Saurabh Kumar v. State of Uttar Pradesh

Citation: (2021) 5CC ONLINE All 255

Court: Allahabad High Court

Date: March 22, 2021

The March 2021 decision by the Allahabad High Court marked a critical moment in the discourse on judicial accessibility in India. This marked a significant shift in how the judiciary addresses accessibility with far-reaching implications for the judicial system. For all the fancy talk about “blind justice,” the system’s been pretty much blind—literally—to people who are blind. The irony’s almost painful, and it’s not just poetic—it’s infuriating.

FACTS  

Here is how it started: someone filed a writ petition under Article 226 like a regular public interest case on paper. In reality? It served as a strong indictment of years of institutional neglect. The petition called out how nearly impossible it is for blind or visually impaired Indians to participate in their legal cases.

Picture this: You are fighting for your rights in court, but you can’t even read your file. There is no Braille, no screen-reader-friendly docs, and not even an audio version. You have to trust somebody else to read out all the sensitive, confidential stuff. That’s not empowerment—that’s straight-up dependence. Such a setup compromises the individual’s privacy and dignity. This undermines the stated commitment to equality.

This was not just about one person obtaining relief. It was a spotlight on the thousands, maybe millions, of visually impaired who have basically been ghosted by the justice system. The case held up a mirror and revealed a stark failure: Indian courts are still stuck in the stone age when it comes to accessibility, on every front, whether it’s physical, digital, or just basic procedures.

Systemic Barriers to Judicial Accessibility

The petition exposed the depth of institutional disregard for accessibility. This is not just some courthouse fumbling around. What we are looking at is the fact of “accessibility” in the Indian judiciary. 

Have you ever noticed how every time the government rolls out some shiny digital project, there is this parade of buzzwords like “empowerment,” “transparency,” and “e-governance”. Numerous government initiatives have been accompanied by grand promises yet lack effective implementation. Then, months later, individuals with disabilities are still waiting outside—literally and metaphorically—wondering when all those promises are supposed to show up. Spoiler: they don’t.

Honestly, this whole case just forced the courts to stop admiring themselves in the mirror for a second and ask: if justice is everyone’s right, why is it still locked behind doors that some people can’t even open? Like, what’s the point of “equal justice” if blind litigants can’t even read their legal documents without help? Such a situation renders the principle of equal justice practically meaningless.

Legal Framework: What the Law Says

Now, don’t get me wrong—India isn’t lawless here. On paper, the RPWD Act of 2016 (that’s Rights of Persons with Disabilities, just in case you missed the legislative framework rich in statutory provisions and acronyms) looks pretty solid. Plus, India’s signed up for the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities—so, you know, international brownie points.

Section 3 is all about “no discrimination” and treating people with disabilities like… well, people. Section 46? That’s the bit that says, “Hey, public authorities—including courts—make your spaces and services usable for everyone.” Seems straightforward, right?

But here’s the thing: the law’s only “crystal clear” if you’re reading it off the page. Out in the real world, enforcement is a whole different beast. Most places, accessibility is just window dressing, slapped on to look good for reports. Unless someone kicks up a fuss—usually by dragging the whole thing to court—nothing moves. No meaningful implementation follows.

ISSUES RAISED:

1. Constitutional Rights Getting Steamrolled: If you can’t access court documents, you are being told, “Sorry, justice isn’t for you.” This raises constitutional concerns under Articles 14 and 21, which guarantee equality and dignity. Instead, the system is handing out second-class tickets.

2. Are Courts Just on the Hook, Or What? The RPWD Act isn’t vague here. Courts are public authorities—they’re supposed to make all legal documents accessible. Not “maybe, if we feel like it,” but “do it, or you’re breaking the law.” Yet, somehow, this still needed to be argued in court. Wild.

3. What’s “Reasonable Accommodation,” Anyway? Here’s where the legal jargon gets real. Is making docs accessible just a “nice-to-have,” or is it non-negotiable? Because if the answer isn’t clear, guess who gets left out in the cold?

4. Logistics and Money—The Usual Excuses: Of course, there’s always the argument about costs and resources. What about rural courts with ancient computers and zero funds? Does that mean some people just don’t get their rights? The court had to weigh this, raising the question of whether fundamental rights can be subjected to financial limitations.

5. Will This Change Anything Beyond UP? One of the biggest questions: Is this ruling just going to gather dust in Uttar Pradesh, or will it light a fire under the rest of the country? Because let’s be honest, unless this sets a precedent, people elsewhere are stuck in the same old run.

CONTENTION 

Okay, so picture this: the petitioners show up to court, and they’re not just shaking their fists—they’ve got the legal equivalent of well-documented evidence and legal precedents. They’re like, “Look, since Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India, (1978) 1 SCC 248, we all know you can’t have a right to life and liberty if you can’t get justice in the first place. Access to justice is the foundation, not some bonus round.” They are pointing out the obvious, but sometimes you do have to spell it out.

