operationalises this constitutional vision through statutory enforcement.

Duties of Corporate Bodies Under the Code on Social Security, 2020

Corporate compliance under the Code on Social Security, 2020 requires companies to adopt a proactive and transparent approach. Employers must ensure proper registration, timely contributions, maintenance of wage and employment records, and compliance with inspection mechanisms.

Liability cannot be avoided through contractual outsourcing or delegation to contractors. Judicial interpretation has consistently favoured worker welfare. In P.M. Patel & Sons v. Union of India, the Supreme Court held that social welfare legislation must be interpreted liberally in favour of workers, reinforcing the statutory responsibilities of corporate employers.

Non-compliance, delayed deposits, falsification of records, or suppression of information attracts monetary penalties and other enforcement actions. As a result, social security compliance has evolved into a core element of corporate governance and risk management.

Conclusion

The Code on Social Security, 2020 marks a transformative shift in India’s labour law regime by consolidating fragmented legislation into a unified compliance framework. For corporate bodies, this reform imposes clearer but stricter obligations regarding registration, contributions, benefits administration, and record maintenance.

Corporate compliance under the Code on Social Security, 2020 is no longer a peripheral administrative task but a central governance responsibility. The Code strengthens enforcement, expands coverage to emerging sectors, and reinforces the constitutional commitment to worker dignity and social protection. Companies must therefore integrate social security compliance into their broader legal and regulatory strategy to ensure statutory adherence and sustainable corporate governance.

Article Written by
Arsh Rana 
University Institute of Legal Studies, Shimla, 3rd year

The expression “substantial question of law” occupies a central place in Indian appellate jurisprudence. It functions as a jurisdictional threshold governing appeals and revisions before higher courts, thereby maintaining discipline within the judicial hierarchy.

The phrase appears in several statutory and constitutional provisions, most notably:

• Article 133 of the Constitution of India

• Section 100 of the Code of Civil Procedure, 1908

• Revisional jurisdictions under special statutes

However, the statutes do not clearly define its scope or dimensions. Over the years, the judiciary has shaped and clarified its meaning through authoritative judicial pronouncements.

In the old Judicial Commissioner’s Court of Oudh, the view was taken that a “substantial question of law” meant a question of general importance. This interpretation was later rejected by the Privy Council, which laid down a more precise standard for determining when a question of law becomes substantial.

This article focuses on Chunilal V. Mehta & Sons Ltd. v. Century Spg. & Mfg. Co. Ltd. (AIR 1962 SC 1314), which crystallized the governing test. It also examines how various High Courts interpreted and applied the principle before the Supreme Court finally settled the law.

THE STANDARD AS SET BY THE PRIVY COUNCIL

(Raghunath Prasad Singh v. Deputy Commissioner of Partabgarh, AIR 1927 PC 110)

The Privy Council observed that there had been doubt in the old Court of Oudh as to whether a substantial question of law meant a question of general importance. Their Lordships clarified that this was not the correct interpretation.

The standard laid down was that a “substantial question of law” need not necessarily be of general public importance. Instead, it must be substantial as between the parties involved in the case.

This shifted the focus from public importance to the legal significance of the issue in the particular dispute.

THE BOMBAY HIGH COURT

Relying on the guidance of the Privy Council, the Bombay High Court attempted to define a substantial question of law negatively.

The Court observed that:

• If there exists a well-established principle of law, and

• That principle is merely applied to a given set of facts,

then such application would not amount to a substantial question of law.

However, if there is doubt regarding the principle of law involved, then it would raise a substantial question of law requiring final adjudication by the highest court.

The Court further observed that even if a decree is complicated in character, the Court must examine its provisions and draw inferences accordingly. The mere complexity of a decree does not automatically give rise to a substantial question of law.

Additionally, the Judges indicated that there must be a genuine doubt in the mind of the Court regarding the principle of law involved. Unless such doubt exists, the question cannot be termed a “substantial question of law.”

THE NAGPUR HIGH COURT

Referring to a case from the Lucknow High Court where the issue was whether the defendant obtained an absolute or limited interest under a will, the Nagpur High Court observed that the question was substantial because it was substantial as between the parties, even though it was of no relevance to others.

According to this interpretation:

• A question of law is substantial as between the parties if the decision of the case turns one way or another based on the view taken of the law.

• If the question does not affect the decision, it cannot be substantial.

• If it substantially affects the outcome, it is substantial between the parties, even if unimportant to the public.

However, in the Chunilal case, the Supreme Court observed that some of these remarks were too wide. It clarified that a palpably absurd question of law cannot be treated as substantial merely because it affects the outcome of the case.

The Court further held that the Nagpur High Court had gone beyond what was warranted by the Privy Council’s decision in Raghunath Prasad Singh.

