At the condolence meeting of the Bombay Bar Association held on Monday, 2nd August 2010, several members paid tributes to Mr Atul Setalvad.

Atul Setalvad: A Tribute

by Tehmtan R. Andhyarujina, Senior Advocate
(This was read by Mr Darius B. Shroff, Senior Advocate)

I regret I am unable to be present at this meeting of the Bombay Bar Association to join in our grief at the passing away of Atul Setalvad. I would like to pay my tribute to my friend and colleague Atul of over 50 years with a few words.

Atul was a man of character, courage and conviction. These qualities were reflected in his career as a lawyer.

We both joined Seervai’s chamber as his juniors at about the same time in 1958. Seervai initially dissuaded Atul from joining his chamber but as his father Motilal Setalvad persisted Atul joined our chambers. However, once Seervai came to know Atul he had the highest respect for Atul’s abilities. Within a short time, Atul made his mark by his learning, clarity of thinking and industry.

In his early days when we juniors did not have a substantial practice Atul edited Mulla’s Stamp Duty Act, assiduously rewriting the whole book in his own handwriting. Later, he edited Mulla’s T.P. Act jointly with his father with the same diligence. This was the beginning of his academic side writing several legal books, the last one being on the law of Sales Tax.

He was always meticulous in the preparation of his brief, with short notes written in his neat handwriting. So good were his notes that even Seervai often relied on them.

His advocacy in court was typical of the man. It was direct, concise and to the point without embellishments or sycophancy to the judge. Like his father, having made his point he did not repeat it trusting the judge was competent to appreciate it.

Though in due course he commanded a large and remunerative practice he offered his services in many pubic interest cases particularly in matters of the environment of Bombay. He took up the cause of air hostesses who were discriminated in their service conditions by Air India. I was for Air India. I vividly remember his very forceful and persuasive arguments in the Supreme Court in Air India vs. Nergiz Mirza in 1989. The land mark judgment in that case ended sex discrimination in public sector undertakings.

Atul did not flaunt his considerable achievements in law his distinguished lineage. He did not even put his title of doctor of laws from the London University to his name. Like Oliver Wendell Holmes the most distinguished judge of the US Supreme Court, he believed that the best thing one can do in life is to hammer out as compact and solid a piece of work as one can, to make it first rate and leave it unadvertised. What a contrast to our present day distinguished lawyers who are seen on TV every day. He combined in him the high traditions and values in life which his father Motilal and Seervai set.

Though our paths diverged in due course, I retained an abiding respect for him at all times. Early this year I was deeply distressed to know of his terminal sickness, and on my visits to Bombay I visited him and we recounted the days of old in Seervai’s chamber and in the High Court. The last time I met him was on 24th May of this year. On that occasion I had a premonition that I may be seeing him for the last time. I said in jest that perhaps in the four generations of the Setalvads his daughter Teesta had achieved the greatest fame by her social activism. He laughingly agreed. And that is true. The Setalvad name and reputation still survives with Teesta’s courageous fight against communalism in the Supreme Court and in the public.

Lawyers will come and go in abundance but it is rare that we will have persons of the stuff of Atul.

When the day that he had to go came he passed away peacefully. All the trumpets must have sounded for him on the other side.

(Mr R. A. Dada, Senior Advocate, spoke after Mr Andhyarujina’s message was read. Unfortunately, the text of Mr Dada’s speech is presently unavailable)

A Personal Tribute to Mr.Atul M. Setalvad

by Mr C.M. Korde, Senior Advocate

One of the most fortunate things in my life was that I got an opportunity to join the chamber of Mr.Atul Setalvad.

I vividly remember my first meeting which took place in his chamber — chamber No.6 in the High Court Annexe.

It was a brief meeting in the year 1972 which lasted for less than 5 minutes. He said “I don’t think I am a good senior for you. I am a non-communicative and reserved person. I don’t go much to the miscellaneous court or the commercial court”. I persisted and said that I was very keen to join his chamber. He said “you can join my chamber but if at any time you feel that you wish to leave, you are most welcome to do so”. The only reason why I was allowed to join his chamber was that I had gone to him with a strong recommendation from a person to whom he could not say no — Mr.S.Y. Rege of Crawford Bayley. My friend Mr.Ravi Kulkarni had also used his good offices in support of my candidature.

He genuinely believed that he would not make a good senior. Hardly did he realise that he was without question one of the best seniors anybody could get. As far as I was concerned, he was the best.

I found him to be the opposite of non-communicative. For the first three years, for all practical purposes, I was the only junior with him — Sudhir Sakhardande was in the process of leaving the chamber and joining his brother Milind, who had a flourishing practice in the City Civil Court.

