Portrait of a citizen.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

With his long grey beard, the calmly book browser is resembling literary lions like Tolstoy and Tagore. Poet Ashok Kumar Malik is a faithful patron of Delhi’s Sunday Book Bazar, commuting almost every Sunday from his Ghaziabad residence to the market in Mahila Haat. This afternoon, he agrees to become a part of our Proust Questionnaire series, in which citizens are nudged to make “Parisian parlour confessions”, all to explore our distinct experiences.

The principal aspect of your personality.
I’m continually absorbing and being absorbed by nature.

Your idea of happiness.
Happiness has to be redefined… I think it is more important to cultivate our sensitivity at the risk of ending up hurt or sad. There is, I think, no absolute happiness in life in the sort of universe we find ourselves in.

Your favourite flower.
These days semal trees are in blossom. Their red flowers are filling my heart with so much hope.

Your favourite bird.
I am ambivalent whether I like golden oriole or common iora.

Your favourite prose authors.
From the west, Proust and Joyce—I keep Proust’s volumes within the reach of my bed. And from our side, Nirmal Verma—he catches the shades of nostalgia, a sense of alienation and the nature of time passing. It doesn’t mean his work is all sadness, but it gives a truer perspective of life.

Your favourite poets.
I’m fond of chhayavadi poets. I also have Emily Dickinson’s poems at home.

Your hero in literature.
Pierre in War and Peace; he was, I think, largely a reflection of a side of Tolstoy’s life.

Your heroes in real life.
My friend, philosopher, and guide was my mother, Vidyawati Malik, who had a Proustian imagination. The way she would describe episodes from her past would reveal to me that greatness doesn’t exist only around the lives of the so-called great people, but may also occur anywhere in daily life: human species and, indeed, all life on Earth is genetically one and very complex.

How do you wish to die?
After my mother’s passing three years ago, an essential part of me is already no longer living.