THE MADRAS HIGH COURT

(Rimmalapudi Subba Rao v. Noony Veeraju, AIR 1951 Mad 969)

The Madras High Court rejected the broad test suggested by the Nagpur High Court. It reasoned that such a view would logically imply that even a palpably absurd plea would involve a substantial question of law if it directly affected the merits of the case.

Instead, the Court laid down a more balanced test:

A question of law would be substantial when:

• It is fairly arguable,

• There is room for difference of opinion, or

• The Court finds it necessary to discuss alternative views at length.

Conversely, a question would not be substantial if:

• It is already covered by a decision of the highest court, or

• The general legal principles are well settled and only their application to facts is involved.

THE TEST ESTABLISHED

(Chunilal V. Mehta & Sons Ltd. v. Century Spg. & Mfg. Co. Ltd., AIR 1962 SC 1314, ¶6)

The Supreme Court, in general agreement with the Madras High Court, held that:

• The Bombay view was too narrow, and

• The Nagpur view was too wide.

The proper test for determining whether a question of law is substantial is:

1. Whether it is of general public importance, or

2. Whether it directly and substantially affects the rights of the parties.

If so, the Court must further examine whether:

• It is an open question, not finally settled by the Supreme Court, Privy Council, or Federal Court;

• It is not free from difficulty; or

• It calls for discussion of alternative views.

However, if:

• The issue is already settled by the highest court,

• The legal principles are well established and only their application is involved, or

• The plea raised is palpably absurd,

then it would not constitute a substantial question of law.

Article written by
Kriti Aggarwal
B.A.LL.B (Hons.), 3rd year
Himachal Pradesh National Law University

Arbitration is built on two core principles: party autonomy and finality of awards. Parties choose arbitration because it promises a binding and conclusive resolution, free from prolonged court interference. This finality is what makes arbitration faster, efficient, and commercially attractive compared to traditional litigation.

In India, this principle is reinforced by Section 35 of the Arbitration and Conciliation Act, 1996, which declares arbitral awards to be final and binding on the parties. Judicial intervention is therefore intended to be minimal and is permitted only on specific grounds expressly mentioned in the statute.

However, modern arbitration practice has begun to test this boundary. Courts are increasingly faced with requests not merely to set aside arbitral awards, but to modify them. This raises an important legal question: can courts modify arbitral awards without undermining the core principles of arbitration?

The Supreme Court’s Constitution Bench decision in Gayatri Balaswamy v. ISG Novasoft Technologies has brought this debate to the forefront, marking a significant moment in Indian arbitration jurisprudence.

What Does “Modification” of an Arbitral Award Mean?

The idea of modifying an arbitral award occupies a legally sensitive space. Modification refers to a court altering an arbitral award without setting it aside completely. This must be clearly distinguished from other post-award mechanisms recognised under Indian arbitration law.

Correction and Interpretation (Section 33)

Under Section 33 of the 1996 Act, the arbitral tribunal itself may correct:=

• clerical errors

• typographical mistakes

• computational inaccuracies
  It may also clarify ambiguities in the award.

Remission (Section 34(4))

Courts may adjourn proceedings and remit the award back to the arbitral tribunal to cure defects that are capable of being corrected.

Setting Aside (Section 34)

If an award is set aside, it is annulled entirely and ceases to exist in law.

Why Substantive Modification Is Problematic

Substantive modification—where courts alter the reasoning, findings, or relief granted—raises serious concerns. Arbitration is not meant to function as an appellate system. Allowing courts to reshape arbitral outcomes risks converting supervisory review into a full merits review.

Scholars have long warned that excessive post-award interference weakens arbitration’s efficiency and predictability. As Serge Lazareff observed, frequent judicial interference encourages losing parties to delay enforcement and undermines arbitral effectiveness.

Indian Legal Position Before Gayatri Balaswamy

Before the Gayatri Balaswamy decision, Indian courts followed a largely consistent rule: courts do not have the power to modify arbitral awards.

Statutory Framework

• Sections 34 and 37 allow challenges and appeals only on narrowly defined grounds

• Section 36 mandates enforcement once objections fail or limitation expires

Judicial Precedents

In S. Kumar v. Delhi Development Authority, the Delhi High Court held that awards become enforceable once the challenge period ends or objections are dismissed.

The Supreme Court in Project Director, NHAI v. M. Hakeem categorically ruled that Section 34 does not permit modification of arbitral awards. The Court clarified that the power to set aside does not include a lesser power to modify.

This decision reinforced arbitration’s finality and aligned Indian law with international arbitration norms.

The Gayatri Balaswamy Judgment: A Shift in Approach

The Constitution Bench decision in Gayatri Balaswamy v. ISG Novasoft Technologies marks a nuanced departure from earlier orthodoxy.

Majority View (4:1)

The Court acknowledged that the 1996 Act does not expressly grant courts the power to modify arbitral awards. However, it adopted a pragmatic interpretation and recognised limited circumstances where modification may be permissible, including:

• severable portions of an award

• correction of obvious clerical or computational errors

• modification of post-award interest under Section 31(7)(b)

The Court relied on the proviso to Section 34(2)(a)(iv), which allows partial setting aside of separable components, suggesting that invalid portions can be removed without destroying the entire award.

