In a landmark decision that has reignited discussions about tradition, democracy, and the lingering shadows of colonialism, the Rajasthan High Court on October 7, 2025, unequivocally declared that princely titles such as 'Maharaja' and 'Rajkumar' hold no legal standing in contemporary India. The order, which set an October 13 deadline for the descendants of the former Jaipur royal family to abandon these titles or face dismissal of their decades-old legal case, is being hailed as a progressive step—yet it has also exposed a striking paradox embedded within India’s own judicial system.
According to NDTV, the Rajasthan High Court’s ruling stems from a petition regarding the use of royal titles in public documents. Justice Mahendra Kumar Goyal directed the former royals to drop the prefixes, underscoring that the abolition of privy purses and royal entitlements in 1971, through the 26th Constitutional Amendment, marked a definitive end to monarchical privileges. "Such titles are incompatible with the democratic ethos of the Republic of India, where all citizens are equal before the law," the court emphasized, reinforcing the idea that status based on birth or lineage is now a relic of the past.
At the time of India’s independence in 1947, the subcontinent was a patchwork of more than 560 princely states, whose rulers enjoyed various privileges and recognition under British colonial rule. The integration of these states into the Indian Union was a complex, sometimes fraught process, and for years, legal disputes over the legacy of princely entitlements have lingered in the courts. However, the 26th Amendment, passed in 1971, was intended to draw a clear line under this chapter. The court’s 2025 order, therefore, is not just a legal technicality—it is a symbolic reaffirmation of the principles of equality and democracy enshrined in the Constitution.
But as the court stripped away the last vestiges of royal hierarchy from public life, it also drew attention to the curious persistence of another set of antiquated titles—those used within the judiciary itself. Despite the move to democratize language in public affairs, Indian courts, especially at the higher echelons, continue to be addressed by colonial honorifics like "My Lord," "Your Lordship," and "Your Honour." This practice, inherited from the British legal system, is not mandated by law, but has become deeply embedded in the culture of the courtrooms.
The irony is not lost on many observers. As NDTV’s contributing editor points out, “While symbolic use of royal titles by erstwhile aristocrats is deemed offensive, similar linguistic relics thrive within the judiciary itself.” The Rajasthan High Court itself previously acknowledged this contradiction. In July 2019, it requested lawyers to stop using "My Lord" and "Your Lordship," suggesting instead the use of "Sir" or "Shrimanji"—a move intended to align with the principle of equality. Yet, the old forms of address persist, even in the Supreme Court, as many lawyers continue to use them out of "respect" or simply habit.
The persistence of these colonial honorifics is more than a matter of semantics. Critics argue that such language perpetuates a culture of hierarchy and exclusivity, placing judges on a pedestal far above the ordinary citizen. “This practice reflects a culture of reverence that places judges on a pedestal far above ordinary citizens. In a democracy, respect for institutions and individuals must arise from conduct and competence—not from archaic titles that imply superiority,” the NDTV article asserts.
Efforts to reform this aspect of courtroom culture are not new. In 2006, the Bar Council of India amended the Advocates Practice Rules, directing lawyers to address judges simply as "Sir." However, as The Wire and NDTV both note, this reform has been largely ignored. Many in the legal profession continue to fall back on the old colonial forms, sometimes out of deference, sometimes simply out of habit formed over generations of legal practice.
Therein lies a deeper issue: the Indian legal system, modeled so closely on the British framework, continues to carry forward not just the language but also the hierarchical mindset of its colonial past. The Rajasthan High Court’s order, in this sense, is both a break with one tradition and a reminder of another that has yet to be fully confronted. The court’s own earlier ruling, in 2022, prohibited the use of royal titles like 'Raja', 'Nawab', and 'Rajkumar' in constitutional courts, tribunals, and public offices under Articles 14, 18, and 363A of the Constitution. Yet, the language of the courtroom still echoes the exclusivity of a bygone era.
"The judiciary is often perceived—rightly or wrongly—as remote, hierarchical, and detached from the realities of common people. Retaining colonial honorifics only reinforces that image. It perpetuates the perception that the judiciary is an elite club rather than a service pillar designed to uphold constitutional rights," the NDTV commentary observes. The courts may condemn symbolic royalty among citizens, but they continue to sustain their own brand of exclusivity within the courtroom. Feudal titles such as 'Rai Bahadur' and 'Rai Sahab' have long been consigned to history, yet the language of the bench remains stubbornly resistant to change.
For many, this is not just a matter of optics. As the judiciary increasingly sees a new generation of Gen Z lawyers and litigants enter its halls, the need to modernize modes of communication becomes more urgent. The rigid and antiquated language of the courtroom can risk alienating the very public it is meant to serve. "This is not merely a matter of semantics or optics. It is about democratising the courtroom—transforming it into a space where ordinary people feel respected and heard, not intimidated by rituals that echo a bygone age," the NDTV piece concludes.
The Rajasthan High Court’s decision to finally ban royal titles from legal documents is a clear, necessary step toward equality. Yet, the persistence of colonial-era honorifics within the courts themselves serves as a reminder that the journey toward a truly egalitarian legal system is far from complete. The task now is for the judiciary to look inward, to shed the last vestiges of hierarchy and exclusivity, and to ensure that respect for the law is grounded not in titles or traditions, but in fairness, accessibility, and justice for all.
As India continues to grapple with its complex legacy of monarchy and colonialism, the courts’ challenge will be to ensure that the language and symbols of the law reflect not just the letter of the Constitution, but its spirit of equality and democracy as well.