Then they brought in Vikash Kumar v. UPSC, (2021) 5 SCC 370, which is about how denying reasonable accommodations are short of discrimination under the RPWD Act. The petitioners argued that the failure to implement accessibility measures amounted to a clear violation of statutory obligations. Additionally, they weren’t shy about referencing international topics- the UNCRPD and its General Comment No. 2. This wasn’t just about national pride—it was a way of saying, “India, the world’s watching, and honestly, you are kind of lagging.”

What I like is that the petitioners didn’t just stand there pointing out all the flaws—they had a to-do list. They were practical: “How about court documents in Braille for people who need it? Or converting judgments into audio files? And, you know, maybe train court staff so they don’t keep dropping the ball on accessibility?” They even pointed out examples from the UK and Canada, where these things are standard.

Meanwhile, the respondents (the State of Uttar Pradesh and some bigwigs in the judiciary) were pretty much in damage control mode. You could almost hear them sighing, “Look, we have over 1,800 courts here—do you know what it would cost to revamp the whole system?!” They leaned on the “logistical nightmare” angle, which pointed out how expensive and overwhelming it would be to make all these changes. And, of course, they tried to deflect by saying, “Hey, we’ve got the e-Courts project in the works, we’re making progress—just give us some time!” This reflected a common pattern of shifting responsibility to other branches of government. This echoed a recurring institutional argument—namely, that such reforms should fall under the domain of the legislature or executive, not the judiciary. There appears to be a recurring institutional reluctance to assume responsibility.

RATIONALE 

Here is the thing—the Allahabad High Court did not exactly mince words. They said, “Look, if you’re blocking people from getting legal documents in formats they can use, it amounts to a breach of constitutional duties under Articles 14 and 21.” And they even waved Anita Kushwaha v. Pushap Sudan, (2016), 8 SCC 509 to underscore the essential nature of access to justice. Justice is not just about letting people walk into a courtroom; it is about ensuring everyone can participate.

Accessibility? That’s not some fancy extra you tack on if you’re feeling generous. It’s the bare minimum. The court even spelled out Section 46 of the RPWD Act—like, “Hey, public authorities, it’s your job to break down these barriers, not just the physical ones but the info ones too.”

The Court rejected logistical challenges as a valid excuse for non-compliance. The court shut that down by taking the case of Hussainara Khatoon v. State of Bihar, (1979) 3 SCR 532, reminding everyone that the system is supposed to have the backs of folks who need it most.

Here is the kicker: the court firmly clarified that accessibility is a statutory and constitutional obligation, not a discretionary effort. Braille, screen-reader-friendly files, audio recordings—it’s not “extra credit,” it’s literally what the law demands.

Sure, the ruling’s technically just for UP, but let’s be honest—it’s the kind of judgment that’s got the rest of the Indian judiciary looking over their shoulders. If that’s not a template for the whole country, I don’t know what is.

DEFECTS OF LAW

Now, before deeming the judgment entirely progressive, let’s talk about what the court missed. And, they missed a few big ones. First off, nobody said when any of this is supposed to happen. No deadlines, no “do this by next month or else.” So, yes, don’t be shocked if this turns into yet another endless game of “pass the file.” Bureaucracy loves a good snooze-fest.

Then there’s the focus—way too much on visual impairment. While it rightly emphasizes access for the visually impaired, it overlooks individuals with hearing, cognitive, or mobility impairments. Accessibility isn’t one-size-fits-all, but the judgment kind of acts like it is.

Money. Who’s paying for all this? The judgment doesn’t say a word. If you’re sitting in some broke district court with computers from the Stone Age and a staff of, like, two, implementation would remain unfeasible in the absence of financial support.

No one is training the people who run the courts. You can install a thousand fancy gadgets, but if the staff treats accessibility like a joke or just another box to tick, without accountability, such reforms are unlikely to yield results. Institutional attitude and awareness are as important as infrastructure in ensuring accessibility.

And finally, who is watching to make sure any of this happens? There is zero set-up for audits, feedback, or even a hotline to call if you’re running into walls. Ultimately, despite good intentions, the absence of oversight mechanisms undermines implementation.

INFERENCE 

That 2021 Allahabad High Court decision Saurabh Kumar v. State of Uttar Pradesh, (2021) SCC OnLine All 255, was more than just a “win” in court—it’s a wake-up call. It served as a reminder that justice must be inclusive and equitable. This outcome is both significant and overdue.

This time, the judges jumped in first, but now it is up to the rest—government, lawyers, court staff, law schools. Everybody has to show up if we want a legal system that walks the walk, not just talks the talk.

The ruling has ignited a conversation that demands actionable reform across the judiciary. Are we going to let it fizzle out, or finally blow up the old ways and build something better?  Your move, India.

Author:

Anushka Priya

BBA LLB (Hons) UPES, Dehradun