The End

28 January 2007 10:38 am
Madras

And so down comes the curtain on my mooting career, seemingly with lead laden frills – so resounding was the sound. The moment we finished that first round, I think we all knew we were in trouble. Here’s the hard part: we lost to a team whose merits argument was the 1961 convention.

I can’t really say whether I’m angry, disappointed, dejected or just plain helpless. There’s a gamut of ‘emotions’ – and I assure you, swear words – that’s been on in my head time and again since last evening. At the end of the day this remains the equation – go as a first year, say nothing of any legal significance, win.

I wont say we aren’t at fault – because that would just be a typical mooter’s complaint against being ousted. I think we did push the judges too far, but I can tell you this with absolutely no shred of ego or arrogance – municipal law arguments don’t win you a Jessup, except here in Madras from the looks of things. And if the result of one, two, three months of work means that I go out there and tell people that the ’61 Convention is applicable law to international organisations – then I’ll take not representing India, thank you very much.

There’s certainly going to be demand for a level of humility in my step in College for a while (the rest of the year, methinks) after all that we were making ourselves out to be. Winning is, after all, everything – never mind all that your teachers taught you. I don’t like losing, I don’t like the feeling and I’d rather not participate anymore if I know I’m going to lose – same reason the tennis racket was never picked up after I stopped playing.

After the first Jessup, I could come back and say I learnt something. That appears to be the position after this one too. Some things are not meant for you. I’m not a ‘fate’ guy at all – but then I’m usually not this low either.

APR was right – I ought to have brought my acoustic along.

‘This concrete field with its clear blue skies
Feel like the endless smother of an Arctic moonrise
Split lips and broken jaws never hurt
As much as this little blood spurt

And I still don’t want reality’