During our interactions in the chamber, whenever he was a little free, he used to talk a lot on various topics relating to the law, economics, politics and history. These were serious discussions during which he was the one who did most of the talking.

I was struck by his sharp intellect, the wide sweep of his knowledge and the depth of his thinking.

He was fantastically well read not only in the field of law but outside the field of law as well. His reading was mostly serious reading — in diverse fields - history, economics, politics etc.

He was the most widely read person that I have come across in my life — and I cannot imagine that anybody could be better read than he was. I think this was the result of three factors: (1) He had a passion for reading; (2) he had a razor sharp mind, a very fast mind which instantly absorbed whatever he read. The speed at which he could read and absorb what he read was unbelievable; (3) The time which he gave to the activity of reading. He was not interested in distractions like music, films, the T.V. (except the news), not even T.V. coverage of cricket matches or other sports. He was not fond of socialising.

Next to reading, he loved writing. His writing was effortless and fluent — precise, clear and to the point. He could draft pleadings or settle pleadings, or write opinions even when waiting in court for a matter to reach. His concentration was so intense that he hardly had to read it a second time to check whether he had made an error anywhere or missed a point.

Several years ago he wrote several excellent articles in the Times of India at the request of Ms.Dina Vakil, who was then the Executive Editor of the Bombay Edition of the Times. I vividly recollect an incident. We had gone for a matter to Delhi. We were at a restaurant at the Oberoi having dinner. A lawyer from Madras was also there. In the course of our conversation and dinner, he wrote out an entire article in his neat and fluent handwriting and handed it over to us to read. We were stunned. It was perfect and did not require any change — not a word here or there.

His intellectual qualities were formidable but there were others which were far greater. These related to things which are on a higher plane than dazzling intellectual achievements - these fall in the realm of values, principles and character.

His integrity and honesty was total. When he argued in court there was no distortion of facts or the law. There was no attempt to confuse the judge. He fought his cases hard and did full justice to the case. However, the approach was not that you must win at any cost.

He was not money minded or commercial at all. He charged fees which he considered fair and reasonable even though there were many others who were charging much higher fees. His was not a case where he could not have charged higher fees — Solicitors and Clients would have gladly paid had he charged higher. He, however, chose to charge what he considered fair, without any consideration for the prevalent trends in the “market”.

The amount of pro bono work which he did at the cost of paid work was phenomenal. He fought a number of PIL cases on an ongoing basis.

There was a man called Vajubhai, who was a headmaster of a school. Injustice had been done to Vajubhai by a rich and powerful man who controlled the management. Atulbhai took up Vajubhai’s cause and fought an epic litigation for Vajubhai totally free — several rounds before the Charity Commissioner, the City Civil Court and the High Court. Over those few years, every junior in his chamber appeared with him in one or the other rounds in the Vajubhai epic. The amount of time and effort which he gave to Vajubhai was phenomenal — I cannot think of anybody else doing anything like that.

His humility was striking. He never mentioned his name as Dr.Setalvad or Barrister Setalvad. There were occasions when some very big people came to the chamber to compliment him and thank him on his brilliant performance in a matter. He used to be visibly embarrassed on such occasions and did not know what to say. All that he would say was “I just did my job.”

His juniors were extremely fortunate. He was a father figure to us. Whenever we had any difficulty on any point relating to our cases we would habitually go to him for advice and guidance. And he was always available — howsoever busy he was. He took as much interest in our cases as his own.

He was a man who could sometimes be very rough with the high and mighty but who was very soft and gentle while dealing with the so called “small people” — peons, servants, drivers. He never hurt them or shouted at them and always treated them with respect.

Today afternoon, I called Arvind, who is the seniormost peon in the chamber and told him that a Condolence Meeting was going to be held in the evening at which I was going to speak. I told him to talk to the other peons and meet me after half an hour and tell me what where his thoughts about Atul Saheb.

He came back and almost in tears, said only three sentences in Marathi which I took down verbatim. The same are reproduced below. I have also put a free English translation of the same.

I have nothing more to add to what Arvind said in just three sentences about Atul Saheb.

Atul Setalvad and the Subversion of Books

by Gautam Patel, Advocate

Mr Justice Vazifdar, Mr Kapadia, President of the Association, Mr Zaiwalla, Vice-President, Mr Rao, Honorary Secretary, members of Atul Setalvad’s family, his juniors, and friends.

Even after all these years, it still feels odd that, of all the people of his age and standing, even the most raw junior referred to him only by his first name, even when addressing him directly. No disrespect was intended, no offence taken. That is how he wanted it. He was a man who lived and breathed the concepts and ideals of freedom, democracy and equality, and it began with himself. He was not sir, not Mr Setalvad, not even Atulbhai. Just Atul.