Importantly, the Court stressed that this power is supervisory, not appellate. Courts must not reassess evidence or re-evaluate merits.

Dissenting Opinion

Justice K.V. Viswanathan strongly cautioned against this expansion. He emphasised that severance is not the same as modification, and warned that allowing modification risks diluting India’s statutory framework and international commitments under the New York Convention.

According to the dissent, M. Hakeem correctly reflected the law and should not have been diluted.

International Arbitration Perspective

The New York Convention, 1958

The New York Convention is the backbone of international arbitration enforcement. Article V exhaustively lists the grounds on which enforcement may be refused. It does not recognise any power to modify arbitral awards.

This omission reflects a clear global consensus: courts should not replace arbitral determinations with judicial reasoning. Modified awards may also face enforcement difficulties abroad, as they may fall outside the Convention’s scope.

The Singapore Convention

The Singapore Convention governs mediated settlement agreements, not arbitral awards. While it does not directly address modification, it reinforces the values of finality, consent, and enforcement certainty, which are equally central to arbitration.

Comparative Judicial Approaches

United States

Under Section 11 of the Federal Arbitration Act, courts may modify awards only to correct:

• evident material miscalculations

• clerical mistakes

• non-substantive imperfections

Merits review is strictly prohibited.

United Kingdom

The UK Arbitration Act permits limited variation, but strongly prefers remission to the arbitral tribunal rather than direct judicial modification.

Singapore

Singapore follows one of the most restrictive models globally, emphasising minimal judicial intervention and strong deference to arbitral finality.

Conclusion

Globally and domestically, arbitration law reflects a consistent theme: finality must be preserved. While procedural corrections and limited severance may be acceptable, substantive judicial modification remains deeply controversial.

The Gayatri Balaswamy decision introduces a narrow window for modification, but its long-term impact will depend on judicial restraint. If applied cautiously, it may enhance fairness without undermining arbitration. If expanded, it risks blurring the line between arbitration and litigation.

For India’s arbitration regime to remain internationally credible, courts must ensure that modification remains the exception, not the rule.

Article Written by 
Aarushi Aggarwal
B.COM LLB
University Institute of Legal Studies, Panjab University, Chandigarh

When a masked man robs a convenience store of ₹5,000, society reacts with instant fear. The threat feels real, visible, and immediate. The criminal is easy to identify.
But when a well-dressed executive quietly siphons ₹500 crores through shell companies and layered transactions, the public response is often muted—curiosity instead of fear.

This contrast reveals the paradox of street crime versus white-collar crime.

Street crime attacks the body. White-collar crime attacks trust—the invisible force that holds markets, institutions, and economies together. Yet, despite the far greater damage caused by financial crimes, white-collar offenders rarely inspire the same fear as common thieves.

This is not just a social oddity. It is a serious challenge for the Indian legal system:
How do you punish a criminal who looks, behaves, and speaks like a law-abiding citizen?

The Psychology of “Learned” Offending

To understand white-collar crime, we must look beyond greed.

Criminologist Donald Cressey’s Fraud Triangle explains crime through three elements:
Pressure, Opportunity, and Rationalization.

Modern behavioral psychology adds another layer: conditioning.

White-collar crime is often a learned behavior. In high-pressure corporate environments, wrongdoing is not always punished. Sometimes, it is rewarded.

When a junior employee watches a senior executive bypass compliance rules and receive bonuses instead of consequences, positive reinforcement takes place. The message is clear: misconduct works.

Over time, this creates normalization. Cutting corners becomes routine. Fraud feels like strategy.
The offender does not see themselves as a criminal—because the boardroom does not label them as one. They are not breaking the law; they are being “aggressive” in business.

Mens Rea and the Boardroom Defense

This normalization creates serious hurdles for prosecutors, especially when proving mens rea—the guilty mind.

In street crimes, intent is visible and direct.
In corporate crimes, intent is buried beneath emails, intermediaries, delegated authority, and claims of “industry practice.”

The Supreme Court has set strict standards to pierce this veil.
In Neeraj Dutta v. State (NCT of Delhi), a Constitution Bench held that for conviction under the Prevention of Corruption Act, the prosecution must prove demand and acceptance beyond reasonable doubt.

Recovery of tainted money alone is insufficient.

This safeguard protects honest officials—but also shields sophisticated offenders. White-collar criminals rarely make direct demands. They rely on gestures, signals, and unspoken arrangements.

As reaffirmed in P. Somaraju v. State of Andhra Pradesh, proving an implied demand without direct evidence remains one of the prosecution’s biggest challenges.

The Battle for Documents: Sarla Gupta and Beyond

The fight in white-collar crime cases has increasingly shifted to procedure—especially the right of the accused to access documents.

