Somewhere towards the end of the first decade of this century, I came upon a review, in the pages of Dawn, of a book I knew I must read. It was called Nasheb-o-Faraz [Highs and Lows].
It took me several months to find it in a distant suburban library; in the middle of other tasks, I spent days of utter and occasional nail-biting delight immersed in this story part family saga and part thriller with a romantic heroine, three funny detectives adept at disguising themselves, a villainous vamp and scenes shifting from Bombay’s [Mumbai’s] high life during colonial times to a far more traditional Agra.