Letters to law students #32 ‘Why do institutional legacies matter?’

Letters to law students #32  why do institutional legacies matter?

My dear law students 

Covid has torn through the fabric of our nation as never before. I am not alone in my grief as  virtually all of us have lost near and dear ones. My spirits have sunk even lower by the news that two long-standing faculty and staff at the National Law School, Bangalore, where I spent my formative years, have passed away due to Covid. I want to write about these two gentlemen, as a  tribute to their lives, but also to tell you about institutional legacies, and why they matter. 

Institutional legacies are funny things, most times we don’t even realise we need them, until we do. No organisation, whether it is a company, or a government department, or indeed, a law school, can escape legacies once it’s been in operation for a reasonable period of time. Legacies depend on the individuals who man the institutions in its initial years. To borrow a term from economists, institutional legacies, good or bad, are a matter of path dependence. Once the people in the foundational years of the institution put it on a certain path, it creates a legacy that can make or break that institution.  

The National Law School was fortunate to have people in its early years who created a legacy that  its students and faculty now are privileged to draw on and continue. NLS is not alone in such early  fortunes and it is therefore all the more instructive to understand the nature of the people who shepherded it as it took in the first batches of (at that time) an experimental five year course in the law and liberal arts. 

Prof Mallar, the constitutional law professor, and Dr. Kumbar, the law librarian, were at the law school from its inception. When I joined NLS, it was barely five years old, and had only recently moved to a new campus in a sleepy corner of Bangalore. American shows and movies about law schools paint law students as a smart, self-collected lot, navigating life nonchalantly as they talk and walk swiftly through gilded corridors. In 1992, I was desperately trying to fit into my law school life. I was studious and sincere but the law school idiom was so alien to me that very soon, I was looking more for avuncular advice, not the Langdell case law method.  

They did not make them anymore avancular than Prof Mallar and Dr. Kumbar. Prof Mallar had a booming voice and his case law method was rigorous and systematic but his overall demeanour was that of a concerned uncle, who will take anyone who seeks his protection under his wing and counsel him. Dr. Kumbar looked and acted like a cuddly bear, except that when he spoke, it wasn’t a roar that came out but soft musical sounds that would lull you into a calm state, even if you had come to him in a frenzy, asking for a book or case that was proving elusive. Those were the pre-Internet days, when books and cases had to be excavated from shelves, not search bars. 

People like Prof Mallar and Dr. Kumbar set the institutional legacy of the law school. They were warm and friendly but never populist. You could talk to Prof. Mallar about re-arranging examination dates but not ask him to extend your essay submission date by a few days. You could bug Dr. Kumbhar about library opening times but not borrow books out of turn. Friendly but firm is a very delicate balance for university faculty and staff, and Prof. Mallar and Dr. Kumbar managed to get the balance right. In doing so, I would like to believe they set the tone for the institution at large, and that’s what I meant by institutional legacies.

They were also remarkably committed to their institution, and in these days of NIRF and NAAC rankings, some forms of commitment have been relegated to the sidelines if these can’t be measured on paper. I remember Dr. Kumbar patiently dealing with the demands of a bunch of over excited law students who wanted books, photocopies and gossip, preferably at the same time. My abiding memory of Prof. Mallar is his shepherding of reluctant students to special guest lectures, because the guest speaker would not feel very special if only a handful of students turned up. He used to stand in the middle of the corridor, gesticulating at the escaping students. I think if left to himself, he would have rustled up a nice crowd from Nagarbhavi Circle and brought them to the guest lectures. 

I think their greatest contribution to the law school legacy has been their general attitude towards life. They never let the job get to them; they were committed to their work, but did not take themselves too seriously. Everything they did, they did with a light touch, with a smile on their lips and a twinkle in their eyes. A part of that spirit lives on, I would like to suggest, in the institution as well.

Nigam Nuggehalli 

Dean 

School of Law 

BML Munjal University

Gurugram