‘Well, I believe Musaafir Khaana was converted into four apartments sometime in the 1950s,’ said Rajan. ‘So, I guess we’re sitting in one quarter of it.’

‘She would always say that she would come back to Musaafir Khaana . . . ’ Habib continued in a quiet reverie.

‘And in a way she has,’ said Humaira, gently placing her hand on Habib’s. ‘Along with us.’

‘Is it all right if I take a photograph of the four of you, I mean the Haider family, with this diary and jewellery?’ asked Jai.

‘Most certainly,’ said Humaira. ‘As long as we have another photograph after that with all of us, the whole family, in it.’

Seeing Toshi’s eyes well up on hearing this, Arathi gave her a quick hug.

‘I hate to admit I was wrong, but I was, Ma,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot even imagine why I ever had a problem sitting at the same table as them! They’re so incredibly nice.’

‘Can everyone please stop looking so weepy?’ said Jai, noticing the expressions of his grandmother, mother, Humaira and Habib. ‘I have photographs to take.’

‘Are you still doing that Peace-ing It Together thing, by the way?’ asked Inaya.

Jai nodded, bracing himself for her usual withering derision of his ideas. ‘It’s not such a waste of time as you consider it. We’ve had a lot of responses from people across the world and—’

‘I actually think it’s a really good idea,’ Inaya cut in.

Now it is was Jai’s turn to gape.

‘In fact, I’m going to request Nabeel Said to help us with spreading the word for Peace-ing It Together. Perhaps we can have an Indo-Pak Food Week at her cafés? And on her website, people could post photographs of food that is eaten on both sides of the border?’

‘That’s great,’ said Jai, beaming. ‘And, by the way, my parents have gotten us tickets to watch Ghulan Joswami’s match in Mumbai.’

‘It’s Jhulan Goswami! For the hundredth time!’ laughed Inaya, but her eyes shone with delighted anticipation.

‘There’s no guarantee that she’ll meet us, but we can try,’ said Jai, not wanting to raise Inaya’s expectations too high, in case it didn’t work out. Especially since he had no idea how he was going to go about this whole exercise in the first place. Reaching Mumbai and going to watch her match was his grand plan so far.

‘And after Habib’s art show in Mumbai, we will all go to Ajmer,’ said Toshi. ‘To Chishti’s dargah.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Inaya.

Toshi smiled at her. ‘Chishti was a Sufi saint, Inaya. He was born in Iran, but he chose Ajmer as his home— so that’s where his shrine is. People called him Khwaja Gharib Nawaz, meaning “patron saint of the poor”. But even the richest came to him. Emperor Akbar would often walk from Agra to Ajmer to seek his blessings and offer thanks. I cannot wait to visit with all of you. I have so many thanks to offer.’