Debater

“This is it,” she thought to herself. And not in that clichéd sports star movie way, but in a very real way, this was really it, it had taken her years of hard work to get where she was, sitting in the Library of her own school, but waiting not for a book, but for life. Years.

To everyone out there she was just one of 20 speakers that morning, speaking on the same boring topic that they would be bored of in under an hour of speeches. Those sitting there in the audience, they would look up at some speakers and snigger when they spoke, or made mistakes or forgot, they would applaud questions that left speakers wordless, confused, and defeated. They would, if grudgingly applaud those that spoke with brilliance, but for the most part, they would only applaud in a perfunctory, bored manner, as if attempting to get it over with, or at least get their part in the proceedings over with. She had sat in those audiences, and knew what the kids at the back would be doing, many would be reading comic books, others would be talking and passing chits, the better off would be tinkering with phones, and the most daring, the very stars of the batch, they, they would be leching at the girls. Even the less attractive ones would not be spared, and she knew she was one of them, the less attractive ones, but she also knew that she was immune to whatever they might say. She was above them, and would be, literally too, standing at the dais.

It didn’t matter that they weren’t paying attention to her, or that they were mocking her, those lowlifes were nothing, and she would forget them. Today though, she would carve her little place in history, as insignificant as it might be, she was still going to have it. She might be forgotten in an hour, afterwards, but for that one moment she would be invincible, she would be in fact God. And that is what she wanted more than anything in world.

To win.

It hadn’t been easy getting here. She had had to work hard. She wasn’t a natural, she hadn’t learnt the language at her mother’s knee, but had learnt it on her own, reading books, watching movies, listening to music. She had been called a snob, and much worse for allegedly preferring English movies and music to Bollywood, but it had been worth it. And after today when she went back, victorious and divine, she wouldn’t have to apologise, they would, they would come to her, and want to be with her, they would want her, adore her, and respect her. They would have to!

She had taught herself how to speak, using her school’s in-house debating contests as a testing ground for her skills, she had honed her manner of speaking, and even asked teachers from other schools to help her, joining their coaching classes, and staying back late afterwards being coached. It was a mystery in her school how she developed the facility she had with the language, and her confidence on stage.

The confidence really was defiance though, defiance against everyone who thought she should not be up there. Those people in her school who thought the dais was their territory, and that she had no business elbowing her way in. And yet she won, she beat them, time and time again, till there was no arguing the fact that she was the best there was. But that had taken a long time.

Till class 8, it still seemed like she would never get a chance to speak, the dais seemed like a distant dream to her, something forbidden almost. She wanted it, but knew it wasn’t to be. Her class already had two speakers, not very good, but from the English tradition, and so chosen by default for everything, from being monitors, to acting, to speaking... they never won, never even spoke well, but were assumed to be the only two who could. Then in class 8 something unexpected happened. The class teacher declared that she wanted two new speakers to represent class.

This wasn’t taken well by the students, used to a hierarchy, and to losing to their rival sections, they were afraid of what might happen if they someone else were allowed to speak. She wasn’t afraid, this was to be her chance. The teacher set aside one period, wherein anyone wanting to speak would have a chance to debate on a topic she gave them, and then the class would decide. It was close, but she won, though the class didn’t seem to like her, once the teacher declared her the best, and voted in favour of her, many people re-scribbled who they thought the winner was, and finally by 24 votes to 20 she was chosen the second speaker.

This did not affect much change in her life her friends still thought she was doing something inappropriate, not very though, it was something like volunteering to be black board in charge, ‘why would anyone do that?’ which was enough to make you an outsider. And she wasn’t the best in class, since the actual champions of the class hadn’t been allowed to speak in the contest. At best, she was third. And everyone expected that the next year, they would reclaim their spots as speakers. She was grudgingly granted her 15 seconds or 3 minutes of fame.

She won. Much to everyone’s surprise, she spoke the best, and even more surprising, was judged the best too. While she was expected to be pleased, she was merely sure, and determined at the end of that day. She’d begun her march, and would not back down, till she’d planted her flag on the very highest summit.

From then on it had been easier, the next year, she was chosen by default to represent class, and the two others had to fight it out for a place next to her. And when they won, he had to congratulate her on being judged the best speaker of all, making it impossible for him to take credit. In class eleven, no one laughed at her trying out for the school team. She wasn’t selected, and a few people were even surprised.

But the next year, her place was undeniable. Her partner came from the rival section, and he seemed pleased to be on her side for once, with a slightly better chance of winning. The year began as it normally did, with a few lame competitions for schools within the city. They lost a few, but she was still judged best speaker. She realised she would have to compensate for her teammate if they were to have any success, so she worked even harder, and offered to write his speeches for him. He gratefully allowed her to, and once they had that down, they were unstoppable. They won 5 of 7 competitions, and she was already acknowledged as one of the greatest debaters their school ever had. People were proud of her. But it wasn’t enough.

