It was a sunny December afternoon when the chaos began. Maha Behes - our
national debate finale, our biggest event of the year, was in full swing at a
sprawling school campus teeming with debaters, spectators, and a crew of
exhausted-yet-enthusiastic team members. This particular year stood out—not just
for the sheer scale of the event but because it marked the first time we
implemented a brand-new scoring system, designed by a business professional who
had joined the Behes ranks as a beloved member of our quirky team.
The scoring system was a marvel—efficient, transparent, and a massive leap from
the manual methods of yore. It promised fairness and seamless management of
results, something we desperately needed as the tournaments grew. But, as with all
innovations, it came with its teething troubles. On the second day, just before the
results of the opening ceremony were to be displayed, disaster struck. A glitch
appeared, rendering the scores inaccessible.
Panic spread through the team like wildfire. We were a motley crew back then: our
spirited founder, always the first to take charge, a teacher who had left her stable
job to pursue her passion for debate with us, a college student on her way abroad
for further studies, another righteous college student with a knack at pleasing the
crowds and me—a law school student juggling exams and a passion for debate
training, often with a mix of gusto and procrastination.
As chaos erupted, everyone sprang into action. The scoring expert dove into
troubleshooting, while the rest of us scrambled to ensure the debaters didn’t sense
the technical storm brewing behind the scenes. I was racing from one end of the
campus to the other, calling my memory in on every shred of technical wisdom I’d
picked up over late-night team sessions.
By some miracle—call it teamwork, perseverance, or sheer luck—we managed to
resolve the glitch just in time. The results were displayed, the ceremony proceeded
without a hitch, and the crowd was none the wiser. But if the debaters were the
stars of the show, the team backstage was undoubtedly the unsung hero.Day 2 of Maha Behes was unforgettable. After the intensity of the debates, the
evening transitioned into a celebration—the Maha Behes Ball. Students sang their
hearts out, rapped with uncontainable energy, and danced to beats that echoed
through the winter chill. It was a moment of joy, camaraderie, and relief for
everyone involved.
The Maha Behes mega tournament wasn’t just about the debates or the new scoring
system. It was about the people—the team who worked tirelessly, the students who
brought their best selves to the table, and the moments that made all the chaos
worthwhile. For me, it was also a strange blend of experiences. Mornings were
spent hauling ass across the venue, making sure everything went smoothly;
evenings were filled with laughter and music; and nights were a whirlwind of
cramming for my law exams under the guidance of seasoned professionals who
happened to be on our team and who were from fields not connected to law in any
manner whatsoever. Every corner of the hotel where we stayed buzzed with
activity—last-minute preparations for the next day, recounting the day’s triumphs
and mishaps, and bonding over shared exhaustion.
Looking back, that Maha Behes wasn’t just about the debates or the new scoring
system. It was about the spirit of the Maha Behes mega tournament and how it
brought people together to create something extraordinary. That year, we didn’t
just host one of the largest gatherings of debaters in India; we learned that no
glitch, no hurdle, and no sleepless night could dampen the spirit of Behes. And for
someone like me, juggling law school lectures that sucked your soul out and a
passion for debate, it was a lesson to just keep going, despite all odds. Here’s to
that unforgettable winter, to the madness of Maha Behes, and to every single
person who made it an experience we’ll carry with us forever.