Shoe-per!

How many of you knew that Dr Rakesh Kishore, the man who flung a shoe at the Chief Justice of India, happens to be a Hindu Dalit? Probably none. And how many of you knew that the Chief Justice, BR Gavai, is a Buddhist? Fewer still. That’s India for you — a land where even godmen have caste certificates and judges have faiths to be whispered in polite company.

Now, I must address our so-called "educated public" — that proud tribe which mistakes literacy for wisdom. Dear readers, just because you can write your name and sign a cheque neatly doesn’t mean you understand the world. Reading and reasoning are two different faculties — and the latter is in short supply, especially when people consume only what their local language media feeds them. You’ve been spoon-fed for so long that you’ve mistaken propaganda for enlightenment.

When every television channel in the land swears by half-truths, someone has to speak the whole one — even if it stings. Enter Dr Rakesh Kishore — not your average temple-chanting devotee, but an MSc gold medallist, LLM, PhD, and 45 years in the courts of law. A man who could have retired quietly, sipping his evening tea, but instead decided to lob a shoe at the system.

Now, before you clutch your pearls and quote Gandhi at me, listen to the why.

The good doctor’s shoe didn’t fly out of madness. It was flung in protest — a protest against mockery, arrogance, and perhaps, divine irony. When he filed a petition to restore the head of a Vishnu idol desecrated centuries ago by invaders, the bench, headed by Chief Justice BR Gavai and Justice Augustine George Masih — reportedly laughed. "Why don’t you tell the idol to fix its own head?” the CJI quipped. Laughter followed. The kind that hurts more than insult — because it reveals contempt.

A Buddhist judge, a Christian judge — and a Hindu petitioner who felt mocked for caring about his god.

Religion shouldn’t matter in court. But in India, everything does. Even silence speaks in dialects of faith.

Now, let’s take a detour into the grand nepotism of Indian democracy — that perfect blend of dynasty, divinity, and degrees. The Chief Justice’s father, RS Gavai, was no pauper: Governor of Kerala, MP, loyalist, and founder of his own party. The son did his BA, BL, and ascended steadily up the judicial ladder, now sitting atop the nation’s highest chair in black robes. Call it divine justice, or divine inheritance.

Contrast that with Dr Kishore — the Dalit who climbed on merit, not family ladders. And when he saw the mockery of what he revered, he snapped. Was it wrong? Certainly. Was it criminal? Perhaps. Was it human? Absolutely.

Even Justice Markandey Katju, never a man to mince words, said: "Chief Justice Gavai invited that shoe — and deserved it." There you have it — a judicial verdict from a retired judge, free of robes but rich in irony.

Now, one can argue endlessly about the sanctity of courts and contempt of institutions. But what about contempt for the people? What about the contempt that seeps out when judges laugh at belief, when the powerful treat petitioners as jesters? That, too, is a form of blasphemy — not against gods, but against justice itself.

Dr Kishore’s act was symbolic — one man’s footnote in the long book of Indian frustration. The courts may call it contempt. I call it Newton’s Third Law in action: every arrogance invites an equal and opposite humiliation.

India’s judicial system, like our politics, is a family affair. Power flows downward, justice trickles upward. Those who can afford lawyers like Kapil Sibal and Abhishek Singhvi get their petitions listed in a heartbeat. The rest wait for decades — until both litigant and justice are cremated.

And yet, every time the court interferes — it is usually in Hindu rituals: Sabarimala, Jallikattu, Krishna Jayanthi. Never in other faiths. Why this selective secularism? Is equality only for editorials?

We’ve become a nation where everyone claims to serve God — but very few fear Him. The man who flung a shoe was no anarchist; he was a believer pushed past patience. Like Prahlada’s faith against Hiranyakashipu’s arrogance — it wasn’t rebellion, it was reaction. Even the gods would have smiled.

In the end, one must ask: when the Chief Justice mocked Vishnu, who was truly desecrated — the idol, or the institution? Perhaps both.

And that shoe, gentlemen, was merely a reminder — that dharma, unlike justice, doesn’t always wear a black robe. Sometimes, it flies through the air.

And that, as always, is the naked truth.