In Sarla Gupta v. Directorate of Enforcement, the Supreme Court addressed a critical issue: investigative agencies often submit only those documents that support guilt, while withholding exculpatory material collected during the same investigation.

Building on P. Ponnusamy v. State of Tamil Nadu, the Court ruled that a fair trial requires access to un-relied upon documents as well.

In financial crime cases involving thousands of pages of records, the proof of innocence often lies in what the prosecution chooses not to file.
This judgment strengthens the principle of equality of arms, ensuring that institutional power does not overpower individual rights.

Conclusion

As India moves deeper into 2026, the judiciary faces a careful balancing act.

On one side lies the need for zero tolerance toward corruption—essential for economic stability.
On the other lies the constitutional promise of a fair trial.

Complexity cannot become a shield for impunity.
At the same time, aggressive enforcement cannot override due process.

The path forward lies in stronger investigations—using forensic accounting, digital trails, and behavioral analysis—to prove intent without relying solely on oral testimony.
Until corporate cultures that reward misconduct are dismantled, the law will continue to chase crimes already committed.

Article Written by 
Shubham Verma
3rd year BA. LL.B(Hons.)
Himachal Pradesh National Law University

The rapid growth of the digital economy has completely changed how markets function across the world. In India, Big Tech companies such as Google, Amazon, and Meta now play a central role in daily economic and social life. These platforms influence how people search for information, shop online, and interact on social media.

While digital innovation has improved efficiency and consumer convenience, it has also raised serious concerns about market concentration and unfair competition. As a result, competition law in India has become a crucial tool for regulating digital markets. Regulators now face a difficult task: preventing monopolistic practices without slowing innovation.

This article examines the rise of Big Tech in India, analyses market power in digital platforms, and evaluates whether India’s existing competition law framework is sufficient to regulate these companies effectively.

Rise of Big Tech and Market Concentration in India

Big Tech companies derive their market power from network effects, economies of scale, and access to vast consumer data. In India, Google dominates the online search market and the Android mobile operating system. This dominance makes Google a powerful gatekeeper for access to digital information.

Similarly, Amazon has emerged as a major force in Indian e-commerce, influencing product visibility, pricing, and seller participation. Meanwhile, Meta, through Facebook and Instagram, controls a large share of social media engagement and digital advertising.

Because of this concentration, these platforms can shape consumer behaviour through algorithms and targeted advertising. Although this improves user experience, it also creates high entry barriers for smaller competitors. Over time, digital markets risk becoming monopolistic or oligopolistic, which may reduce innovation and harm consumers.

Competition Law Framework in India

India regulates market competition primarily through the Competition Act, 2002. The Act aims to prevent anti-competitive agreements, abuse of dominant position, and combinations that adversely affect competition. Its focus remains on consumer welfare, ensuring fair prices, quality, and innovation.

The Competition Commission of India (CCI) is responsible for enforcing the Act. It has the authority to investigate complaints, conduct inquiries, and impose penalties. Provisions related to abuse of dominance and anti-competitive conduct are particularly relevant to Big Tech companies.

In recent years, the CCI has shown increased attention toward digital markets, recognising that technology-driven platforms present challenges different from traditional industries.

Abuse of Dominance and Self-Preferencing

One of the most common allegations against Big Tech firms is abuse of dominant position through self-preferencing. This occurs when platforms prioritise their own products or services over those of competitors.

In India, Google has faced scrutiny for favouring its own services in search results and imposing restrictive conditions through the Android operating system. Such practices distort competition, even when rival products may be more innovative or efficient.

Similarly, Amazon has been accused of favouring selected sellers by providing greater visibility and logistical advantages. These actions weaken fair competition and may force smaller sellers out of the marketplace, despite consumer demand for their products.

Data Monopolisation and Competitive Harm

In the digital economy, data is a key economic asset. Big Tech firms collect and process massive volumes of user data to improve services, optimise algorithms, and deliver targeted advertising. This data advantage strengthens their market position and creates a self-reinforcing cycle of dominance.

New market entrants, who lack access to similar data, face significant disadvantages. As a result, data monopolisation becomes a non-price barrier to entry.

Beyond competition concerns, data concentration also raises serious issues related to consumer privacy and transparency. Dominant platforms often integrate data across multiple services, further entrenching their control over digital ecosystems. Indian regulators are increasingly recognising that traditional competition tools must adapt to address these challenges.

International Operations and Regulatory Challenges

Regulating Big Tech is further complicated by their global operations. These companies operate across multiple jurisdictions, each with different legal standards. While regions like the European Union and the United States have introduced stronger digital competition regulations, India still faces coordination challenges.

The lack of international cooperation allows companies to exploit regulatory gaps and engage in forum shopping. Therefore, effective regulation requires not only domestic legal reform but also cross-border regulatory cooperation to address global anti-competitive conduct.

