On Fri, Aug 26, 2016 at 4:39 PM WordPsmith <[email protected]> wrote:
> Intrigued by the phrase "second-hand nature of knowledge." Can any > knowledge be grouped into first- and second-hand? Sure, why not? Isn't there theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge? Isn't there a difference between knowing, for example, how baseball is played and actually playing it? > Surely we all read *about* distant lands, for example, without visiting > them. Would that be considered second-hand and therefore a "lesser" form of > knowledge? > I did not mean to categorize one form of knowledge as being lesser than another. I was wondering why the questions could not be about actual experiences (or encounters) that an Indian quizzer is likelier to have had. BTW, I was a quizzer as well in my teens and tweens. And like many Indians of that age in that time, I had more knowledge than experience. I guess teens and tweens are, by definition, not very experienced. Thaths > I'd agree with you if the question asked quizzers to name the font: Bell > Centennial. What the question does, though, is give the name and ask people > to work out its purpose, based on those attributes. Those attributes surely > are universal -- we've all seen phone directories -- and therefore > first-hand. And the processes of logic expected to work out the purpose are > also, similarly, universal and first-hand. > > > > On Aug 26, 2016, at 15:12, Thaths <[email protected]> wrote: > > > > Quizzing is a common trait among Silklisters. Here is a piece by fellow > > Silklister Samanth on the differences between Indian quizzing and its > > American and European cousins. > > > > I have found the second-hand nature of the knowledge being rewarded in > > Indian quizzing circles to be strange. Take Samanth's illustrative sample > > in the article below. Why the users of Indian Telephones and Telegraph > > were rewarded > > for knowing the name of the font used by AT&T to print telephone > > directories never made much sense to me. Many of the quizzers would have > > never touched an AT&T telephone, let alone thumbed through a telephone > > directory published by Ma Bell. > > > > Perhaps there is a bit of aspiration involved in knowing the facts to > these > > questions: I'd like to lead a life where AT&T telephones and directories > > are commonplace in my life. > > > > Thaths > > > > PS: I also have to disagree with Samanth's grouping of American and > > European quizzing into one bucket. I have found British quizzing (as > > exemplified by pub quizzes) to be on par with Indian quizzing in terms of > > its inventive questions. > > > > > http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/cover/an-organic-model-of-knowledge/article8849921.ece > > > > An organic model of knowledgeSAMANTH SUBRAMANIAN > > COMMENT > > < > http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/cover/an-organic-model-of-knowledge/article8849921.ece#comments > > > > (1) · PRINT > > < > http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/cover/an-organic-model-of-knowledge/article8849921.ece?css=print > > > > · T+ > > < > http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/cover/an-organic-model-of-knowledge/article8849921.ece# > > > > > > inShare > > < > http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/cover/an-organic-model-of-knowledge/article8849921.ece# > > > > 9 > > < > http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/cover/an-organic-model-of-knowledge/article8849921.ece# > > > > [image: Drained of colour: John F Kennedy was a fascinating and colourful > > man, by all accounts. And yet, an American quiz could only summon up the > > most uninspiring facts about him.] > > The Hindu ArchivesDrained of colour: John F Kennedy was a fascinating and > > colourful man, by all accounts. And yet, an American quiz could only > summon > > up the most uninspiring facts about him. > > > > India, despite having a dry and uninventive education system, has a much > > more creative and enjoyable quizzing culture than the US > > > > A month into my undergraduate degree, when I was still somewhat unmoored > in > > my strange new habitat — a small, white college town in the middle of an > > enormous US state — I discovered the university’s Quiz Bowl Club. The > club > > convened at 8 pm every Monday and Thursday, in a classroom reserved for > the > > purpose. You brought along dinner — your sandwich or your $2 slice of > pizza > > — and made an evening of it. The first time I went, I was immediately at > > home. Here were my people, the geeks and the social misfits and the > > inordinately curious, the lovers of bad puns and obscure allusions, the > > devotees of minutiae. I felt like a Jew of the Diaspora who had finally > > made aliyah. > > > > Within the first 15 minutes, I realised how different American quizzing > > was. Here, a question was simply an absence of a fact, a sheaf of data > > points that ended in a bald query for information. “This politician, > from a > > prominent New England family, served in World War II and became a Senator > > in 1952. He participated in the first televised presidential debate in > > 1960, appearing opposite Richard Nixon. For 10 points, name America’s > only > > Roman Catholic president.” The questions might have been drawn from > > textbooks. Indeed, I often had to recall the physics or chemistry lessons > > I’d crunched into my head by rote only the previous year, when I was > > finishing school in Chennai. What was going on? I wondered. Why was > > American quizzing — and even European quizzing, as I later found — such a > > dust-dry, uninventive affair, so different from quizzing in India? > > > > The paradox still intrigues me. In India, it is the education that is dry > > and uninventive, a dense and endless parade of facts that must be > memorised > > and redelivered during examinations. Recall is everything. Yet our > quizzing > > has evolved, over the last couple of decades, to be playful, and rich and > > creative. No Indian quizmaster (outside, I will cheekily say, of Kolkata) > > will set questions that rely purely upon recall. (What is the capital of > > Ghana? Who founded Nike?) Instead, each question is a miniature puzzle, > to > > be approached and unlocked in myriad ways. Even the best quizzers do not > > know cold most of the correct answers they give; instead, they work these > > answers out, applying knowledge but also logic, teamwork and instinct. > > Clues are scattered, like breadcrumbs, all over a question, just enough > to > > lead you home but insufficient to give the game away altogether. There is > > often some sly wordplay. Quizzes routinely feature audio, visuals and > > video; the Son of Lumiere movie quiz, conducted every year by the > Karnataka > > Quiz Association and including nearly 120 minutes of expertly clipped > video > > embedded into a PowerPoint deck, is arguably the most slickly produced > quiz > > on Earth. > > > > An illustration of an Indian quiz question: The font Bell Centennial was > > commissioned in the late 1970s, with the objective of fitting more > > characters into a line without loss of legibility, reducing the need for > > abbreviations and two-line entries. It replaced an earlier font, which > was > > plagued by the problem of spreading ink, made worse by the quality of the > > paper. Where would we have seen Bell Centennial in the 1980s and 1990s, > and > > increasingly less since then? Now, a graphic designer might well know the > > name of the font, but it takes much less specialised wisdom to recall > that > > AT&T was once part of the Bell phone network, or to think about where we > > might encounter crunched text on poor paper, or to recognise that phone > > directories are much rarer than they were a few decades ago. The Bell > > Centennial, we may deduce with logic and a tiny spark of inspiration, was > > the default font in the telephone book. > > > > In a way, quizzing in India is a minor triumph of intellectual culture, a > > small but stubborn efflorescence in a largely arid landscape. It is not > > difficult to suppose that quizzing evolved in this manner as a clear > > rejection of the banality of rote learning that schools and universities > > require. Quizzing was steered in this direction by, and now regularly > > absorbs, people hungering for a different, more capacious form of > learning. > > The best quizzes reward lateral and imaginative thinking; they treat, > with > > noble seriousness, pursuits that India considers frivolous: movies, or > > science fiction, or heavy metal; they like to ask “how” or “why”, rather > > than “what” or “when”; they encourage wide and eccentric reading, reading > > that is its own joy. Not coincidentally, these are all attributes that > have > > been stripped right out of our system of education. > > > > I like to believe that Indian quizzing has somehow found its way to a > truly > > organic model of knowledge. Recall is artificial, almost mechanical, in > its > > dredging-out of half-forgotten items of information. How much more > natural > > it feels to connect disparate facts from disparate fields, to rely on a > > combination of intuition and memory, and to be part of a team’s > cooperative > > thinking. And how much more exciting! Few people, I suspect, walk out of > > our country’s board exams — or, for that matter, out of the average > > European quiz — burning with the desire to go right back home and hit the > > books. A good Indian quiz, though, inspires and invigorates. It leaves us > > humming with anticipation — about new things to read or watch or listen > to, > > unfamiliar subjects to learn, and fresh waters to explore. > >
