The Supreme Court’s decision to stay the OBC hearings at the Calcutta High Court until November 18 is a significant act of judicial prudence. This move underscores the importance of due process and the need for coherence in the complex politics of caste reservation.
In the marbled sanctum of the Supreme Court, where law and politics often converge into an uneasy truce, the air was thick with anticipation. The case before the Bench was not just another procedural skirmish — it was a reckoning with identity, representation, and the fragile scaffolding of social justice in one of India’s most politically combustible states, West Bengal, highlighting the intricate nature of the caste reservation issue.
On Thursday, the Supreme Court of India, led by Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai, and comprising Justices K. Vinod Chandran and Vipul M. Pancholi, put an immediate hold on further proceedings before the Calcutta High Court regarding its earlier decision to strike down the OBC status of several castes in the State.
The Supreme Court’s intervention, though terse in tone, carries monumental implications. It effectively pauses one of the most consequential socio-legal debates in Bengal, underscoring the gravity of the situation.
THE BENCH AND THE BALANCE OF POWER
The matter, heard in Court No. 1, began with a note of gravity. Representing the West Bengal government, Senior Advocate Kapil Sibal rose with the calm urgency of a man aware of the political weight resting on his words. He informed the Court that the Calcutta High Court had scheduled a fresh hearing for November 18, despite the Supreme Court already being seized of the case.
CJI Gavai, visibly concerned, interrupted: “When the Supreme Court is seized of the matter, how can the High Court proceed?”
The courtroom fell into a brief silence — the kind that signals judicial disapproval rather than confusion.
The Chief Justice then issued a clear directive, his words measured yet firm: “We clarify that until further orders are passed, there will be no further proceedings in the Calcutta High Court.”
The Bench’s decision to schedule the matter for further hearing after four weeks adds a new dimension to the ongoing OBC debate. It highlights the intricate interplay between law and governance, as well as the critical role of the judiciary in defining the boundaries of social policy and affirmative action.
THE BATTLE OVER BENGAL’S OBC POLICY
At the heart of this legal drama lies the Calcutta High Court’s May 22, 2024, verdict, which struck down the OBC status of 77 classes of communities recognized between April and September 2010 and 37 additional classes listed under the West Bengal Backward Classes (Other than SC and ST) Act, 2012.
In one sweep, the High Court had invalidated the OBC classification extended under the tenure of the Trinamool Congress government, declaring that the process lacked adequate empirical data and had been driven more by political expediency than by constitutional principles.
The judgment sent shockwaves across Bengal’s political landscape. Thousands of families that had benefited from the reservation suddenly found themselves in limbo. Government jobs, admissions, and scholarships — all of which hinged on that classification — were cast into uncertainty.
The Government of West Bengal, under the leadership of Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee, promptly invoked the extraordinary jurisdiction of the Supreme Court under Article 136 of the Constitution, impugning the judgment of the Calcutta High Court as constituting a “grave infraction of the constitutional guarantees enshrined in Articles 14, 15, and 16,” and as being contrary to the foundational principles of social justice and substantive equality.
In its petition, the State asserted that the impugned verdict undermines the core constitutional edifice of affirmative action and threatens to dismantle the mechanisms designed to achieve substantive equality for socially and educationally backward communities.
THE LAW, THE COMMISSION, AND THE CONTENTION
In March 2025, the State Government apprised the Supreme Court that the West Bengal Commission for Backward Classes had initiated a comprehensive re-evaluation of the social and educational backwardness of the affected communities. It was additionally submitted that the ongoing reassessment exercise—encompassing empirical data collation, comprehensive field investigations, and structured stakeholder consultations—was being undertaken with meticulous diligence and was expected to be finalized within a period of three months. The stated objective of the process was to re-establish the classification framework on a constitutionally sustainable and evidentially substantiated basis, consistent with the principles laid down by this Hon’ble Court.
But the High Court’s insistence on continuing hearings, despite the matter being under the Supreme Court’s scrutiny, raised eyebrows and prompted Thursday’s strong rebuke from the CJI.
What lies beneath this judicial exchange is a deeper constitutional question: Who decides backwardness — the legislature, the executive, or the judiciary?
In 2021, the Supreme Court’s landmark Maratha Reservation judgment had clipped the powers of individual states to independently identify OBC communities, reaffirming that such recognition must be consistent with national criteria. The Bengal case, thus, is not merely a local dispute — it reopens a national conversation about federalism, representation, and the rights of the marginalized.
“The Supreme Court of India, led by Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai, and comprising Justices K. Vinod Chandran and Vipul M. Pancholi, put an immediate hold on further proceedings before the Calcutta High Court regarding its earlier decision to strike down the OBC status of several castes in the State”
POLITICS IN THE SHADOW OF JUSTICE
Every courtroom in Delhi echoes faintly with politics, but this case vibrates with it. For Mamata Banerjee, the OBC classification was more than a policy — it was a cornerstone of her populist and inclusive political strategy. The inclusion of new castes into the OBC list between 2010 and 2012 was instrumental in broadening her support base beyond the traditional minorities and urban poor.
The Calcutta High Court’s verdict, by dismantling these classifications, effectively struck at the social arithmetic that has sustained her party’s dominance for over a decade.
