Confusion. Chaos. Crisis.
A million thoughts circled the tiny little brain of our campus heartthrob, Puddles, as he woke up to perhaps the most outlandish occurrence of all (yes, it surpasses the existence of a walking, talking frog): the departments, the very organs of Malhar, had all switched personalities.
The brain was seeing, the eyes were breathing, the lungs were listening, and it seemed as though everyone had downed a vial of Polyjuice Potion—the only logical explanation.
Puddles roamed around the quad, eavesdropping on conversations with every step he took. Suddenly, he heard Security discussing classics, contemporary books, sitcoms, films, and, most importantly, feminist literature. His ears practically popped the moment the subject came up. He had to rub his eyes five times to confirm whether the voices he overheard were actually associated with the people he saw. Puddles wondered whether Security was trying to emulate Literary Arts, or if they had somehow… become LA.
Initially, Puddles thought someone was trying to make a fool of him. But when he saw that LA’s lounge had the precision of Fine Arts, he realised something was majorly wrong. Things made even less sense when he witnessed FA procrastinating on their assigned work and instead planning their art as though they were creating Admin’s database, albeit colour-coded, of course.
Admin was busy preparing the events brochure, concentrating more on the design while overlooking the content, as if they had come to snatch Creatives' job. Creatives, meanwhile, were armed with chairs and tables instead of Canva, as they stopped experimenting and started doing the heavy lifting usually reserved for Logs, both figuratively and literally.
Logs had undergone an even stranger transformation. The department, usually content with staying behind the scenes and fixing problems before anyone noticed them, was suddenly chasing the spotlight, pulling crowds, and becoming the centre of attention, much like ETC. Meanwhile, ETC had become rooted in India's traditional artistic expressions, disciplined and composed. Indian Performing Arts was seen grooving to Michael Jackson's music, performing Indian styles to Western rhythms.
WPA was practising for flash mobs yet again, though without their usual finesse. Instead, they seemed to have adopted PR’s style : scrolling through their Instagram feeds and keeping up with the trends. An unusually quiet PR even managed to raise Puddles’ (non-existent) eyebrows. Polite silences now filled the spaces once occupied by those who started conversations with complete strangers.
One historic event left even Puddles in a state of shock, or perhaps surprise; he's yet to decide.
PR and FnD were cheering for each other.
At a photoshoot, the department that once snapped, "Do I look like a tripod to you?" was now holding a jacket over PR OG's head to shield them from the heat. They were helping each other shoot BTS videos instead of arguing over who had captured the departments better. Puddles nearly fell into the fountain. The two eyes through which the public witnesses Malhar had always been at odds, so this came completely out of the blue.
The Conclave is the heart of Malhar, but somehow the team that keeps it beating had forgotten its pulse. Instead of obsessing over line-ups, speakers, and schedules, they were busy debating whether guests would prefer extra chutney with their snacks. Hospitality, meanwhile, had abandoned its sacred duty of ensuring everyone was fed and comfortable and was now passionately discussing cables, sound checks, and technical specifications.
Texx had mysteriously developed an obsession with websites and coding, while Comps had discovered a creative streak, channeling their energy into digital marketing campaigns and aesthetic content. Marketing, once occupied with bringing sponsors on board, was now being lashed out at by all the Events departments, as they continued tightening the budget with every passing meeting.
Finance, on the other hand, had given up all hopes on Excel and, alongside Assistance, was now enthusiastically brainstorming merchandise ideas, as though their true calling had always been designing the next bestseller for the merch stall. Meanwhile, DnM had transformed into the guardians of rules and regulations, managing crowds, policing venues, and demanding proper procedures. They were even enjoying judge blocks now—a rarity among rarities.
Puddles, in an attempt to make sense of the change, found everything utterly hilarious. The work was sloppy, and the mess was almost infectious. A domino effect gone haywire.
The switch transformed corridor conversations into a comedy sketch. Every person seemed to be undergoing a revelation of personality, behaviour, and work style.
Everything was fun and games for a few days, until the novelty began to wear off.
The structure started to fail. The events departments faced blocks. The organisers struggled with spontaneity. Sometimes everything felt a little too perfect, and at other times, disaster seemed moments away. The fest swung wildly between symmetry and disarray.
The connection was lost. The Wi-Fi exists, but your phone simply refuses to join the network.
The departments are the pieces of the puzzle that make Malhar. Each one brings its own dose of madness, magic, and mastery. Malhar does not thrive in uniformity. Instead, it flourishes in contrast. Every department complements the others.
The events take place because Assistance, Security, Logistics, and Texx hold the fort silently (well, not literally silently, because their chants still reverberate in our ears), allowing the other teams to work on schedule. The blogs go out every week because Comps and Creatives bring code and colour to the words written by LA. Hospitality ensures that no one is left unattended and helps every department meet the needs of judges and guests alike. Conclave puts on a show worthy of all the conversations surrounding it, while PR ensures that those conversations begin long before the event itself.
Collaboration is what keeps a fest going.
And somewhere in the middle of this campus-wide identity crisis, Puddles arrived at a profound conclusion—the departments of Malhar are not interchangeable. If you take away their quirks, their instincts, their strengths, and even their chaos, all that remains is a hollow imitation of what once worked.
The brain cannot become the lungs. The eyes cannot become the ears. Every organ has its own purpose. And so does every department.
They are a hundred different personalities somehow moving to the same beat.
Exactly as they are supposed to.