Last week, a few days after he died, I wrote a lengthy article about Atul. It’s not so much an obituary, or even an eulogy. It’s an entirely personal piece — some memories, some reflections, some impressions of what I held him to be, and all the many feelings that I’d never expressed while he lived. Later, his family, juniors and many friends all said they were moved by what I wrote, that it echoed their own feelings. I did not write it for that or any other reason, but simply because, at that moment, I had to. That piece has become the invaluable of things, the last of many gifts we received from Atul. This one comes from him from the Great Beyond, a reaffirmation of a bond we will always share.

I have not much left to say after that. There are only two things I do want to touch upon. The first is about his imagination of the law. He was not only lettered in law as few are. He understood, perhaps more than anyone else I know, its contours and profile and, quite literally, what lies beneath. Just one example. Sixteen years before it was even a dream, Atul formulated a proposition on the citizens’ right to information. He asked us to draft a writ claiming this right. It was a dodgy draft, unsure of its footing. Atul settled it, and the final version looked like nothing we’d imagined. He argued it before, I think, a bench headed by Justice Dharmadhikari sitting in Court Room 54. We succeeded. The proposition was upheld. That local residents are entitled to information and inspection of building proposals coming up in their localities, and social action groups to this information throughout the area of their work. Not just entitled. As a matter of constitutional right. Atul envisioned this as integral to our fundamental rights. He saw the constitutional underpinnings of it long before the statute makers.

The Supreme Court upheld the decision. That was, of course, back in the day, when the Supreme Court did that sort of thing, upheld judgements that were right and not just overturn the Bombay High Court simply because it was the Bombay High Court. The decision is still good law. At some point, the Ministry of Environment & Forests published it itself in a nice green booklet. We called it the “Tom, Dick And Harry” judgement because it says something to the effect that “we are not dealing here with any Tom, Dick or Harry. We are dealing with responsible citizens and social action groups.” Those were Atul’s words, in arguments, and in conference.

The second matter is that great love he and I and some others like Navroz and Shyam Divan shared, a sort of pathological obsession with books, the notion that reading is like breathing. We can’t live without it.

Atul had many friends but I believe among his closest and dearest were his books. To read is to be enriched beyond calculation, and to be able to read like he did is a privilege: astute, fast, attentive, with complete absorption. His reading was discerning, too, a perennial quest for knowledge, and he abhorred quietly but intensely any assault on what he considered to be an inviolate, sacred space, the space occupied by learning, most of all self-learning. When the Bhandarkar Oriental Institute in Pune was ransacked by hoodlums over Laine’s book on Shivaji, I sent out an appeal to friends for donations to the Institute, and the first request was to Atul. I sent my peon to him with a note. The peon came back with a very large cheque.

There is a connection, too, between his vision of justice, freedom, democracy and equality and reading, and of no one is this more true than Atul.

A passage in Alberto Manguel’s brilliant “A History of Reading” captures this with uncanncy accuracy. Manguel writes:

“But not only totalitarian governments fear reading. … Almost everywhere, the community of readers has an ambiguious reputation that comes from its acquired authority and perceived power. Something in the relationship between a reader and a book is recognized as wise and fruitful, but it is also seen as disdainfully exclusive and excluding, perhaps because the image of an individual curled up in a corner, seemingly oblivious of the grumblings of the world, suggests impenetrable privacy …

… [W]ith increasing effect, the artificial dichotomy between life and reading is actively encouraged by those in power. Demotic regimes demand that we forget, and therefore they brand books as superfluous luxuries; totalitarian regimes demand that we not think, and therefore they ban and threaten and censor; both, by and large, require that we become stupid and that we accept our degradation meekly, and therefore, they encourage the consumption of pap. In such circumstances, readers cannot but be subversive.”

If I must imagine Atul in another world than ours, I should like to imagine him in a vast and limitless library, surrounded by thousands of books, always reading.

A Personal Tribute to Atul M Setalvad

by N H Seervai, Senior Advocate

When England’s finest cricketers met to dedicate the Grace Gates at Lords to that all — encompassing phenomenon, W.G.Grace, they first attempted to find one word that would best describe him. It was Tom Emmett who, to universal approbation, coined that word. He said that W.G. was a “non-such.” Those who knew Atul intimately, would, I believe, agree that that word could equally apply to him. Atul was indeed a “nonsuch.”

