I have often asked myself why I took up quizzing. I convinced myself for quite sometime that it wasn't because I was a geek and hence it was like a duty I had to perform to be affiliated to the Club. It didn't help that my fellow quiz team members( especially Priyanka) reminded me everyday that I was exactly what I had calmly vowed never to be--- a geek.
It didn't help that I had spectacles that highlighted my already damaged facial structure( making me look incredibly like my 70 year old grandmom who I hate with every nerve of mine). It didn't help that I had a metallic smile and it certainly didn't help when I answered on stage the breed of puppy that Aishwarya Rai got for her birthday.
Time went by and slowly, although extremely hesitantly, I realised that I was resigned to my fate and did nothing to change it in anyway. We were a very average quiz team who usually won either when no other team was around, or by virtue of where we sat when we answered the prelims. Then, of course a funny thing happened... we got ADDICTED. Before we knew what happened, we realised we had inadvertently entered a trap we couldn't quite escape. And that is when we realised that usually in a quiz everyone is happy to win--- a possibility previously unexplored by us. A usual day in a quiz consisted of us turning up at the venue five minutes before the prelims, looking for what refreshments were promised to participants, Alokita ogling at any male species that moved and of course making sure that in case, if by the grace of God, we did manage to qualify, Ashok Hall wasn't pronounced as Ashokaaaa Hall, or worse Ashoke Hall Hall( yes it has happened). If we did qualify, the routine on stage consisted of trying to think intelligently when we hadn't a clue about the answer, spilling any drink offered to us( copyright Priyanka Kumar), and of course me saying "Ooooh, I know" excitedly and keeping other people ( who were technically in MY team) clueless about it. Priyanka's red pimple usually assumed catastrophic proportions at this point in time( well whose wouldn't-- I am by far too annoying for my own good). We messed up answers almost all the time, looked valiantly towards each other when questions we were embarrassed about the answer came up( yes, the glorious days of Jacoiz---We were shown a horn and asked to identify the missing part, Priyanka came up with a gem of an answer( something me and Alokita couldn't let go of), 'the Thing with which you blow". I swear Barry O Brien, the righteous God-fearing, stoic, devoutly Christian man he is, tried his level best to hide the obvious blush and frankly speaking we sort of refused to associate with Priyanka for the next seven days. This was about the time that God (sorry Priyanka) looked upon our sorry sorry condition and decided that maybe it was time to give us a chance after all. It didn't mean we answered more questions or got smarter, just that our embarrassing guesses just magically turned out right.
Anyhow, when God seemed finally to be on our side, something else happens. We call it the Roger Federer effect. I mean the guy IS really good--can't Nadal ever give him a break. Atleast as far as the French Open is concerned. Not to say we are Roger Federer, by any means, although what we wouldnt do to believe so, but well we were finally winning, and then come along Enfant Terribles. Well, not only wasnt this team younger to us( yes, Priyanka has turned 18 and I don't let one day go by without making her realise that) but took away our only strengths. Me and my maniacal love for cinema and Priyanka's obsession with Dali. I mean seriously who watches Bergman on a regular basis or knows "Don't Cry for me Argentina" from its opening riffs. Me and Priyanka have many a conspiracy theory( the most outlandish being the driving force of the team has a twin brother, which I wouldn't be too surprised to hear). Then ofcourse the Grand Finale came last Saturday a supposedly Music Quiz, that should have probably been announced as a RED FM promotional campaign but I cant really blame them they did warn us about the fact that the quiz was just an excuse.
and then of course there is Our man Stanley. Its this species who if aliens existed without doubt would surely be one. Usually onserved trailing Barry I mean trailing, just enough not to touch His Holiness, observed with a object very aptly christened Stanley Sir's laptop although if he is a Sir I might as well be the Dalai Lama. You know they say there are sad people and there is Stanley, listless, loveless, Stanley---not asking for a moment of appreciation for his bobbing his big round head during prelims. Just dragging along his laptop..... Melancholy and the Infinte Sadness they call it. Well, That is a separate story.
(look for Stanleys illustration by Priyanka in the next blog.
Anyhow, when God seemed finally to be on our side, something else happens. We call it the Roger Federer effect. I mean the guy IS really good--can't Nadal ever give him a break. Atleast as far as the French Open is concerned. Not to say we are Roger Federer, by any means, although what we wouldnt do to believe so, but well we were finally winning, and then come along Enfant Terribles. Well, not only wasnt this team younger to us( yes, Priyanka has turned 18 and I don't let one day go by without making her realise that) but took away our only strengths. Me and my maniacal love for cinema and Priyanka's obsession with Dali. I mean seriously who watches Bergman on a regular basis or knows "Don't Cry for me Argentina" from its opening riffs. Me and Priyanka have many a conspiracy theory( the most outlandish being the driving force of the team has a twin brother, which I wouldn't be too surprised to hear). Then ofcourse the Grand Finale came last Saturday a supposedly Music Quiz, that should have probably been announced as a RED FM promotional campaign but I cant really blame them they did warn us about the fact that the quiz was just an excuse.
and then of course there is Our man Stanley. Its this species who if aliens existed without doubt would surely be one. Usually onserved trailing Barry I mean trailing, just enough not to touch His Holiness, observed with a object very aptly christened Stanley Sir's laptop although if he is a Sir I might as well be the Dalai Lama. You know they say there are sad people and there is Stanley, listless, loveless, Stanley---not asking for a moment of appreciation for his bobbing his big round head during prelims. Just dragging along his laptop..... Melancholy and the Infinte Sadness they call it. Well, That is a separate story.
(look for Stanleys illustration by Priyanka in the next blog.
