Her Muslim ayah is made of cake, she used to believeĪnd yet, this is the 1940s, and with news of atrocities spilling from Punjab, where religious violence against women in particular grows worse by the day, they’ve let Brahma’s mother – a meddlesome, haunted hater – arrange a match for Alma.
Little Roop is a budding psychopath, killing mice and crickets. The pair of them lecture at Delhi University, and in defiance of a society in which marriage and honour are everything, they’re raising their daughters, 14-year-old Alma and five-year-old Roop, to be fearless and free. He’s a timid dreamer, besotted with his wife, Tanisi, an orphan who grew up on a houseboat in Kashmir and has pale blue “drowning-in-a-lake” eyes. Named Pushp Vihar, or the House of Flowers, it’s been passed down through generations of Brahma’s family. Its backdrop is a beautiful old home on Dry-Biscuit Alley.
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