Why do I quiz?

I think of myself as a thinker. And if there is one thing that I have thought about a lot in these last few years, then it is this question- "Why do I quiz"? Or to generalize, why do quizzers quiz? Recently, at the finals of a quiz show, I was asked this question. I said that it was like any other sport, I talked about the adrenaline rush and the kick. I also said that I could probably write a piece on it. This is that piece, attempted at after a lot of mental exercise.

I began quizzing fairly late. It was in college, I guess. Coming from a schooling background in a small place where one used to top the class, it was difficult finding oneself among people who were equally good and even better at studies. Plus most of my batchmates in college were good at extracurricular activities. Some sang, some danced, some painted. Rest all played cricket. I sucked at cricket. I still suck at it. That was when I discovered that there did exist some people who quizzed, and that I was not bad at it. A string of valiant losses later, I got the hang of the thing and became a regular at the sport. Thats where a string of friendships formed that were to prove the basis of my quizzical career.

At first I quizzed because I liked the thrill, the adrenaline rush. Knowing an answer that most others didn't or answering it before others did was satisfying. Plus, if you were a lowly junior putting seniors to shame, it was an added bonus. Winning trophies competing against the best in your college (our batch itself had three good teams and there were some illustrious names in our college from the state circuit at the time) was an honour in itself.

The thrill of answering led to travels to nearby places to participate in quizzes. In this phase, I quizzed because it was an honour to represent my institution. Plus a chance to go places, sometimes with expenses paid. I quizzed because I got to know the best in the business, make their acquaintance and compete with them.

As I kept quizzing, I started winning. It started sporadically until there was a string of good results. With wins, there came money. With money, there came greed. The desire to make more money. I quizzed because there was money in quizzing and since I was good at quizzing, it was an earning opportunity. Some extra pocket money never hurt.

Somewhere in between, I realised I had developed close friendships with many other quizzers from all over the state. Some were students, some worked. All of them had one thing in common- a passion for the sport. From those friendships bloomed partnerships and healthy competitive enmity. So much so, that quizzing became a means to go and meet people, pull a leg, joke, fool around and have a good time. I quizzed because I got to meet and interact with my friends- my extended family. 

With age came the feeling of responsibility. A responsibility to try and popularise the sport that I was involved in. Also, there is some money in conducting quizzes (though organizers aren't too willing to pay you much). I quizzed, and I quizzed people, to earn some money and to popularise the sport and to encourage others, involve others so that the sport would grow. 

As I settled into a job, the need to rely on quizzes for money subsided and that is when I started enjoying quizzing fully. I just went there, answered questions, learnt some new things, criticised the QM, and generally had a good time. The after quiz parties were legendary affairs, with booze, further criticism of the quizzes, gossip about quizzers and quizmasters and sometimes a row or two. I quizzed because I enjoyed life through quizzing. 

Now, I realise, the search for the answer to this simple sounding question has been a journey- a journey that will keep going till I have the passion to quiz. The answers will change- based on experience, with age, and with changing perceptions. The search for the answer to this simple question has made me look inside, has made me introspect and maybe rethink my priorities. Once I would have dismissed it as a silly question but now I shall think twice before doing so. 

And if someone asks me the question, I can now say: "You know I wrote something about that. Let's see. Why do I quiz?..."

An Ampoule of Wine

Circa 2006. Having passed our final exams, me and Yash were doing our internship in Assam Medical College. Yash was the person who introduced me to spirits (at first, ostensibly to celebrate quizzical wins and later for everything and anything else) and was a self professed expert on alcohol.

One fine evening, getting caught in the spirit of things, we decided to try some wine. We trooped to the nearest wine shop and bought a bottle of wine. To accompany the wine, we took some 'chana' from the roadside 'thelawala'. Back to Yash's room we went.

The lights were dimmed, music was put on. Phones were put on silent (him after calling up his girlfriend, I was single then) and out came the bottle. That is when we encountered our obstacle of the day. Ensconced comfortably from the mouth of the bottle to the neck, was the cork. I was a novice and Yash usually drank hard liquor, so no arrangements existed to uncork the bottle in the room. Ever resourceful, Yash thought for a bit and decided that a Swiss army knife would do to uncork the stopper. 

A list was drawn. Of people who had/possibly would have had Swiss knives (no one probably would have had the originals, but we were sure that even the fake ones would work well). We zeroed in on two people- one a senior and another our batchmate. Now, the bottle wasn't too big and we were in no mood to share, so it was evident to us that we needed to make some other excuse for borrowing the knife. Fortunately, Swiss army knives are multipurpose, so we invented a loose screw in one of the windows and borrowed the tool.

"Watch and learn", Yash told me and began screwing the uncorker into the cork. I waited in anticipation. After diligently putting in almost the full length inside, he pulled on the knife. The cork held. He put the bottle on the ground, gripped it with his feet and pulled. The cork held. He pulled harder. And it broke. The appendage of the knife broke off, with its length embedded inside the piece of cork. We would need a good excuse for a knife breaking while tightening screws.

But there was another knife in the hostel. All wasn't lost. Yash managed to borrow it and back to work he went. The results were same. Only this time, we had the broken appendage in our hand. The mutilated cork seemed to be grinning at us.

"There are other ways", muttered Yash and started carving up the piece of cork with the knife. It was easy going till he reached the part that went inside the bottle.  The knife couldn't grab a purchase and so we were stuck. By now, it was almost an hour since the adventure started. It was hot and sweat was pouring down our faces. And the thirst increased. The liquid inside seemed to be teasing us.

"If we can't take it out, how about pushing it in?" I ventured. Yash grunted and thus we tried pushing in the cork. Success still eluded us. It seemed that the cork had somehow come a little to the outside rather than going inside! Twenty minutes or so of trying to push the cork inside, tempers were running high in the room with me chiding Yash for his so called knowledge and experience about all things alcoholic and he shouting at me for being a good for nothing. 

Finally, exasperated, Yash said, "Let's do the ampoule." The 'ampoule breaking method abbreviated ampoule' is how you break ampoules in order to draw medicines for injection.  You hold the ampoule by its base, with its upper end facing away from you. With a blunt object, like the back of a knife, you hit on the neck of the ampoule and it cleanly breaks off. The ampoules are designed so as to break, but a bottle of wine?

With no other option in sight, we decided to do it. We took a bucket and kept it beneath so that no wine got spilled. And then, Yash struck the blow. Surprisingly, it broke in one blow. Though some pieces of glass did manage to get inside the bottle. We took out a clean handkerchief, filtered the wine through it and sat down to enjoy the wine.

It was cheap wine but it tasted good. Maybe because of the effort that went into opening it. Maybe because of the nearness yet the distance between our lips and the liquid contained inside the bottle. Maybe because of the satisfaction of a job well done. Maybe because we had mastered the technique of breaking ampoules.

Nowadays, when I see a bottle of wine, my eyes instinctively seek out the top of the bottle to see whether it is capped or corked. And then I smile, recalling our little adventure with a bottle of wine in a small hostel room  in a rainy town. Invariably, a word forms on my lips and I mutter "Cheers!"