Fresh off North India’s almost theatrical fixation with “all things judiciary,” I remember being genuinely startled during my first semester of law school in the United States.

A sitting senior judge, who was also teaching one of our classes, would walk into the classroom carrying his own pile of books and a heavy laptop bag, deliver a super engaging lecture and, at the end, immaculately erase the whiteboard with his own two hands, as if his job was somehow tied to diligence and earnestness rather than merely the fact that he was a judge.

No fanfare. No entourage. No performative authority. No air of institutional royalty. And certainly no suggestion that ordinary tasks were somehow beneath a member of the judiciary.

Coming from India, the contrast was impossible to miss.

We Indians place judges on extraordinarily high pedestals - socially, culturally and psychologically. Judicial families often command a level of deference extending far beyond the courtroom itself. The phrase “Mi Lord” still carries an almost feudal weight in many parts of the country. Entire rooms shift in tone when a judge enters.

But the Twisha Sharma case forces an uncomfortable question into the open: While we place judges on dramatically higher pedestals in public life, do we hold them to a similarly higher standard of accountability?

This question needs to be asked, because the heart of Twisha’s matter is not merely about individual culpability. Much of the public discomfort surrounding the case appears to stem from the reported conduct that followed.

According to widely circulated reports, retired judge Giribala Singh, the mother-in-law of the deceased and mother of the accused husband, allegedly contacted influential persons soon after the incident, including individuals connected to the legal and enforcement system, and allegedly assisted her son in evading the legal process for several days. Public interviews and statements also reportedly emerged in which the deceased was characterised as mentally unstable, reckless, impulsive, or morally compromised.

Whether these allegations are ultimately substantiated is for investigators to determine. But institutionally, the optics are deeply troubling precisely because such conduct is alleged to have come from a former judicial officer.

The concern here is not actual bias, but the appearance of impropriety. That distinction matters enormously in judicial ethics jurisprudence.

For instance, the United Nation’s Commentary on the Bangalore Principles of Judicial Conduct, an internationally recognised judicial ethics framework, expressly identify “propriety” and the “appearance of propriety” as foundational obligations of judicial office. The rationale is simple - public confidence in the judiciary is damaged not only by actual misconduct, but also by conduct creating a reasonable perception of influence, favoritism, pressure, or misuse of judicial stature.

With respect to judicial integrity, the Bangalore Principles state:

The behavior and conduct of a judge must reaffirm the people’s faith in the integrity of the judiciary. Justice should not only be done, but should manifestly and undoubtedly be seen to be done.

The last sentence, of course, originates from the century-old English decision in R v. Sussex Justices [1924]

But the commentary accompanying the Bangalore Principles goes even further:

The public demands of the judge conduct that is far above that which is demanded of fellow citizens, standards of conduct that are much higher than those demanded of society as a whole. In fact, the public expects virtually irreproachable conduct from a judge.

That is the central issue raised by the Twisha matter. Not merely whether wrongdoing occurred, but whether judicial office attracts a correspondingly higher level of restraint, distance and accountability.

Accordingly, once judicial officers or judicial families become connected to serious allegations, many systems respond with heightened procedural insulation and transparency. Independent investigative agencies may be brought in. Local judges recuse themselves. Prosecutors avoid informal contact. Public commentary becomes heavily scrutinised. The objective is not to presume guilt, but to preserve public confidence that judicial proximity is not affecting ordinary process.

Indeed, one of the more institutionally troubling allegations in the Twisha matter is not merely that narratives emerged attacking the deceased’s mental health, morality, or conduct, but that such statements were allegedly made by a former judicial officer. The fact that the former judicial officer is also a woman makes the allegations even more difficult for many people to process.

Another portion of the Bangalore Principles commentary on judicial independence reads almost as though it were written with situations like this in mind:

A case may excite public controversy with extensive media publicity and the judge may find himself or herself in what may be described as the eye of the storm. Sometimes the weight of the publicity may tend considerably towards one desired result. However, in the exercise of the judicial function, the judge must be immune from the effects of such publicity. A judge must have no regard for whether the laws to be applied, or the litigants before the court, are popular or unpopular with the public, the media, Government officials, or the judge’s own friends or family. A judge must not be swayed by partisan interests, public clamour, or fear of criticism. Judicial independence encompasses independence from all forms of outside influence.

Because judges understand, better than most people, how narratives shape proceedings long before evidence is tested in court. They understand how public commentary can affect witness confidence, media framing, investigative atmosphere and even subconscious institutional behaviour.

This is precisely why many jurisdictions impose ethical obligations upon judges that are intentionally higher than those imposed upon ordinary citizens.

For example, the American Bar Association’s Model Code of Judicial Conduct states that judges must act in a manner that promotes “public confidence in the independence, integrity, and impartiality of the judiciary.” Importantly, these obligations are not confined to formal courtroom conduct. Judicial behaviour itself is treated as inseparable from institutional legitimacy.

And that is ultimately the issue exposed by the Twisha Sharma matter. Not whether judges deserve respect. They do. But whether the judiciary, precisely because of the immense power and reverence it commands, must also be subjected to a correspondingly higher level of scrutiny, restraint and accountability than ordinary individuals.

A constitutional democracy cannot demand extraordinary deference toward judges while simultaneously resisting extraordinary accountability for them.

Stutee Nag is a tri-qualified attorney admitted to practice law in India, New York, and New Jersey. She is the author of the forthcoming American Bar Association book titled 'India and International Family Law: A Practical Guide'.