‘You couldn’t possibly like someone like Aurangzeb—a man who killed his brother and nephews and put his father in prison. He destroyed Hindu temples and had one of your Gurus executed. How can you like a character like that? If you ask me, all our Hindu Muslim troubles of today can be traced back to Aurangzeb.’

‘My dear young lady, you’ve been properly brainwashed! You’ve never been told that this Aurangazeb also gave grants to build Hindu and Sikh temples.’

‘That’s news to me. You’ve just made that up.’

She asks to be dropped at the corner of the road near the army mess.

Our next tour is to be in the city where she will act as my guide and mentor. This time I give her another miniature Ganapati made of crystal! ‘This is to double your luck.’ This time she gives me a kiss on my beard. We drive up to the Red Fort where I park the car. She takes me into Chandni Chowk. ‘I can’t take you through Dariba or the Parathe Vali Gali; I have many in-laws living there who may want to know what I am doing with a Sardarji.’

‘And I don’t want to be shown round Lal Kuan. I have friends living there.’ I reply.

‘Friends in Lal Kuan? What kind of friends?’ she asks suspiciously.

‘Very respectable, very likeable. I’ll tell you about them in course of time.’

We branch off onto Nai Sarak, into a narrow lane. She points out several old havelis and shrines beneath peepal trees. At places the stench from open sewers is overpowering. Stray cows, hawkers, and scooters and passers-by make the going difficult. It gives me the excuse to occasionally hold her hand. She presses mine whenever I do so. There is no want of response.

After an hour-and-a-half of wandering through winding lanes we find ourselves behind the Jamia Masjid. We cross the maidan to get to the parking lot outside the Red Fort.

‘Drop me at Connaught Circus,’ she says. ‘I have some shopping to do.’

I know it is an excuse to avoid being seen with me by the other residents of the mess. I am somewhat puzzled by her attitude. When I suggest she come to my apartment, she says no firmly, though in our conversations she makes no secret of her being unhappy with the life she is leading. ‘What kind of life does an army wife lead? The husband is away for weeks and months. When he gets back for a few days he can think of nothing besides sex. He gets as much of it as he wants whether his wife likes it or not. And then he is off again, while the wife is left twiddling her thumbs.’