Every few years there were people like her, debaters who shook the city, dominated it, and then did no more, when it really mattered they faltered, or failed, outclassed by students from bigger cities, and colleges that actually taught their students. This wasn’t to be her fate.

In December the dates for the Frank Anthony Memorial Debate were announced. And she started preparing. Her partner, and the teacher in charge, had to grudgingly allow her to train them in debating, in writing convincing speeches in short spans of time, and then delivering only half learnt speeches well, and in rebuttal, and in finding flaws in arguments.

Teachers complained about a lack of focus in her classes, she had started bunking classes too, under pretext of preparing for the debate, though she always had permission to do so, and they could never find fault with her, or get her into trouble. Still the resentment of her class mates spread to her teachers, but she didn’t particularly care. Her eyes were set on the goal, and the first step to achieving it, the city round of the Frank Anthony Debate.

This was going to be a cinch, and she knew it. She knew all the other teams competing, and prepared methodically to outdo them, and forced her teammate to prepare to the same degree, much against his will. Their school had won the city round for 4 years running at that point, and had always been amongst the favourites in the competition, it was almost assumed that they would win again, and he didn’t understand why she was so dogged in her preparation.

To her the City Round was a foregone conclusion, but it was also only a stepping stone to the real test.

The City Round happened. It was hosted by a school in Mahanagar, they went, they spoke, they won. And barely a perceptible flicker of joy crossed her face. This was to be, the real test was the next round, the Regional Round.

She redoubled her efforts, and found the energy to push the others along with her. The Teacher in-charge actually got her permission to spend the last period each day practicing. And she ensured it was spent as such.

The Regional Round had always presented an insurmountable barrier to their school. They were forced to compete with boarding and public schools from nearby hill stations. School which charged exorbitant fees, but matched them in quality of education, whose average student probably spoke better in class, than any of her class mates would ordinarily comprehend. But She would outdo even their best.

The Regional Round was to be hosted in her school, making it an even greater issue of pride for the school. The principal himself took an interest in her preparation, and would often attend practice sessions and smile happily at the prospect of finally making it through what had become the seventh tier of the chakravyu for their school. For once he was confident of their chances. Word spread, and alumni still in the city, and loyal citizens all began to foster a sense of expectation, and a chance to return to the glory days, when their school was considered one of the best in the nation.

Finally it was the day. She had jitters as she put on her uniform, taking extra care over each crease of her dupatta, and making sure her school badge was absolutely straight, adjusting it again. Not so much out of a sense of pride in her school, but to ensure that nothing would go wrong. She didn’t carry her books to school; she wouldn’t be attending any classes. She spent the morning in the Hall, watching the last minute preparations. The banner being strung across the top of the stage, bouquets being arranged for the guests. And chairs from the Principal’s office being brought out for judges, their tables being set out with floral arrangements and folios which would soon contain mark sheets. She knew who the judges were, but kept the thought from her mind as much as possible.

When the sweepers started swabbing the floor behind the judges’ chairs, one last time, she left the hall, and walked to the library where the contestants were to be assembled and the topic announced. Her teammate was already there. He looked smart, and fully worthy of the alleged umpteen crushes other girls had on him. She was completely immune to his charm and looks, and merely looked him over, hoping he wouldn’t jeopardize her chances too much.

Soon they were joined by the other contestants. The uniforms they wore were exotic, breaking with the navy blue and grey standard of the city and experimenting with sky blue shirts, blazers with piping, and khaki trousers, it brought home to her the fact that she was facing opposition she knew nothing about.

The cool confidence they exhibited when introducing themselves, and the obvious emphasis they placed on the names of their schools and colleges, and their pride made her feel a little weird, these students truly had their entire schools behind them, and were not like her breaks from the norm. To them, even the regional finals, it seemed was just another debate.

Then her principal emerged from inside the library, carrying the fateful white envelope which had only been delivered in the morning. Only the students were invited into the library, and teachers left with fleeting ‘best of lucks’ and advice. Then it was only them, as the rules were read out in a perfunctory ceremony, and the top of the envelope ripped open, making a sound so loud, she felt like covering her ears.

Yet she seemed the only one affected by the crinkling of the paper as the principal unfolded the letter inside which held her fate. Slowly she realised, that perhaps it would take more than just luck to win and she allowed herself to consider for the first time, the trump she knew she had, but which her integrity hadn’t allowed her to play. Or perhaps it was her pride. She wanted to beat them on fair terms, so that she could claim the victory in all its glory. Yet what was the point of integrity or pride if there was no victory to celebrate?

The trump was her father. Her parents had separated when she was in class 6, and she was given to her mother. Her father felt guilty. Apparently, though she didn’t fully know the details, the rift had been his fault, and he, while, he didn’t seem to concerned about her mother, seemed desperate to make it up to her. He tried in many ways, sending her lavish gifts for her birthday, and on Christmas. Writing her long letters in the mails. Occasionally she replied, but never in any degree of emotion comparable to his. Her letters were dry, just answering question he asked, and informing him of her progress. He seemed very proud of her development as a debater, and had in the recent weeks offered her much advice.