Conclusion

The growing dominance of Big Tech presents a complex challenge for competition law in India. Although the Competition Act, 2002 provides a strong foundation, its application to digital markets must continuously evolve.

Issues such as self-preferencing, data monopolisation, and market foreclosure expose the limitations of traditional competition analysis. Stronger enforcement, sector-specific regulations, and increased transparency are essential to address these concerns.

Ultimately, India must strike a careful balance between encouraging innovation and ensuring fair competition. Only then can the benefits of the digital economy be shared equitably among businesses and consumers.

References

• Vidhil Legal Policy Centre – Bridging the Gap
  https://vidhilegalpolicy.in/blog/bridging-the-gap/

• CCI Journal – Digital Competition Analysis
  https://ccijournal.in/index.php/ccijoclp/article/view/197

• Regulation.org.uk – Evolution of Competition Law in India
  https://regulation.org.uk/competition-india-evolution.html

Article written by
Mukul Yadav
B.A. LL.B (2nd Year)
Bennett University, Greater Noida

The doctrine of corporate personality is a cornerstone of company law, recognising a company as a legal entity separate from its shareholders, directors, and associated companies. This principle, firmly established in Salomon v. Salomon & Co., promotes commercial certainty and limits personal liability.

However, Indian courts have consistently held that this separation cannot be misused to commit fraud, evade statutory obligations, or defeat public interest. In such circumstances, courts may lift or pierce the corporate veil to identify the real actors behind the corporate façade.

Supreme Court’s Evolving Approach: Substance Over Form

In recent years, the Supreme Court of India has adopted a purposive and substance-based approach while applying this doctrine, particularly in matters involving group companies, insolvency proceedings, and economic offences.

Rather than relying solely on formal corporate structures, the Court has examined the actual control, decision-making authority, and commercial realities underlying corporate arrangements.

Piercing the Veil Under the Insolvency and Bankruptcy Code, 2016

A clear shift is visible in insolvency jurisprudence under the Insolvency and Bankruptcy Code, 2016. In ArcelorMittal India Pvt. Ltd. v. Satish Kumar Gupta, the Supreme Court analysed layered group structures to determine control and beneficial ownership, holding that corporate separation cannot be used to bypass statutory disqualifications.

This approach has since been reiterated in multiple IBC decisions, reinforcing that group entities acting in concert may be treated as a single economic unit where the facts so justify.

Corporate Veil in Cases of Fraud and Tax Evasion

The Court has also pierced the corporate veil in cases involving tax evasion, sham transactions, and fraudulent conduct. In State of Rajasthan v. Gotan Limestone Khanij Udyog, the Supreme Court emphasised that where corporate entities are used as mere instruments to avoid legal responsibility, courts are entitled to look beyond the corporate form.

The underlying principle remains that incorporation should not become a tool for injustice.

Lifting the Veil: An Exception, Not the Rule

At the same time, the Supreme Court has been careful to reiterate that lifting the corporate veil is an exception, not the norm. In Balwant Rai Saluja v. Air India Ltd., the Court clarified that the veil may be pierced only in exceptional circumstances such as fraud, improper conduct, or when a statute so permits.

Genuine corporate groups operating with transparency and legal compliance continue to enjoy the protection of separate legal personality.

Practical Implications for Group Companies

For corporate groups, these developments have significant implications. Businesses must ensure clear governance structures, maintain arm’s length dealings between group entities, and avoid excessive financial or managerial intermingling.

Effective documentation and compliance mechanisms are now essential safeguards against judicial scrutiny.

Conclusion: A Balanced Judicial Trend

In conclusion, recent Supreme Court trends reflect a balanced judicial approach upholding corporate autonomy while firmly discouraging abuse of the corporate form.

As Indian corporate law continues to evolve, courts are increasingly guided by the principle of substance over form, making responsible corporate structuring and governance a legal imperative.

Article Written by 
Eva Chalia
3rd Year, BBA LLB (Hons), NMIMS Chandigarh 

“The drone is no longer just a machine. It is a doctrine, a dilemma, and a danger—especially when the sky above South Asia grows crowded.”

Drone warfare has transformed modern conflict. What began as a tool for surveillance has now become a central instrument of military strategy, raising serious ethical, legal, and humanitarian concerns—particularly for civilian populations.

India’s Dilemma: Between Innovation and Restraint

Global discussions on drone warfare often focus on the United States, Russia, or Israel. India, however, occupies a unique position. It is both a developing drone power and a geographically exposed nation, sharing some of the world’s most volatile borders with Pakistan and China.

For India, civilian protection is not a theoretical concern—it is a strategic necessity as the country accelerates the militarisation of its drone ecosystem.

From Surveillance to Strike: India’s Drone Evolution

India’s engagement with drone technology initially focused on non-combat roles.

In 2013, drones were deployed to map flood-affected regions of Uttarakhand, reaching areas inaccessible to human rescuers and aiding disaster relief operations.

