The Supreme Court of India, revered as the guardian of the Constitution, has increasingly morphed into an overreaching behemoth, trampling the delicate balance of powers that underpins our democracy. Its recent order to maintain the status quo on Waqf properties, as it hears challenges to the Waqf (Amendment) Act, 2025, is yet another brazen display of judicial hubris. This directive, issued on April 16, 2025, not only undermines the will of the people as expressed through Parliament but also exposes the judiciary’s growing penchant for encroaching on the domains of the legislature and executive. The Court’s sanctimonious posturing as the sole arbiter of justice is not just hypocritical—it’s a dangerous assault on the democratic edifice of this nation.

Let’s begin with the Waqf order itself. The Waqf (Amendment) Act, passed by the Lok Sabha with 288 votes in favor and 232 against, and by the Rajya Sabha with 128 for and 95 against, represents a hard-fought legislative effort to address longstanding issues in the management of Waqf properties. These properties, spanning millions of acres, have often been mired in disputes, with entire villages claimed as Waqf land, leaving countless citizens in legal limbo. The Act, backed by six BJP-ruled states and informed by 98.2 lakh memorandums and 38 parliamentary sittings, sought to bring transparency, curb arbitrary declarations, and ensure accountability. Yet, the Supreme Court, led by Chief Justice Sanjiv Khanna, has chosen to freeze its implementation, effectively stalling a law that reflects the democratic will. Why? Because the Court, in its infinite wisdom, believes it must “ensure the situation as it exists now is not disturbed.” This vague, paternalistic reasoning reeks of judicial overreach, as it substitutes the Court’s whims for the legislative process.

This is not an isolated incident but part of a disturbing pattern. The judiciary has repeatedly flexed its muscles to encroach on the powers of the other pillars of democracy. Take, for instance, its recent rulings on the role of Governors and the President’s assent to bills. The Court has waded into the executive’s domain, dictating timelines and procedures as if it were an administrative overseer. In doing so, it has conveniently ignored its own inefficiencies—millions of pending cases pile up in courts across the country, with litigants waiting decades for justice, while judges enjoy leisurely vacations. The Supreme Court’s summer breaks and festival holidays are sacrosanct, but it has no qualms lecturing the executive on adhering to strict timelines. This double standard is not just galling; it’s an insult to the millions who languish in the judicial quagmire.

Perhaps the most egregious example of judicial overreach is the Court’s 2015 decision to strike down the National Judicial Appointments Commission (NJAC). Passed with near-unanimous support in Parliament—367 MPs in the Lok Sabha and 179 in the Rajya Sabha voted in favor, with only one dissenting voice—the NJAC sought to make judicial appointments more transparent and inclusive by involving the executive and eminent citizens alongside judges. The amendment was ratified by 16 state legislatures, a testament to its democratic legitimacy. Yet, the Supreme Court, in a 4:1 ruling, declared it unconstitutional, arguing that it violated the “basic structure” of the Constitution by undermining judicial independence. The Court’s real fear? Losing its monopoly over appointments through the opaque collegium system, where judges appoint judges in a closed-door process that reeks of nepotism and insularity. By nullifying the NJAC, the Court not only spat in the face of Parliament’s near-unanimous mandate but also asserted itself as the ultimate arbiter of constitutional propriety, above the elected representatives of the people.

The Waqf order is cut from the same cloth. By halting the implementation of a law that seeks to reform a system plagued by misuse—where Section 40 of the Waqf Act allowed boards to declare any land as Waqf with near-unassailable authority—the Court is effectively preserving a status quo that benefits vested interests. Solicitor General Tushar Mehta rightly pointed out that “lakhs and lakhs of representations” highlighted how vast swathes of land, including entire villages, were being claimed as Waqf, creating chaos for ordinary citizens. The Act’s provisions, such as scrapping Section 40 and empowering collectors to verify claims, were designed to protect property rights and curb arbitrary conversions. Yet, the Court, swayed by petitioners like Asaduddin Owaisi and Mahua Moitra, has chosen to prioritize abstract notions of “Waqf by user” over the practical need for reform.

The irony is palpable. The same judiciary that lectures the executive on accountability operates with impunity, answerable to no one. Its orders, often laced with moral grandstanding, betray a disconnect from the realities faced by ordinary Indians. The Court’s concern about “grave ramifications” if Waqf properties are denotified rings hollow when it ignores the ramifications of its own inaction—decades-long delays in justice delivery, a collegium system that breeds cronyism, and a propensity to meddle in matters best left to elected representatives.

The Supreme Court’s defenders may argue that it is merely upholding the Constitution. But this is a convenient fiction. The Constitution envisages a balance of powers, not a judicial dictatorship. When the Court strikes down laws passed by Parliament, dictates executive procedures, or freezes reforms like the Waqf Act, it is not protecting democracy—it is subverting it. The judiciary’s role is to interpret the law, not to rewrite it or stall its implementation on a whim. By positioning itself as the ultimate authority, the Court mocks the very people it claims to serve.

It’s time to call out this judicial overreach for what it is: a power grab that threatens the foundations of our republic. The Supreme Court must be reminded that it is not above the Constitution or the will of the people. Parliament, as the voice of the electorate, and the executive, as its implementer, deserve respect, not judicial disdain. If the Court continues to act as an unelected super-legislature, it risks eroding the public’s faith in the very institution it claims to uphold. The Waqf status quo order is not just a misstep—it’s a symptom of a judiciary that has lost its way, drunk on its own power and oblivious to the democratic ideals it is duty-bound to protect.

Kaushik is a freelance writer.

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