Then she had learnt he was to be a judge at the Regional Round. And she knew that if she wanted she only need ask him to judge her winner, and he would, by margins sufficient to ensure no one would come close to her. All she had to do was ask. But she hadn’t.

She didn’t want her victory marred. She wanted a pure clean, satisfying triumph... and had refused to let herself consider the option. But now, sitting in the library preparing her speech, she seemed the only one remotely affected by the gravity of her situation. Her teammate was patiently waiting for her to finish his speech. The other teams were actually laughing and joking, and enjoying themselves, making what looked like occasional notes but no real concerted effort at writing speeches.

Were they going to speak extempore? Had they really mastered the art of argument sufficiently to debate in the manner prescribed by the loftiest proponents of the sport? Were they really that good? These were questions she dared not answer. And also she was aware, that it wasn’t one or two of them that were preparing so, but all of them. She felt out classed, completely, as though she was using a fountain pen in a class where notes were being circulated on laptops.

And so she thought about her father. She knew all it would take would be a smile from her, and the merest pleading in her eyes for him to understand what she wanted and make it happen. She knew that in one nod of her head, she could reduce this debate to a mere pageant, with the results decided long before anyone even took to the podium, it was there within her grasp, in fact firmly within her palm, if only she would close her fist around it.

And yet, that would take the whole point out of it. Out of the months of preparation she had put into coming this far, it would belie the very rebellion against the Order that she saw herself as a symbol of. It would betray her struggle, and reduce her to another cog in the system. Yet what was the point of being a blazing rebel, with nothing to show for it?

Had she not spent the so many months of her life, no years, preparing for exactly this? Would she mar it so easily, concede defeat, because if she asked for help, it would be the same thing as accepting that she couldn’t beat them on her own. And could she? She really didn’t know. The honest thing would be to find out, to face fairly... and... possibly lose?

It wasn’t fair to begin with; they had advantages she could never dream of. They were the products of elite schools, for whom the English language was second nature, and for whom this debate was nothing out of the ordinary, what right had they to take away from her this one moment for which she had been preparing for long. It was only fair, that for once, someone without their privileges be given something  infinitely more powerful, and to win. Wasn’t it?

And was winning everything? Would she be able to talk about her victory if she won in that manner? Would it be the epic event she had imagined it to be? And would there be any honour in it? Wouldn’t she lose all respect if it came to be known? And was it worth that?

Of course it was, history was written by the victors, and so many great men had been cheats, so many. Hadn’t Einstein once been suspected of cheating in a Maths exam? Okay that wasn’t exactly a good analogy, given that he hadn’t entered his theory of relativity in some kind of competition to determine who was the ‘greatest scientist,’ she told herself, checking herself in the debate she was having with herself. But look at Asoka or Alexander, or so many other of the ‘the greats,’ they weren’t white dove pure from any angle, each had used means considered dishonest to forge ahead, and each was respected today, and admired, even worshiped. History was written by the victors, it would tell which ever story she wanted it to. And anyway, no one would ever know.

This is how she argued and refuted herself, while she wrote her speech, putting down points and arguments in the most convincing manner she could, writing a conclusion that tied up her whole speech, and made it water tight, leaving no weakness through which a rebuttal could enter. She had perfected the art to a degree, where it was almost automatic, and she could debate on other topics while she did it.

As she sat revising her speech, her mind once more wandered to the greater questions of winning, winning, or just trying to win, was that ever enough? Had anyone, however, valiant been remembered for just trying? There was Hector, said one part of her, and yet, Achilles is infinitely more revered. The choice she faced was one of ego versus ego.

She wanted to win, for her ego. Yet her ego didn’t let her ask for help. Should she keep her ego happy by being upright, or by winning? And would her ego be satisfied with an upright loss? It didn’t seem likely. As she read her speech for the fourth time, she looked up at the watch.

They were only five minutes left to choose. And then they were up. The principal reappeared to give them their order of speaking, randomly decided in a draw. And then with a brisk ‘best of luck’ he ushered them towards the hall.

She still hadn’t made up her mind. In the windows of the classrooms she passed she looked at herself, and decided she looked smart, enough to sit with her competitors. And this gave her some confidence, though the larger question of debating against them still remained.

And then they entered the hall, an expectant silence greeted them, a silence that hall had never experienced while students occupied it. The audience craned its neck to watch them take up their seats. And then there was some whispering as uniforms were recognised. Then a lone voice shouted the name of their school, and a brief cheer rose, silenced by their principal while various teachers reddened at such inappropriate behaviour.

She spotted her father, and he seemed to be looking for her. He would know she was debating, he would have red his participants’ list, and he was scanning the faces of those on stage expectantly. Finally, their eyes met, and she knew it was time to decide.

I wonder which she chose. And I doubt I’ll ever know!