Similarly, in internal security operations, the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) effectively used unarmed drones to monitor Maoist-affected areas in Bastar, improving situational awareness without kinetic force.

A strategic shift became visible with Operation Sindoor (2025)—India’s retaliation following the Pahalgam terrorist incident. This operation marked the integration of drones with standoff weapons, enabling real-time precision strikes.

India Today

India is currently:

• Procuring armed drone swarms and autonomous surveillance systems

• Deploying loitering munitions such as Harop, capable of kamikaze-style attacks

• Building an indigenous drone ecosystem with over 550 Indian drone companies (Drone Federation of India, 2024)

Despite this rapid expansion, India lacks a publicly available drone warfare doctrine, clear rules of engagement, civilian casualty protocols, or transparency guidelines.

The Civilian Question: What If India Strikes First?

The 2021 drone attack on Jammu Airbase signalled a new era of aerial threats. However, critical concerns arise when India itself becomes the striking party:

• Who verifies targets in real time?

• What safeguards ensure militant targets are not embedded in civilian areas?

• Who is accountable if AI systems misidentify civilians?

These concerns are not hypothetical. In Myanmar, insurgent groups using improvised and 3D-printed drones have repeatedly misfired, causing civilian harm. In Gaza, AI-supported targeting systems have underestimated civilian presence, leading to significant non-combatant casualties.

India is not immune to these risks.

South Asia’s Unique Escalation Risk

Unlike the U.S. or Israel, India operates in a nuclearised and crisis-prone region. A drone strike causing civilian casualties in Pakistan-controlled territory could trigger diplomatic crises, military retaliation, or even nuclear signalling.

As one analyst notes:
“Without shared rules and restraints, drones will become crisis-makers rather than deterrent tools.”

India’s Regulatory Gap: Innovation Without Ethics

India’s Draft Civil Drone (Promotion and Regulation) Bill, 2025 introduces strict licensing, certification, and penalties—but only for civilian and commercial drones.

There is no comparable regulation governing:

• Armed military drones

• Automated or AI-driven targeting systems

• Cross-border drone strikes with civilian impact

In effect, India maintains stricter rules for recreational drones than for military ones.

What India Must Do—Before It’s Too Late

India’s technological advancement has outpaced its ethical and legal safeguards. Immediate steps are required.

1. Publish a Military Drone Doctrine

Clear guidelines must define when and how drones can be deployed, particularly for preventive strikes, with explicit civilian protection standards.

2. Establish a Civilian Harm Assessment & Reporting Body

An independent military-civilian mechanism should investigate, document, and report allegations of civilian harm.

3. Negotiate South Asian Drone Norms

India, Pakistan, and China should pursue:

• No-first-use pledges for military drones

• Shared early-warning mechanisms

• Hotlines for drone incidents along the LoC and LAC

4. Regulate Autonomous Lethality

Fully autonomous lethal drones should be prohibited. Mandatory human-in-the-loop verification must remain non-negotiable.

5. Export Responsibly

As India emerges as a drone exporter, strict end-use controls are essential to prevent misuse abroad.

Conclusion: Power Without Principle Is Peril

India stands at the threshold of a drone-powered security era. Yet, technological power without ethical restraint is dangerous.

If India seeks global leadership in security affairs, it must match military capability with robust legal and moral frameworks.

The sky is no longer a limit—it is a test.

References

• Drone Federation of India. (2024). India’s growing unmanned systems ecosystem.

• Geospatial World. (2013). Mapping the Uttarakhand floods using UAV imagery.

• Israel Aerospace Industries. (2020). Harop loitering munition system: Technical specifications.

• Khan, S. (2024). Drone Escalation in South Asia: Time for New Norms. Modern Diplomacy.

• Panda, A. (2023). South Asia’s Rising Drone Threat: Escalation Risks in a Nuclearised Neighbourhood. The Diplomat.

• Press Information Bureau. (2025). Draft Drone (Regulation) Bill 2025. Ministry of Civil Aviation, Government of India.

• Schmitt, M. N., & Williams, H. (2024). Artificial Intelligence and the Future of Targeting. CNAS.

• The Hindu. (2021). Drone attack on Jammu airbase marks a new phase in cross-border tactics.

• Zerodha. (2022). The Rise of Drone Warfare Across India’s Borders. Zerodha Daily Brief.

Article written by
Saloni Rana
3rd year, NMIMS, Chandigarh

India’s Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023 (DPDP Act) [1] introduced a remarkable new law that regulates the handling of digital personal data comprehensively. Even though the Act is built on a rights-based principle, children’s data is more protected than that of the other categories of individuals since they are more vulnerable and have a smaller ability to give meaningful consent. The obligations established by this Act in the above-mentioned context are discussed ahead.

