Ashok taught me 'What is life'

Ashok Sharma was my neighbor in Kamla Nagar near Delhi University for more than half a century. He had inherited two multi-storied buildings from his father. In 1960s his father who was the principal of the famous Birla School suddenly died, he was studying engineering at Pilani which was also a Birla institution. He left his studies and returned home to survive on rental income. I came in his contact in 1960s and was instantly impressed by his references to existentialism, Sartre, Camus, Kafka and the likes of those popular authors. He would lace his dialogues with nihilism, nothingness, futility of life, purpose of life. I hadn't even heard about any of them. Therefore we were greatly impressed.

He was in love with a girl in neighbourhood. None of his other friends like me could imagine such feathers in our camp. One day, he asked me do you know 'what is life?'. I was non-plussed. He himself provided the answer. Taxi, Oberoi. He meant, the day you can hail a taxi and take your girlfriend for a coffee in Oberoi Intercontinental, you would fully realize the meaning of life. I did realize this meaning later when I had money. It did impress my newly-found girl friend many years later.

Ashok had refurnished the first floor of his house. He got a circular bed designed where all friends would sprawl every evening. I had my initiation to drinks on that circular bed. Ashok had a lot of surplus money and he entertained friends generously. I also tried to read those books but couldn't make any head or tale about it. Ashok never made fun of his friends. He just stood head and shoulders above us with an assumed sense of superiority.

But his lifestyle was decadent. Doing nothing, drinking, dating and entertaining friends. day in, day out, he moved on. We had oue own life  cycle. Going to college, handling our family affairs and girl friends. But we always looked up to his company. Suddenly one day, he invited us for a Sir Shankarlala classical iconcert at Kamani. We all tagged on. It was Latin and Greek for us but Ashok who was drunk was shaking his head. We though as country bumpkins in front of him. That practice continues. every other day we were at Sarod recital of Amjad Ali Khan with Samta Prasad on table. Another day it was sitar recital by Ravi Shankar. I thought, he had upgraded our mundane existence.

We grew up. I became a journaliust and one day, I asked Ashok, whether he would like to be a Hindi journalist like me. He said he couldn't write even his name in Hindi. I said don’t worry. We shall teach you. He knew his English well but could survive in Hindi. I took hm to the newly established Samchar agency in PTI building and got him a job as a commercial reporter. His job was to collect market rates of commodities and convert them business news. He took to it as fish takes to waters.

We both joined Press Club of India in 1971 and started spending our evenings there. All his jing bang called Hindu Jia Band also tagged alone. Kamla Nagar had shifted to Press Club. Vinod Dhanawat, Hari Niwas, Vijender Cahudhri, Anand Gupta, all included. One was an odd man in. Jagmohan. The eldest son of the multimillionaire Banwari lal Jindal, my next door neighbor in Kamla Nagar. He had tons of money. He spent half a kg or so in every meeting. I used to work in Sarita. Jindal senior used to read my articles. one day he called me by name and praised me for my writings. My friends felt jealous and envious.

Samachar got disintegrated. We all shifted to Samachar Bharati. I was transferred to South India. Ashok was sent to Assam. I made a fool of them and wriggled out but he went and spent a year or so. He did a good job. He was baptized by Assamese exposure. After his return, he also started reporting parliament. He carried his quarter bottle called pawwa even to the corridors of parliament house and drank there. That was his way of telling the world, I care two hoots.

I moved on to English media and then to Bombay. Ashok remained struck to Samachar and later shifted to Univarta, the Hind wing of UBI. It was better known as UNI canteen because of its popular suth Indian eating joint. We drifted apart. Ashok kad to sell his both buildings. His brother-in-law intervened and bought a house in Gurgaon from that money. We visited him for a couple of times.

Ashok hit the bottle in a big way. He always carried liquor. He drank in his office canteen as well. everybody knew it. But no one cared. He got a boss Madhusudan Sathaye. Both fought like cats and dogs. Suddenlt Sathaye was no more. It gave Ashok an open field. He retired as the editor of Univarta. But he continued to come to Delhi for drinking bouts with his friend. He had a bad habit of staying back wherever he drank. One day, he caught me outside AIIMS and made me wait for his bus for two hours. At last, I juts left without saying anything.

He didn't like my formal talks. He called me a put on. We had a love-hate relationship. Soon his body gave in. It couldn't take it more. But his son had become a computer graphics designer. He looked after him. But he couldn't save him. We gave him vigil and waited for hyim to go. One day, he went. We were at his funeral at Nigambodh and drank at Ashok Parmar's house in civil lines in his memory. That was life.