It was 1947 and the frenzy of Partition. My parents’ home was attacked and ransacked and my father survived an attempt to kill him. In those chaotic, strange times, it was a crazed young Sikh who aimed pointblank at his chest; a Hindu who twisted away the gun and saved him.
The year 1947 was also the year I was born. My father was a civil servant in the Constituent Assembly and my mother busy in the refugee camps set up at Red Fort. Homeless, camping with friends, it came as a shock that some of my father’s colleagues refused even