Statutory Scope and the Child-Centric Framework

The DPDP Act, as per S.2(f), characterises a child as “an individual who is not yet eighteen years old”. This is in accordance with Indian legal frameworks like the Juvenile Justice Act and the Indian Majority Act but goes against the trend of most international privacy laws like the GDPR [2], which allows some digital consent at ages 13-16, depending on the country.

The Act applies to all data fiduciaries that deal with children’s personal data, regardless of their location, as long as the data is about individuals in India [3]. The law highlights the need for informed consent, accountability, and the prevention of harm; thus, children are granted extra protection. Apart from restrictions on tracking, behavioural monitoring, and advertising targeting minors, these extra protections also include limitations on such activities directed at children.

Verifiable Parental Consent

The Act necessitates that data fiduciaries get the verifiable consent of a parent or legal guardian before they can process any personal data of a child [4]. The term “verifiable” consent sets apart a simple parent’s statement from proof that can be objectively confirmed. This consent is needed unless the processing relates to essential services such as healthcare, education, or real-time safety [5].

The Act, similarly to the Draft [6], still requires a parent or legal guardian (“Parent”) to give verifiable consent for every processing of a child’s personal data [7], with the way of verification to be specified in the rules (“Consent”) [8]. Nevertheless, it extends this obligation by making it a requirement for Data Fiduciaries [9] to obtain such verifiable consent not just for children but also before processing the personal data of persons with disabilities who have a guardian appointed.

The industry viewpoints propose that the Act should differentiate between high-risk processing (e.g. profiling for social media purposes) and low-risk processing (e.g. providing necessary educational services) so that proportional requirements can be applied. Nevertheless, the DPDP regime remains strict and uniform across all sectors as it has one precautionary compliance threshold.

Age-Verification Mechanisms and Implications

The Data Protection Act enforces Data Fiduciaries to ascertain the age of the child before obtaining the parent’s consent, and the Draft Rules offer alternatives like self-declaration along with parental checks, government-ID verification, third-party verification services, and AI-based inference tools.

Each method has advantages and disadvantages. Self-declaration is inexpensive but unreliable; ID-based verification increases accuracy but also raises concerns about excessive data collection and dependence on digital IDs; centralised third-party systems raise security risks in case of a data breach; and AI-based estimation tools are subject to variability and bias issues.

Such verification requirements could have a negative effect on the ability of teenagers to express themselves freely and maintain anonymity. While international regimes such as the UK’s Age-Appropriate Design Code and the EU’s GDPR highlight the importance of flexibility and data minimisation, India chooses a more stringent KYC-style compliance approach.

Exemptions and the Limits of Parental Consent

The DPDP Act provides certain processing exemptions that are crucial in contexts where delays in obtaining parental consent could impede essential services. The Act also prohibits tracking, monitoring of behaviour, and advertising tailored to children [10].

While this is consistent with global best practices, it also creates operational difficulties for platforms that rely on personalisation to deliver adaptive learning content. The major challenge the Act poses is the lack of a digital guardianship system, thereby creating difficulty in identifying the proper consent-giver.

Enforcement, Penalties, and Compliance Best Practices

The Data Protection Board of India (DPB) has been given the authority to execute the Act, issue orders, and impose heavy fines. The most serious violations involving children’s data may attract severe penalties, including bans on processing, removal of illegally collected data, or mandatory changes in internal policies.

The Draft Rules also call for privacy-by-design, meaning that products must have built-in safeguards from the very beginning of development. While companies are grappling with operational uncertainty, industry bodies have urged the government to clarify acceptable verification methods, certify third-party verifiers, and provide simplified compliance pathways for low-risk services.

Conclusion

The DPDP Act is a major step in protecting children’s data. This data protection regime hinges on age-verification and verifiable parental consent mechanisms. While the protective intent of the law is clear, its practical implementation raises serious concerns regarding inclusivity, privacy, and feasibility. India now has the opportunity to build a data governance model that is child-centric, power-respecting, privacy-protective, and innovation-enabling.

References

[1] DPDP Act 2023; Ministry of Electronics and Information Technology (MeitY), 2024; PRS, 2023
[2] Article 8, General Data Protection Regulation, European Union
[3] Section 2, DPDP Act 2023
[4] Section 9, DPDP Act 2023
[5] DPDP Rules, 2025 Notified, A Citizen-Centric Framework for Privacy Protection and Responsible Data Use, November 17, 2025
[6] Section 10(1), Draft 2023
[7] Section 2(t), DPDP Act
[8] Section 9(1), DPDP Act 2023
[9] Section 2(i), DPDP Act
[10] Section 9(5), DPDP Act 2023

Article Written by 
Nimisha Berry
B.B.A LL.B (Hons.) 3rd Year
Narsee Monjee Institute of Management Studies, Chandigarh Campus

Artificial Intelligence and the Changing Nature of Creativity

As the world transitions into an era of advanced technology, artificial intelligence (AI) has evolved beyond performing simple tasks such as text analysis, formulating responses, or generating basic outputs. Modern AI systems are now capable of performing self-autonomous functions and engaging in highly complex tasks with minimal or no human intervention. Artificial intelligence refers to the simulation of human-like abilities, including problem-solving and critical thinking.

