‘What sort of classes are you talking about?’
‘Beat Carnegie at his own game. Come up with a rejoinder to his book, How to Win Friends and Influence People.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why don’t you run classes on how to win arguments?’
The applause all around suggested that everyone liked the idea.
We hadn’t expected Joshi to take up the suggestion in earnest, though. He came into office one day, after a gap of four months. He had started classes on how to win arguments. He asked each one of us to come and have a look, threatening to argue in the office if we didn’t accept his invitation.
The ancestral house had changed beyond recognition. The first floor had been divided into classrooms with soundproof partitions. There were quotations about arguments pasted everywhere.
‘Let death not take the argument away.’
‘No one has monopoly over a quarrel.’
‘Time flies, hours go by / as life passes, let the argument not die.’
He welcomed us excitedly.
‘I have started a three-year course.’
‘Three years!’
‘It’s necessary. We begin with speech therapy. I’ve appointed a doctor who specializes in treating defects like lisps and stammering.’
He picked up a few papers from the table. They were certificates for each year of his class. He explained,
‘Each year, the students will be awarded a degree. They get the title of Dispute Lion, Dispute King and Dispute Emperor for every progressive year. The student clearing all three years at the top of the class will get a free scholarship to the Middle East. He will get to study the disputes and intrigues of the rich and famous.’
‘Joshi saheb, these are all classes for men. What about women?’
‘They have a six-month course.’
‘Why is that?’
‘They don’t need to be taught how to argue. I’ve started their batch to gain some insight into their minds. They have a habit of deviating from the subject. My job is to teach them to focus and stick to the point. The first batch of girls will be graduating in another two months.’
‘What are their certifications called?’
‘They will graduate as Dispute Lionesses, Dispute Queens and Dispute Empresses.’
‘Wah!’
‘I’ve also ordered some bronze statuettes to be given to the scholars.’
‘What sort of statuettes?’
‘They depict the famous rishis Jamadagni and Durvasa, famous for their temper and ability to fight.’
‘And for the women?’
‘Anandibai and Soyrabai,’ he said, referring to infamous ladies of the Peshwa era.
It was all very exciting. I requested him to show me a class in action and he immediately agreed. The students were busy. Two of them were arguing, while the rest observed them carefully. The topic on the board proclaimed ‘People who break the queue’.
One of the students said,
‘Do you think this bus belongs to your father?’
Joshi stepped in, interrupting their argument.
‘Just a minute. Which year are you in?’
‘First year.’
‘You’re not allowed to bring fathers into the argument, okay? There are rules for that. It will all become clear to you in the second year.’
The students heard him out dutifully. Joshi continued,
‘Don’t be nervous. Remember, you shouldn’t lose focus on the main point. And you shouldn’t lose patience. You can lose patience on occasion, but always stick to the point. Anyway, carry on. You’re showing good progress!’
It was funny, but Joshi was dead serious.
We stepped out of the classroom. Joshi said,
‘These two are a promising pair.’
Joshi managed to buy a car within six months. I was at a traffic signal one day when I saw a crowd gathered around a car. It looked like there had been an accident. I went up to find Joshi arguing with a traffic inspector. Traffic had piled up and the other motorists honked incessantly, but Joshi continued his argument. The inspector let Joshi off with a fine of ten rupees.
Joshi dropped me to my office in his car.
‘Joshi saheb, how come you paid the fine?’
‘Don’t call it a fine. It was a fee.’
‘A fee?’
‘Yes. I discovered ten new ways of arguing after I bought my car. Today I found an eleventh. It will be a good addition to my class. So this was a fee for the discovery!’
Another day I was waiting at a bus stop. I had been waiting for a long time and the suspicion of an unannounced bus strike gnawed at me. There were no buses in sight. I asked a person standing next to me,
‘Is there a bus strike?’
‘What do you think?’ he retorted immediately.
I said, to make sure,
‘Oh! It looks like you’re a student of JP Jamadagni Classes.’
He said,
‘Is that a question or a statement?’
I didn’t need to continue that discussion. It was clear he was a student there!
I was on my way to JP’s classes. I had to request him to resolve my dispute with Vidyadhar. I encountered many bad omens along the way. A black cat crossed my path, so I stopped for a while to allow someone else to pass before moving ahead. A few metres ahead I saw municipal workers digging up Phalke Road, to widen it. I went on to find part of JP’s house being broken down to make space for the road. I couldn’t believe my eyes and walked briskly to his door.
Most of the house had been demolished except for a few rooms at the back. These rooms were stuffed with material from the classrooms. JP sat there, holding his head.
I asked, ‘Joshi saheb, what’s going on?’
‘We have to move the classes elsewhere.’
‘Where?’
‘Mahim. I lost and the Corporation won. I got some compensation though. Anyway, a loss is a loss. What brings you here?’
‘I need your expertise.’
He smiled ruefully. I asked,
‘Why, what happened?’
‘I’ve left that line of work.’
‘Don’t tell me!’
‘The government made me stop. I had no choice.’
‘JP, tell me exactly what happened.’
For a moment, I thought I saw the old JP. His face was flushed, he took a deep breath and let out the choicest expletives, then said,
‘Arre, I would never have lost had they fought me on open ground. But they chose to use guerrilla tactics. Bloody thieves, all of them. Haramkhor!’
‘Joshi saheb, will you explain properly? Please compose yourself.’
‘What do you