On the other hand, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has found in this verdict a political opportunity cloaked in constitutional correctness. The party’s state leaders hailed the judgment as a “victory for merit and due process,” arguing that Mamata’s administration had “politicized caste identity for electoral gain.”
Now, with the Supreme Court’s intervention, both camps stand at a delicate crossroads, with the potential to significantly influence future political strategies. For the ruling Trinamool, the apex court’s stay offers breathing space — a reprieve that allows it to rebuild its case and reclaim moral ground. However, it also presents a challenge to the party’s political strategy and its relationship with the OBC community. For the BJP, it keeps alive a potent talking point — the accusation that Bengal’s governance is guided not by justice, but by vote-bank calculus. This intervention could potentially strengthen the party’s position in the State and influence future political strategies.
THE LARGER CANVAS: IDENTITY, LAW, AND LEGITIMACY
To the untrained eye, the OBC issue appears to be an administrative dispute over classification. But to those who understand India’s social fabric, it cuts far deeper.
Reservation — born out of centuries of exclusion — is not merely a policy instrument but a moral compact between the State and its citizens. Each inclusion or exclusion carries emotional, economic, and generational consequences.
In striking down the 2010 and 2012 notifications, the Calcutta High Court had argued that the State failed to produce quantifiable data demonstrating the “social and educational backwardness” of the newly included castes. The Court noted that the process appeared “hasty and politically influenced”, rather than rooted in the constitutional mandate of fairness and evidence.
But to the beneficiaries — many of whom belong to rural and semi-urban Bengal — the decision felt like erasure. It wasn’t just about losing a certificate; it was about losing recognition, visibility, and decades of aspiration, evoking a strong sense of empathy in the audience.
In a state where caste is often cloaked by class and culture, the High Court’s verdict cracked open uncomfortable truths — about privilege, about representation, and about how politics negotiates justice.
KAPIL SIBAL’S DEFENCE: LAW MEETS EMOTION
During Thursday’s hearing, Kapil Sibal, representing the Bengal government, did not merely argue points of law; he invoked the pulse of the people.
He reminded the Bench that millions of livelihoods were tethered to the OBC classifications and that administrative decisions made over a decade ago could not be erased overnight without considering their social fallout.
“There are lives behind these lists, My Lords,” he said in a tone that was equal parts legal and lyrical.
Sibal’s words underscored the human dimension often lost in the sterility of legal language — that justice, to be just, must also be humane.
THE APEX COURT’S BALANCING ACT
The Supreme Court, true to its role as the constitutional conscience-keeper, avoided political posturing. By staying the proceedings in the High Court without overturning its verdict (yet), the Bench has signaled prudence — allowing the state time to reconstruct its case while preserving judicial integrity.
Chief Justice Gavai’s observation — “When the Supreme Court is seized of the matter, how can the High Court proceed?” — was less a rebuke and more a reminder of institutional hierarchy, ensuring that the parallel judicial processes do not sow confusion.
Legal experts interpret the Court’s move as a measured pause rather than a reversal. It neither endorses nor condemns the High Court’s verdict but temporarily reins in judicial overlap — a subtle yet significant assertion of the Supreme Court’s supervisory role.
BENGAL’S POLITICAL GROUND REALITY
In Bengal’s hinterlands, the issue resonates beyond the courtroom. Villages where the Trinamool government had distributed OBC certificates a decade ago now simmer with uncertainty. Many of those who benefited from the classification have children in universities, jobs, or training programs that hinge on their reserved status.
The rollback, if upheld, would ripple through generations. For families already living on the margins, it could mean a return to invisibility.
Yet, critics of the policy argue that the State’s haste in expanding the OBC list diluted the very purpose of affirmative action. “When everyone becomes backward, who remains forward?” one petitioner before the High Court had asked pointedly.
This tension — between inclusion and integrity — now lies at the feet of the Supreme Court.
THE ROAD AHEAD
The matter will return to the apex court in four weeks, but the implications will linger much longer. Between now and then, the State Commission for Backwards Classes is expected to submit its updated findings—a document that could determine the fate of over 100 caste groups and redefine the contours of reservation in Bengal.
If the Commission’s report satisfies the Court’s demand for empirical justification, the State could restore much of the lost OBC status through a constitutionally compliant framework. If not, Bengal’s social map may undergo one of its most significant redrawing exercises in decades.
For political parties, the verdict will be more than a legal outcome — it will shape electoral strategies, community alignments, and the emotional lexicon of identity politics ahead of the 2026 state elections.
BEYOND THE COURTROOM
As dusk fell over Tilak Marg and the judges rose from the Bench, the symbolism of the day settled quietly. The Supreme Court had not spoken the final word, but it had spoken a necessary one — that law must breathe before it moves.
In West Bengal, where identity has long been both a wound and a weapon, the pause offers an opportunity for reflection. Between the courtroom’s marble and the mud lanes of the villages, between the gavel and the grain field, lies the question India has wrestled with for 75 years:
How do you balance justice with equality, and equality with truth? Until the next hearing, the answer remains suspended — like the proceedings themselves — in that fragile space between law and life.
