Litigation to corporate law: A first-generation lawyer's journey from burnout to breakthrough

Swechha Kharga Chettri

NEW DELHI: Like any other law student, I too embarked on the obligatory journey of unpaid internships – a rite of passage that we didn’t sign up for but grudgingly accepted. Semester breaks meant photocopying, running around courts, and occasionally pretending to understand what the senior advocate meant by prima facie. Five years later, I too emerged with a stack of certificates no one cared about and only one career path – litigation.

Litigation was all I knew. Corporate internships were a mirage, disappearing after dozens of unanswered emails to HRs of law firms. The NGO stints were meaningful but not financially sustainable. So, litigation it was, because, let's be honest – watching senior advocates theatrically argue in court was exhilarating. I imagined myself, file in hand, delivering impassioned arguments and being the star of every courtroom hearing.

In 2020, the year of the COVID-19, I graduated from a law school affiliated to Karnataka State Law University. For a year I practised with a senior lawyer at Kalimpong district court in West Bengal. Smaller towns are a nightmare of a different sort. In 2021, with big dreams and not a single clue about the real world, I left my small town and landed in Delhi, the city of dreams.

I was ready to conquer the world, or at least the legal profession. The problem? No one tells you what to do after you’ve earned that law degree. Those internship certificates? Decorative, at best. My career prospects? Undefined. My savings? Let’s not even talk about them.

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Litigation, corporate law: The first experience

Eventually, after some interviews and rejections, I found a job as an in-house counsel at a company. It was the perfect gateway role – a chance to dabble in both litigation and corporate law while enjoying a 10-to-6 schedule. For a while, I felt I had struck gold. Weekends were mine, evenings were free, and I could actually catch up on hobbies. But as months passed, I realised I was missing the adrenaline rush of the courtroom. This “balanced” life felt static, and the fear of missing out came knocking.

So, I pivoted. Back to litigation, with all the enthusiasm of a rookie and none of the foresight.

This is where things took an unexpected turn. While in-house life felt like a well-marked trail, litigation was a tangled maze – and I had stepped in without a map.

First, finding a mentor to navigate the complexities of legal life was more difficult than spotting an intern in the Delhi High Court canteen. My first experience at a law firm felt like an endless detention. The unwritten rule was clear – report by 9:30 am and stay until the senior partner decides it is time to leave. Finishing your work early? That wasn’t a pass to leave, it was practically sacrilege.

Lunch? A vague recollection, typically squeezed in at 5 pm.

Pay? Barely enough.

Work-life balance? A myth.

The pinnacle of absurdity was receiving files at 9 pm with a “can you finish this by morning?” No, I could not. But I did.

And court vacations? For everyone else, maybe.

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Court vacations

For juniors in law firms, it was business as usual. While courts enjoyed their summer breaks, we were expected to show up at the office daily, as though we had some secret docket of cases keeping us occupied. It wasn’t about productivity; it was about appearances. Heaven forbid a junior lawyer might use the court holidays to catch their breath or, dare I say, have a life.

The expectation to work through public holidays. Whether it was revising a petition, drafting a reply, or conducting last-minute research, you were expected to prioritise work above everything else. Juniors couldn’t possibly take leave during court vacations without risking being labelled “uncommitted and too casual”.

Days blurred into nights, and burnout became my constant companion. Litigation, I realised, was not the cinematic battle of wits I had envisioned – it was a relentless grind where juniors are overworked, underpaid, and undervalued.

Legal Jobs: Breaking the glass ceiling

And then, there was the ultimate truth no one tells you in a law school – litigation is about survival of the fittest, not just in terms of skill but also connections. Without a network, you’re swimming upstream. Unless you’re born into a family of lawyers or judges with an established clientele, you’re practically invisible.

Networking, the unwritten rule of litigation, isn’t taught in law colleges or during internships. You’re left to figure it out in a sea of seasoned city advocates who already have their networks well-oiled and functioning for generations.

The myth that hard work alone will pave your way couldn’t be further from reality. I watched second and third-generation lawyers seamlessly step into the profession with ready-made client bases. Meanwhile, first-generation lawyers like me had to hustle twice as hard just to get noticed. The system felt rigged.

Building a client base, which everyone says is essential for a successful litigation career, felt impossible because firm juniors weren’t allowed to handle personal cases. Life turned into a monotonous loop of drafting and overthinking. The court corridors that once felt exhilarating now felt suffocating. The dream I had clung to for years started to feel more like a nightmare.

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Legal jobs: The realisation

And then, clarity struck. A senior once told me, “Figuring out what you don’t want to do is as important as figuring out what you love”. That line stuck with me.

I realised I didn’t hate the law – I hated the rigidity of litigation. Having tasted both worlds, I knew I was better suited to corporate legal work. It offered stability, structure, and just enough challenge without making me feel like I was running on empty.

So, I pivoted again, this time with conviction. I returned to in-house counsel work, no longer feeling guilty for stepping out of the courtroom. I had learned an invaluable lesson – the legal profession is vast, and there’s no singular path to success.

For all the first-generation lawyers out there, here’s my takeaway: it’s okay to not have it all figured out. It’s okay to change your mind. Your career is not a straight line; it’s a series of experiments, detours, and revelations. Embrace the uncertainty, find what works for you, and remember, success doesn’t have a one-size-fits-all formula.

(Swechha Kharga Chettri is a lawyer based in Delhi. She comes from a small town in Kalimpong, West Bengal)