Even though I had known Professor Asif from his days as a student at the National College of Arts (NCA), in the early 1960s, I must admit that he was never in the circle of my close friends. Yet, there were ‘chance’ circles that have made me write this farewell note to a friend and colleague. In fact, this is the second write-up; the first was more of a welcome note.

After I spent my years studying at different institutions and had a long sojourn abroad, it was only when I joined the NCA, circa 1979, that I got to know Asif more intimately. It seemed we were remotely connected by destiny.

Asif’s early childhood was spent in Sarai Rattan Chand. His family lived there close to the big water tank which was later filled with debris (as it happened to the one on Waris Road). Along the outer road, Namak Mandi is better known for producing the best rock salt in the entire world. As if by some stroke of destiny, there was a shop right around the corner which was home to a maker of musical instruments who ignited in Asif a great love for music — singing as well as tanpura and harmonium. I too visited the place quite often, especially because the office of The Pakistan Times was located on the same road. Once, I dropped by at the shop and introduced myself as a college staff member. Upon which I was asked about Asif who had moved out some three years ago.

As luck would have it, Asif had rented a place back of Chauburji, which was owned by Khan Zaman Khan, the son of a wealthy ration depot holder and sugar cartel, who had been my school fellow — we used to sit on the same bench in Joan McDonald School.

Much later, when the Chauburji conflict started, he had moved to some upscale locality.

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Asif was born in Lahore on June 15, 1945. He got a diploma in Fine Arts from the NCA in 1967. He was awarded an associate-ship at the centenary celebrations of Mayo School of Arts in 1976. Three years later, he won a scholarship to study restoration and conservation of the paintings of the old masters. (His expertise should have been sought when they took down Sadequain’s painting from the Lahore Museum roof.)

In ’74, on the eve of the epoch-making summit of the Organisation of Islamic Conference (OIC), he painted the portraits of several heads of states. These were put on display at the venue i.e., the Punjab Assembly hall. All these were later taken down on the orders of Gen Zia ul Haq, and are now lying dumped in the basement of the Lahore Museum.

After I joined the NCA in ’79, I had a chance to spend some time with Asif as he played on harmonium. He would be supported on tabla by the late Imran Poshni (a relative of Poshni of the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case).

Besides being a good sculptor and portrait painter, he excelled in still life, a genre less practiced in Pakistan. I remember suggesting that he should have an exclusive exhibition of his still-life work. He accepted. His 1983 exhibition was the first and the only one held at the now-defunct art galleries owned by one of the trustees of Ghulam Rasul Buildings, Moyne Najmi (himself a fine painter) on 6 Golf Road.

I volunteered to write about it, reflecting on the stifling condition of artists in Zia’s dictatorial regime. I wrote, “At a time when one would expect only floral wreaths and hieroglyphs at the mass sarcophagus of the plastic arts, Mohammad Asif has turned up with flowers heralding the good news that there is still some life in those being consumed and consummated there.

“Flowers and fruits arranged in vases and bowls along with fanciful goblets have been a recurring theme in the pietra dura and encaustic tile-mosaic decorations, especially in Moghul architecture, and incidentally in the Protestant countries, more so because of the rise of unfavourable conditions towards religious subjects. Still life started appearing as an independent subject during the 16^th Century. Asif, during his training at Dresden (then East Germany), involving restoration of old paintings, must have been seduced into nurturing the idea of an exclusive exhibition of still-lifes — the first ever in Pakistan. His colours too are pre-Impressionistic — dark backgrounds with spot-lit objects and the feel of glass is more like Caravaggesque Courbet. But the dark shroud only emphasises the symbols of life, hope, survival and the consequent reward — flowers, fruits, bread, eggs, honey, vegetables and the age frozen on the strati-form layers of the onyx vases. […] Asif, as a keen observer of details, has done it well and announced us into the tiny little world of his own where loneliness mesmerises the still objects into speaking to the spectator.”

I further wrote about him as a versatile and serious, fine artist and how he “intentionally employs his mysterious darkness to isolate the colours of the main subject which yields to the required texture and tone and a dry brush accomplishes a glowing, thick highlight to be followed by the signature.”

Indeed, he owed this to his teachers, Prof Khalid Iqbal and Prof Shakir Ali, and to his hobbies and interests. Despite being a reader of classics, he would find time every evening to practice classical music on his tanpura.

On his way back from college, as he crossed the Lake Road and passed by Chauburji, the tile decorations would re-schedule his train of thoughts, and he’d enter his home, this time with a cauliflower in his hand. But his wife wouldn’t be interested for she knew that it wasn’t to be consumed in a dish but consummated on a canvas in the form of yet another still life.

His most prestigious project was the life-size statues of different animals in fibre glass, aptly placed outside the Victoria Gate of the Lahore Zoological Gardens. In these he was helped by Prof Ahmed Khan, who was exceptionally skilled in drawing animals.

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Asif retired as professor and head of the Fine Arts Department of NCA, in 2005.

He began building his studio space in a flat in Moon Market, Allama Iqbal Town. I lived close by but he never visited me. He left for his eternal abode on May 25 this year.

Much to my regret, I could not be there to say my last respects to him, due to this merciless pandemic.

(This dispatch is dedicated to Prof Asif’s son, Ahsan)

The writer is a painter, a founding member of Lahore Conservation Society and Punjab Artists Association, and a former director of NCA Art Gallery. He can be reached at ajazart@brain.net.pk