But in today’s world, wouldn’t all of Asan’s impressive tricks and his bravado be completely rattled by even a simple question from an ordinary young man? What could Damodara Asan reply if such a young man said to him, “Asan! If you are unhappy about the casuarina grove being razed, you have every right and freedom to contest and win the next election, demolish the park, and turn it back into a grove . . .”? Wouldn’t Asan feel absolutely tongue-tied? Even if he got into a pointless argument with the man, what could it accomplish besides exposing to the world Asan’s backward mindset and outdated principles? No matter how smart Asan was, how could he understand the language this young man was speaking? Eventually Asan would realize one thing. He would realize that those days of democracy that Joseph had once predicted while ironing clothes in his laundry had arrived. All Asan could have done in the face of these transformations was to vent his anger by hurling a few fistfuls of earth at the world and cursing it to his heart’s content. It was just as well that he had died during his own time.

However, it would be incorrect to say that with Asan’s death, his ways of looking at the world vanished as well. One particular instance comes to my mind. An elderly Nadar who had been watching the destruction of the grove in shock tapped the young man standing next to him on the shoulder and said, “Young man, why on earth are they cutting down the trees?”

“They are going to plant some shrubs here,” the young man replied.

“Why do they want to plant shrubs?” the old Nadar asked.

“For some breeze.”

“And shrubs will provide more breeze than the trees did?”

“Well . . . to make the place more beautiful,” the young man said, changing his answer.

“So only shrubs are beautiful?”

“Mmm.”

“Won’t the shrubs grow into trees?”

The lad looked at the old man. Then he said with impatience, “They will plant only the kinds of shrubs that don’t grow into trees. Or they will keep them trimmed.”

“I see, they will keep them trimmed?”

“Yes.”

“What idiots!” exclaimed the old man. He followed that up with some choice abuses. His indignation was evident in his flawless diction and perfect enunciation. His face glowed with satisfaction at having found more evidence for his firm belief that the world was hurtling down the path to ruin. I saw Asan’s face that day in that old man’s questions and his perfectly rendered abuses. The Nadar looked nothing like Asan, of course, but that was Asan’s voice, no doubt.