By K Raveendran
The framers of the Constituent Assembly drafted the Constitution on the assumption that political actors—presidents, governors, ministers, assemblies—would honour a baseline of institutional morality enabling parliamentary democracy to function as the architects envisaged. That assumption rested on the idea that constitutional statutes alone would not suffice; rather, they would operate within a culture of integrity where discretionary powers would be exercised in good faith.
That political morality was intended to serve as a safeguard against aberrations—undue delays, obstruction of legislative will, gaming of constitutional devices. The present debate around the Supreme Court of India’s constitutional bench judgement on timelines for the President and governors therefore deserves to be analysed through that lens.
The case emanates from the April 2025 judgment in State of Tamil Nadu v Governor of Tamil Nadu in which the Supreme Court held that a governor cannot sit indefinitely on a bill passed by a state legislature, and introduced time-limits within which assent or transmission to the President must be given. Subsequently a presidential reference was made under Article 143 seeking the Supreme Court’s advisory opinion on whether courts can prescribe timelines for governors and the President under Articles 200 and 201 of the Constitution.
Viewed in isolation, the idea of imposing timelines appears attractive: it promises to curb delay, prevent obstruction by an unelected constitutional functionary, and ensure that legislative intent is respected in a democracy. But when evaluated against the mindset of political morality envisaged by the Constitution-makers, serious questions emerge about the logic and fairness of the ruling.
First, the Constitution envisaged that governors and the President must act “with all possible speed” and within the bounds of ministerial advice in most cases. Yet it deliberately did not fix time-limits for them; the phrase “as soon as possible” was adopted after the Constituent Assembly dropped a proposal for a six-week mandatory period. Solicitor General Tushar Mehta pointed this out in court submissions. That omission suggests the framers intended discretion within reason rather than automatic deadlines—a reflection of their belief in political morality. To now layer a judicially prescribed timeline is to shift from trusting actors to imposing mechanical limits.
Second, prescribing timelines assumes that constitutional functionaries behave in line with the moral assumptions of the framers—but the historical record shows that governors have delayed bills for years in certain states, thereby undermining legislative will. The April judgment held that such inaction amounted effectively to a “pocket veto.” Yet it is precisely because the underlying political morality has eroded that the judgment was framed. If we now evaluate the institution assuming the moral benchmark existed, we risk producing fallacious conclusions.
Third, the more recent Constitution Bench has flagged its own discomfort with blanket timelines, noting that isolated instances of delay do not justify uniform deadlines for all governors and the President. That internal tension reflects the deeper problem: timelines are only meaningful if the actors commit to the morality underlying them, otherwise they become arbitrary constraints that may inhibit legitimate deliberation.
Fourth, by judging constitutional functionaries on the basis of assumed “envisaged conduct”, we risk applying idealised standards to individuals and offices that have in practice been shaped by political realities, partisan pressure and structural constraints. If the assumption of political morality falters, the judgement risks guilt by standard rather than fault by failing. The judiciary’s role in enforcing standards of constitutional propriety is laudable, but fair evaluation demands recognition of the gap between ideal and practice.
It is therefore critically important to ask: does the Supreme Court’s approach in not prescribing timelines and mandating review of delay account for the broader reality of the erosion of political morality? Or does it proceed as though the assumption of morality remains intact? The danger is the latter: when the moral assumption fails, the mechanism built on it may lead to outcomes that do not serve the underlying democratic purpose. While it is true that a tight timeline may force hurried decisions, reduce methodical scrutiny of bills with complex implications, or even encourage ministers and governments to compress debate, the lack of a timeline can lead to endless drift. That is contrary to parliamentary democracy’s spirit.
The notion of timelines must be viewed in the context of institutional balance. The framers envisaged a separation of powers and trust between the organs, each acting within its domain, anchored by political morality. The judiciary stepping in to calibrate timelines is effectively compensating for a failure of political actors to live up to their moral obligations—but that also raises the question of whether the judiciary is filling a gap that should be addressed by political reform, cultural change or legislative amendment rather than judicial fiat. The SG’s argument that the perceived lapses should be addressed through electoral accountability and legislative oversight rather than court-imposed deadlines underscores this point.
In practical terms, when governors or the President delay acting on bills — whether for valid policy reasons or as part of political strategy — the concern is not simply the delay but the motive, transparency and consistency of the action. If a governor sits on a bill for months for no reason, that clearly undermines democratic governance. But if the delay arises because of genuine executive or legislative complexity, the moral assumption of prompt action may not reflect reality. The court’s conflation of delay with constitutional breach thus rests on the assumption of a political culture that may no longer exist.
The analysis must therefore move beyond procedural prescriptions to the root cause: the erosion of political morality. Unless governors, presidents and ministers act in a spirit of institutional restraint and fidelity to democratic will, statutes and time-limits will only provide a façade of accountability. The constitutional democracy the framers envisaged depended on ethical conduct by actors; failing that, legal mechanisms alone cannot replicate the moral foundation.
In the context of the timeline judgment, then, we must ask whether the court’s remedy addresses the core problem or merely imposes a corrective that presumes the problem away. Without putting pressure on the culture of governance, the timelines may become symbolic rather than substantive. The judgment may be technically sound but morally hollow if the underlying political actors remain disinclined to play by the framers’ rules. Governor appointments, state–centre dynamics, partisan loyalties and structural features of constitutional offices all reflect that the assumption of impartial, prompt action may have been unduly optimistic.
Thus the verdict may suffer from serious flaws if treated as a panacea: it judges functionaries against an ideal of conduct that the Constitution-makers presumed rather than mandated, and which political practice has demonstrably fallen short of. A more robust reform agenda would combine judicial review with institutional safeguards, transparent norms for governor-assent processes, stricter legislative oversight of constitutional offices, and culture-change efforts to restore political morality. Only then can the statutory framework function as intended. (IPA Service)
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