‘Please allow me to blow my own horn,’ Haridas says, raising his work of art and going paw paw. This raises roars of laughter. Haridas loves it. Parsi laughter is as much part of Parsiness as the long nose. Everybody wants to blow the horn. It goes around and each time it is blown, there's another roar of laughter. Feroze's face displays a mild, all-purpose smile. Only when Haridas puts the horn in his hands and says ‘Happy birthday’ does the ‘ee’ of his smile turn into an ‘o’ of surprise. He hands the gift back to Haridas, returning to the smile. Meanwhile everybody has noticed that Haridas is still standing. There are three empty chairs at the far end of the huge living room, but he must be saved from walking the distance. So Noshir of the thin, pale face and large spectacles rises, pushes him down into his own chair and slopes off to the other end.

‘You tell me, Haridas,’ Burjor picks up the broken tail of his earlier lecture. ‘Shouldn’t your friend here marry? Are you artists forced to take an oath of bachelorhood before you’re allowed to touch a brush? “I’ll die but will not marry!” He's got this huge flat. What's his problem?’ Burjor leans heavily to one side and draws out a newspaper cutting from his trouser pocket. ‘See. The Indian Express: “Today the Parsi community stands at 70,000 members. The death rate in the community is three times the birth rate. Thirty-one per cent of the Parsi population is over sixty years of age. If the community dwindles at this rate there's a danger of it becoming extinct by the year 2090.”’

Jehangir laughs out loud. ‘Then we’ll be stuffed for museums.’

Najoo makes a little-boy face. ‘Mamma, what is this animal?’

Jehangir makes a mamma face. ‘It's a Parsi, my pet.’

‘That's not funny, you two.’ Soonu laughs but is angry.

‘Of course it's not funny,’ Burjor says quickly. ‘I think it is tragic. That's why I’m trying to put some social responsibility into my nephew's head.’

‘Get off his back. It's his birthday. Think first of your social responsibility. That poor Meher is still pining for you and you . . .’

‘I’m going straight to her from here. This Burjor isn’t one to shirk his duties. I was only trying to bring this one around to my way of thinking.’

Burjor leans forward. The movement of his body creates a small turbulence amongst the objects on the side table. One object falls to the ground. He lifts his eyes heavenwards. ‘Sorry, Freny. But see? Nothing broken.’ Jijabhau hurries in on cat's feet and replaces the object. He sets the lunch table soundlessly.