This working day I worked, except for three breaks of note. The first was when I accompanied one of my hosts to the markaz for a few errands and a quick lunch. We found a table in the open space served by the surrounding restaurants and cafes, ordered our paratha rolls and a cup of tea for me, and sat back. There was an explosion and everyone in the square ran across in a scurrying tide to watch as smoke billowed up. A gas cannister had exploded in one of the restaurants, the very same whose malai boti I had praised the previous day. No one died, happily, though two people were hurt. The crowd of watchers grew, amongst them many wearing green net caps – cooks at the cafes and restaurants – or red jackets – the waiters for the cafe we’d ordered at. We resigned ourselves to a wait, and indeed it was a good 20 minutes before people started, reluctantly moving away from the spectacle. As they did so, there was a distant siren and two fire engine arrived, so immediately the tide of gawkers flowed back. We eventually got our paratha rolls, though they were very half-hearted and not very good. The tea never arrived, so finally we paid and left.
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