With the pragmatic evolution of this disruptive technology, creativity—once considered an exclusive trait of the human race—has entered the technological domain. This development complicates the application of intellectual property rights (IPR) laws and necessitates a fundamental shift in the existing legal framework.

Read more: Is Artificial Intelligence a Boon or a Bane in the Legal Profession?

Overview of Intellectual Property Rights in India

The intellectual property rights framework in India primarily aims to protect creations of the human mind, including literary works, inventions, designs, symbols, and confidential information. These protections are granted through various legal mechanisms such as patents, copyrights, trademarks, geographical indications, and designs.

Copyright refers to an author’s original literary, artistic, musical, or dramatic work and is governed by the Copyright Act, 1957. It grants exclusive rights over reproduction, duplication, and circulation. The Patents Act, 1970 protects inventions by granting inventors exclusive rights for a limited duration. Trademarks, governed by the Trade Marks Act, 1999, protect brand identifiers such as names, logos, symbols, and slogans. Visual and aesthetic features are safeguarded under the Designs Act, 2000.

Limitations of the Existing Legal Framework

The current legal framework is limited in scope as it recognizes only natural persons as authors or inventors and vests rights either in individuals or legal entities. The non-recognition of AI, particularly in an era dominated by rapid technological growth, creates a significant gap between societal demands and the outdated legislative framework.

This gap becomes evident when existing laws fail to adapt to the evolving realities of technology-driven creativity and innovation.

Artificial Intelligence and Copyright Law

Artificial intelligence is no longer confined to scientists or professionals; it is widely used by the general public to create art, literature, images, and music. Under Indian law, copyright protection is granted only to humans, with originality being a key requirement.

Section 2(d) of the Copyright Act, 1957 defines an author as a person who causes the work to be created, thereby making the law human-centric. As a result, purely autonomous AI-generated works without meaningful human involvement fall outside the scope of copyright protection.

A critical question arises as to whether works created using AI satisfy the requirement of originality, since they are products of simulated intelligence rather than the human mind. Through judicial interpretation and practice, it has become settled that where a human initiates and controls the creative process using AI, that individual may be regarded as the author and can claim copyright protection.

Patent Law Challenges and AI-Generated Inventions

The primary challenges in the patent regime include issues of authorization, ownership, jurisdiction, and enforcement. Authorship and ownership remain grey areas under the Patents Act, 1970, which recognizes only natural persons as inventors.

Patent protection requires compliance with criteria such as novelty, inventive step, and industrial applicability. Under Indian law, only humans may apply for patent protection, thereby excluding artificial intelligence from eligibility. Consequently, inventions generated through AI are considered to belong to the individual directing the AI rather than the AI itself.

Section 3(k) of the Patents Act and Computer-Related Inventions

Section 3 of the Patents Act, 1970 lists subject matter that does not qualify as an invention. Section 3(k) specifically excludes mathematical methods, business methods, computer programmes per se, and algorithms from patentability.

To address technological advancements, the Office of the Controller General of Patents, Designs, and Trademarks (CGPDTM) issued the Guidelines for Examination of Computer-Related Inventions (CRIs), 2025. These guidelines aim to align Indian patent examination with international standards while improving clarity and consistency.

The updated guidelines contain a detailed chapter on inventions involving emerging technologies such as blockchain, cloud computing, quantum computing, artificial intelligence (AI), machine learning (ML), and deep learning (DL). In addition to 20 examples in the main text, an annexure provides 40 illustrative examples outlining permissible and prohibited claims under Section 3(k).

AI-Generated Trademarks and Brand Identity

Under the Trade Marks Act, 1999, trademarks used in business and professions—including symbols, logos, and slogans—are protected. However, the legal status of trademarks generated by artificial intelligence remains uncertain.

With the increasing use of AI in designing logos and brand identities, trademark and copyright laws still require registration in the name of a natural person to fall within the protective legal framework.

Policy Developments and the Way Forward

Indian authorities have recognized the need to reassess intellectual property laws in light of artificial intelligence and other emerging technologies. Policy discussions have emphasized exploring methods to integrate AI-generated works into patent, trademark, and copyright systems.

India’s participation in international forums such as the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) reflects its effort to balance domestic policy autonomy with global legal trends. Recent academic studies and law review articles support clearer statutory guidance on ownership and inventorship of AI-assisted outputs, alongside calibrated protection that encourages innovation without granting rights to non-person entities.

This necessitates a transition from the existing framework towards a more inclusive and technologically responsive intellectual property regime.

Article Written by
Damita
BA LLB Hons, 4th Year
Narsee Monjee Institute of Management Studies, Navi Mumbai