But I think one could equally call Atul the “impossible” man. He was at times impossible to deal with. But it was also impossible to read as swiftly as he could; it was impossible to digest and then dissect a complex legal problem (invariably buried in a voluminous brief) not only as quickly, but as clearly and surely as he did; it was impossible to draft as brilliantly yet as sparsely and tersely as he drafted; and alas it was impossible for a junior to be of any real assistance to him. For, long before you had read the brief, digested it, and made your ever-so-tentative notes and chronology, he had done it all himself; and mastered the case law to boot. Yet, he never made you feel inadequate, or that, as his junior in the matter, you had not done your work. Even as a senior, as far as he was concerned, it was his job, and he did it without fuss or bother, day in and day out.

As we returned to the annexe after the admission of a relatively trifling matter, I was mortified that Atul had hand-written his own notes and chronology. “Do you do this in every matter?” I sheepishly asked. A flicker of a smile and he shot back: “Of course. We learnt this from your father; and it is no more and no less than what he did in all his matters.”

It is not for me to extol his manifold virtues and talents as an advocate and a lawyer par excellence. But 3 things I must say. Atul was an intellectual giant, with a mind that was swift, razor-sharp, deep and crystal clear. But Atul, though he could have, did not rest on his intellect alone. To it he added the most astounding capacity for hard and meticulous work. But above all, he held himself to impossibly high standards — not only of excellence, but of integrity, rectitude and professional ethics. You may have loved or hated Atul, but no one would dare to even remotely suggest that a statement made by him, be it of fact or law, was misleading or mischievous, let alone false. And so for 30 years and more, he was the reference point on all matters of professional conduct and propriety; and one and all turned to him for advise and guidance.

Realistically speaking, I first met Atul when I was 3. I last saw him 7 weeks before he mercifully passed away. In those 50 years, he became as much a part of my life as my father.

And so you can well understand why I should be overwhelmed by the myriad memories that come to mind. Memories of the young Atul in Chamber No.24, at Nirant, at the PVM Gymkhana, at our home, and at all our functions. And from the early days, a particularly vivid memory of our holiday in Coonoor, when we met up several times with Atul and his family, holidaying in Ooty with his parents.

And ever so many more during the 10 years that I chambered with Raman Joshi and him. During those years we lunched together almost daily; worked on matters; talked incessantly on subjects of common interest; and often began the day at Coffee Centre.

To converse with Atul was both an intellectual treat and a learning experience. To laugh and joke with him, was to see a side of his that few were privileged to glimpse. He had a dry, wry sense of humour. And if he made you the butt of his jokes, he took as good as he gave. Atul could be rude; he could be brusque, curt, aloof, distant. Many saw this side of him, and typed him accordingly. But those for whom he made space and allowed entry into his “enchanted forest”, knew Atul in a different light. For behind the mask was a man with a degree of warmth, kindliness, concern and generosity, which it is impossible to describe. It could only be experienced.

You would be showered with gifts for no apparent reason and without an occasion for the same. I would come home and find a book on the dining table. No fancy wrapping, no effusive inscription, just, “For Navroz, from Atul”. And a scribbled note: “Thought you’d like it. Atul”. Or you’d receive a parcel with a shawl or material or sweetmeats. You’d phone to thank him and enquire as to why another gift. “Sita got it. She thought you’d like it”. And before you could thank him and Sita, you heard the familiar click as the phone was cut.

On an early morning trip to Delhi on a Sunday, I spent the previous night at Nirant. “How are you going to the airport?” he asked. “By cab” “Certainly not, I’ll drop you”. All protest was in vain. And so at 5.30 Atul got into his car and drove me to the airport. Dilip Phataphekar just could not believe it. “Was that really Atul?” he kept asking.

Atul loved reading; loved his work; loved his close friends. But above all, he loved his family with an all consuming passion. It would be hard, if not impossible, to find a more devoted and loving husband and father. And yet, no father gave greater space to his children. If the test of a true liberal is how you bring up your children, then Atul was the ultimate liberal.

Atul had no interest in, and no time for music. He made no bones about it. Not for him the hypocracy of pretence to love or understand music — and to dilate upon it, howsoever superficially.

And so I ruefully smiled to myself as I wondered if I should sum up Atul and his life in those memorable words written for Frank Sinatra: “I did it my way”. For if there was a man who lived his life as he believed, he should — and damn the consequences — it was Atul. Yes, Atul, you did it your way, however hard it was, and regardless of the consequences. And consequences there were, believe you me.

But I could not end with Frank Sinatra. My background forbids it. So I moved on to more familiar territory. So many words and lines could fittingly sum up this most remarkable of men. The famous words in which Plato described Socrates — that of all the men of his time, he was the wisest, the justest, the best. Churchill’s tribute to his close friend F.E. also came to mind. Or Wordsworth’s haunting lines on Venice:

But I think Atul deserves nothing less than Milton — lines which in times past have been uttered in this High Court, on the passing of truly great lawyers: