Tryst with the Constitution: Reflecting on the Constitution - Five Books for 2026

One of my favourite habits as a diligent newspaper reader has been to browse the end-of-year reading lists published by leading dailies. These lists typically recommend works of fiction and non-fiction, literature, history, and biography. Surprisingly, however, they almost never include books on constitutional law. As 2025 draws to a close, this article therefore takes a moment to reflect on the constitutional discourse in India over the past year and, in that context, recommends five books that may help ground that discourse in well-researched scholarship.

The selection is guided by two principal considerations. First, accessibility—the books must be intelligible to both lawyers and non-lawyers, lest constitutional law remain an elite enterprise. Second, relevance to contemporary debates. A conscious effort has been made to include two books on constitutional history, in light of the recent celebration of the Constitution’s seventy-fifth anniversary, and three books reflecting on the functioning of institutions, particularly the judiciary and the executive. Together, they aim to engage with all three limbs of the polity. This list reflects a personal preference and does not claim to be exhaustive.

Article 21 has emerged as one of the most vibrant provisions of the Constitution. Through judicial interpretation, it has been expanded to include a wide array of rights, enabling citizens to approach courts to enforce those rights and hold the State accountable. Yet, the bare text of the provision does not appear to support the breadth it has acquired; it permits the deprivation of life and personal liberty through “procedure established by law.”

Readers interested in constitutional history will be familiar with the oft-repeated claim that Article 21 originally contained a broader “due process” guarantee, which was later diluted by Sir B. N. Rau after his interaction with Justice Felix Frankfurter, who cautioned against the ‘due process’ standard for it could be used to invalidate economic and welfare legislation on grounds of violating personal liberty.

Alva’s meticulously researched book interrogates and ultimately debunks this narrative. He argues that “it is critical to take stock of its genesis and to remind ourselves of how fractured and divisive the origins of Article 21 truly were. Despite being an extraordinarily powerful right today, it was not always meant to be this way, and its pithy wording betrays its fraught history.”

Drawing on Constituent Assembly Debates and comparative constitutional material, Alva demonstrates that Rau was not persuaded by Frankfurter and had in fact favoured a procedural due process guarantee. The change, he argues, was introduced later by the Drafting Committee, primarily for reasons of precision and semantics. The book offers an indispensable account of Article 21’s antecedents, the deliberations surrounding it, and the global influences that shaped its final form.

This book is a collection of speeches delivered by Justice Chandrachud during his tenure on the Supreme Court. Judicial speeches, particularly by sitting judges, are often constrained by institutional propriety—measured in tone, cautious in critique, and largely confined to elaborations of existing doctrine. While this is broadly true of Chandrachud’s speeches as well, what sets them apart is his scholarly engagement with constitutional theory, philosophy, and comparative materials.

The essays range widely, addressing constitutional borrowing, representation, feminist jurisprudence, queer rights, and the role of technology in adjudication. Particularly noteworthy is the chapter titled “The Sounds and Silences of Our Constitution,” which examines constitutional silences and how courts have interpreted them. Chandrachud discusses gubernatorial discretion, the evolution of Article 32, and the basic structure doctrine—all products of constitutional silence rather than express text. This discussion is especially relevant in light of recent controversies surrounding the absence of constitutional timelines for gubernatorial assent to Bills.

Similarly, the chapter “A Borrowed Constitution: Fact or Myth?” provides a nuanced intervention in the perennial debate over the Constitution’s colonial influences, challenging simplistic accounts of constitutional borrowing.

This volume brings together essays by judges, senior advocates, and scholars examining the contemporary functioning of the judiciary. The contributions address issues such as judicial appointments, the collegium system, disciplinary mechanisms for judges, social action litigation, environmental adjudication, criminal law, and media freedom.

Justice A. P. Shah’s chapter on judicial appointments is especially instructive. It traces the constitutional history of Article 124, its interpretation through the Judges’ Cases, and the emergence of the collegium system. Rather than offering a mere chronological account, the chapter engages critically with the doctrine. Shah cites Fali Nariman’s argument that the primacy accorded to the Chief Justice and the collegium finds little support in constitutional text, as well as Justice Krishna Iyer’s characterisation of the collegium as a “curious creation with no backing in the Constitution.”

The chapter also revisits past controversies, including allegations of corruption involving High Court judges in the 1980s and the impeachment proceedings against Justice Ramaswami. It offers a reflective assessment of how the judiciary arrived at its present position and proposes avenues for reform.

A. G. Noorani was among the most formidable constitutional scholars of his generation. Writing prolifically on the period between 1950 through the 1990s, he engaged closely with constitutional and political developments of his time. For readers seeking to understand constitutional practice during the coalition era—roughly between 1990 and 2014—this book provides an invaluable perspective.

Noorani examines constitutional conventions, the law on hung assemblies, and resignation of governments—issues that may appear distant today but dominated constitutional discourse for decades. His essays are notable for their doctrinal rigour and historical depth.

He also raises enduring concerns about the lack of internal democracy within political parties, arguing that “a democratic constitution cannot be worked by political parties which function undemocratically.” Additionally, he critiques the Constitution’s centralising tendencies, tracing them to the Government of India Act, 1935, and illustrating how these powers have been exercised across political regimes. Citing Reginald Coupland, Noorani warns that even a formally federal system can be rendered unitary through unconstitutional but effective means.

These insights remain salient, particularly as debates over federalism and party democracy resurfaced prominently this year.

As the Constitution marked seventy-five years, I have previously argued that the occasion should include recognition of those who contributed to its making without partisan motive. One such figure is B. N. Rau, whose role remains surprisingly under-acknowledged in constitutional discourse. In fact, while speaking at a recent law school event celebrating 76 years of the Constitution, I was shocked to find that none of the 500+ attendees, most of which were law students, knew about Rau.

Although Rau has been the subject of an excellent biography by Arvind Elangovan, this book offers a broader portrait of the Benegal family, situating Rau alongside his equally distinguished brothers. It chronicles Rau’s diverse career—as Prime Minister of Jammu and Kashmir, adviser to the Constituent Assembly, judge of the International Court of Justice, and contributor to constitutional projects beyond India.

The book also sheds light on lesser-known aspects of his work, including his involvement in reforming Hindu law, chairing the UN Atomic Commission, and assisting in drafting Burma’s Constitution. In a foreword to an earlier work on Rau, Dr Rajendra Prasad observed that while Ambedkar was the “skillful pilot” of the Constitution, Rau was the one who “visualised the plan and laid its foundation.” Prasad expressed hope that Rau would occupy a significant place in constitutional history—a hope that remains only partially realised. This book contributes meaningfully to that endeavour.

The Constitution must be studied, analysed, and debated in the same spirit in which it was drafted. When Jawaharlal Nehru moved the Objective Resolution—the document that laid down the fundamental principles of the Constitution and later found expression in the Preamble—it was subjected to rigorous debate and searching critique, including pointed interventions by Ambedkar and members of the Congress. It was not adopted through deference or hagiography, but through deliberation. Engaging with the Constitution today in that same spirit—critical, informed, and reflective—is perhaps the most meaningful tribute to its framers.

Swapnil Tripathi leads Charkha, the Constitutional Law Centre at the Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy.