It is the third day of Ramzan. Farida and her husband have just broken their fast. They offer their visitor from Delhi an assortment of
jol khabar (teatime snacks) served in delicate bone china crockery. There is an air of genteel calm in their drawing room. The polished red oxide cement floor, the ebony and glass showcase filled with silver enamelled artefacts, the unflashy furniture and the understated carpets, evoke an old-world charm far removed from the raucous din of Park Circus a stone’s throw away.
Farida’s husband – let us call him Farooq – traces his ancestry to Avadh but has lived in Calcutta all his life. It is a city he loves without reservation, a city where his religion or his language never made him feel alien. On the first day of Ramzan, he tells us, a Hindu Punjabi neighbour sent a platter of food for iftar. The next day, haleem came from the home of a Sikh friend. This year’s Ramzan is special – their younger daughter will keep the first roza of