The quizmaster’s code

“What is the capital of Burkina Faso?” the question echoed in the tennis court, the venue for the open quiz.

The unique combination of surviving a Kolkata bus ride (those rickety buses that used to ply the city circa 2007), drinking some flat, warm beer and eating a particularly oily and vile samosa had already brought us down to our knees, and that one last blow from the honourable quizmaster was too much to take. We did what any self-respecting quizzer would do. We pocketed the (better-tasting) free snacks and walked out of the venue.

Let me back up a little to provide some context to this turning point in my quizzing life.

I grew up in what is known, in some circles, as the Mecca of Indian quizzing — Jharkhand. Starting off my quizmaster experience by annoying my mother with a GK book, I soon graduated to organising quizzes for my small school. However, I was familiar largely with the ‘Who is the President of Sri Lanka?’ variety, and so, when I joined college in Delhi, the Karnataka Quiz Association (KQA)-inspired quizzing there left me rather lost, and I came very close to leaving for good. We will never know how different the world would have been had I left quizzing and focused on other pursuits, like maybe basketball, but, with a little help from my friends, I persevered.

The next few years were spent building my cultural capital. That is, a good deal of the time meant for studying chemical engineering was spent on watching classic (and Payal Rohatgi) films, reading books, and experiencing the many levels of quizzing that Delhi had to offer.

Life, and the Rajdhani Express, next took me to Kolkata. While many of my friends had decided to pay back society, and their parents, by getting employed, I chose to avail myself of the Indian government’s subsidised education for two more years. And also continue to make money on the college quizzing circuit. Staying in Kolkata had another major benefit. The city’s open quizzing scene is among the most active in the country — much better than Delhi’s at the time — and I got to test those waters too. And, that is how I ended up with a few of my teammates at that eventful quiz one fine humid evening.

Kolkata has proven to be a lot of things to a lot of people over the years. For the bhodrolok , of course, it spells home. For many enterprising people, it is a great place to earn money doing work those same bhodrolok would look down their noses at. For cheap college students, it is one of the best cities to enjoy litres of booze, tons of food and great music, without a dent in the pocket. For the chatty, it is a city where you can be sure to find a person to engage in a conversation on any topic, at any time of the day, at any coffee shop. Often, it is the same person willing to talk on any topic.

For me, it was the city that provided the final shove that I needed to become a professional quizmaster.

Far too many quizzes I attended in the city made me feel like a new recruit in an army platoon. Or, even an animal in the circus. Jumping through hoops and wading through mud to entertain the audience. And the quizmasters, who had little regard for the questions they were asking, or the quizzers they were putting those questions to, often came away the only winners, being paid a bomb for their measly efforts.

To an MBA candidate, getting by on a student loan, this felt almost criminal. And thus, true to the spirit of any good business education, a good way to make money. So the main idea behind taking up quizzing as a part-time, and eventually full-time, profession was my (slightly misplaced) confidence that I could do a better job than most quizmasters I had been coming across. It almost felt like a duty I owed to the great sport of quizzing. And, it also felt like a good way to remain in touch with quizzing, especially college quizzing.

A few years back, while reviewing a book of fiction written by a professor from my college, I had written that it took me a long time to realise that teachers are human beings too.

The realisation that quizmasters are human beings dawned on me rather quickly in comparison. The contempt that the younger, more upstart me had fondly nurtured for other quizmasters gradually began turning into grudging respect, or at least some degree of understanding.

For I began learning that being a quizmaster can often be like cooking a meal for the first time as a newly-wed TV bahu in her sasuraal . She has only a faint idea of her in-laws’ tastes, and even for the smallest of mistakes, the irate recipient of her culinary love is likely to reciprocate with an earful. Everyone has different tastes to begin with. And there is no make-up sex from her spouse, either; not in most cases, at least.

I learned a fact easily forgotten: that the two most vital aspects of a good quiz are the matter and the manner, one not any more or less important than the other. I came to greatly admire, and occasionally envy, those who I think score above me in either department.

Matter is, of course, the content, the ability to make original, well researched, interesting questions. Making them not just in a vacuum, but understanding one’s participants well, and tailoring the questions accordingly.

The need to make questions that best fit the target audience is also the main reason why a good quizzer does not automatically make a good quiz-maker. Far too many quizzing superstars treat quizzes as a stage for their solo performance, or bring out their answer-Nazis, whereas the quizmaster needs to let the content and the participants shine.

The manual effort involved in making questions might have come down significantly from the days when quizmasters had to spend hours in the library, getting content photocopied and slides prepared, but the art of it still takes time if you do not rely on Slideshare or believe in civilised norms of formatting (I am looking at you, Wikipedia copy-pasters).

As for manner, ask any quizzer of some experience, and this is a topic that he would happily write a thesis on. Manner, much like matter, has to be fine-tuned according to the audience, occasion and location. Like college professors, quizmasters tend to have their well-known quirks, which add to the overall experience, but these quirks should not overshadow the event itself. I once fell asleep on stage in a quiz conducted by a famous quizmaster known for his sombre style. Another quizmaster’s quizzes are little more than an excuse for political rants and a possible compensatory exercise for some physical shortcoming. These two were chief among the ones who should be held responsible for unleashing me on to the world.

Another quick flashback: from the second year of engineering college. The first inter-collegiate quiz conducted by me ended up slightly easy. Despite good feedback from seniors, I was sure it had been a disaster. I came back to my room, cried for about half an hour, fell asleep and missed a performance by Indian Ocean that evening. I still haven’t been able to watch them perform. Lesson learned: Don’t do a quiz the day there’s a band performance you are looking forward to. And, develop a thick skin. Not indifference or impudence, but self-assurance.

A thick skin helps me face strange situations. Which occur no matter how much I have prepared. Made reserve questions, included buffer slides, double-checked all machinery, not eaten spicy food the previous night. But, there is always something unexpected that turns up.

Like that participant, who comes to argue after the prelims that not one of the questions is of any practical use in his life (Chandigarh). Or the professor, who requires 500 new questions just before the quiz because he has thought of a new format that would allow every registered participant some time on the stage (where else but Kolkata!). Organisers might ask you to ‘entertain’ the audience while the stage is being set up (Mumbai, Lucknow). Or the mother of one of the school participants might be adamant that almost everything in the quiz is ‘out of syllabus’ (Ahmedabad). Or college/school quizzing gods might come convinced that there is a prize for finding errors in the quiz (everywhere).

I listen to complaints, incorporate even unreasonable requests, almost jump through hoops and wade through mud, but beyond a point, can only smile and let it all slide off my very precious thick skin. It helps a lot in staying sane as a quizmaster, as, indeed, in anything that one does that involves a degree of public adjudication. It helps me switch off the ‘God mode’ that many quizmasters seem to function in, and accept mistakes when pointed out. It helps stay comfortable with polite banter, even light heckling. It certainly helps me freely spout theories in articles like these. And helps in knowing that at the end of the day, a quiz is just a game.

The capital of Burkina Faso is Ouagadougou.

Arnav Sinha is a quizmaster and freelancewriter based in NCR and Chandigarh

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