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question.
    “What if the boy is your friend? Do you still tell Teacher?”
    “My friends always do their homework.”
    “Smart answer,” said Jal.
    “Well, whose son?” asked Yezad, and they laughed.
    “Now if this Homework Monitoring system was a Government of India scheme,” said Jal, “rich boys wouldn’t do homework, and offer bribes to the teachers.”
    Yezad made a noise between laughing and snorting. “And the principal would threaten to sack the teachers unless he got a percentage.”
    “Stop corrupting the children,” said Roxana.
    “Corruption is in the air we breathe. This nation specializes in turning honest people into crooks. Right, chief?”
    “The answer, unfortunately, is yes.”
    “The country has gone to the dogs. And not well-bred dogs either, but pariahs.”
    “Maybe the BJP and Shiv Sena coalition will improve things,” said Jal. “We should give them a chance.”
    Yezad laughed. “If a poisonous snake was in front of you, would you give it a chance? Those two parties encouraged the Hindutva extremists to destroy the Babri Mosque.”
    “Yes, but that was—”
    “And what about all the hatred of minorities that Shiv Sena has spread for the last thirty years.” He paused to take a long swallow of his Scotch and soda.
    “Daddy, did you know, Shiv Sena is going to have a Michael Jackson concert,” said Murad.
    “That’s right,” said Jal. “I saw it in the newspaper. And Shiv Sena will pocket millions – they’ve obtained tax-free status by classifying it as a cultural event of national significance.”
    “Well,” said Yezad. “Michael Jackson’s crotch-clutching and his shiny codpiece must be vital to the nation. I’m surprised the Senapati doesn’t find him anti-anything, not even anti-good taste. Otherwise, the crackpot accuses people left and right of being anti-this or anti-that. South Indians are anti-Bombay, Valentine’s Day is anti-Hindustan, film stars born before 1947 in the Pakistani part of Punjab are traitors to the country.”
    “I suppose,” said Nariman, “if the Senapati gets gas after eating karela, the gourd will be declared an anti-Indian vegetable.”
    “Let’s hope his langoti doesn’t give him a groin rash,” said Jal. “Or all underwear might be banned.”
    They laughed, and Yezad made himself another Scotch and soda. “Frankly, I don’t care who the government is, and what they do. I’ve given up on a saviour. Always turns out to be a real saviour-and-a-half.”
    “Daddy, why do you say ‘and-a-half’ for everything?” asked Jehangir.
    “Because the half is the most important part.”
    Jehangir didn’t understand, but laughed anyway. He was happy to see his father holding forth.
    “Let’s talk about something else,” said Roxana. “Politics is very boring.”
    “You’re right,” said Yezad. “So, chief, what did you think of the World Cup?”
    Nariman shook his head. “I don’t approve of these coloured uniforms they wear. Cricket is white flannels. Fixed overs and rushing to finish a match in one day is not cricket.”
    “The worst part is the fanaticism,” said Yezad. “Every time India and Pakistan play, it’s like another war in Kashmir.”
    “I thought you were going to stop talking politics.”
    “Sorry, Roxie. So, chief, when will you open your present?”
    “Right now.”
    The boys ran to the hall table for the gift. They laid the long, narrow package in Nariman’s lap, where it rocked to the palpitations of his legs.
    “Can you guess what it is, Grandpa?”
    “A rifle? A sword?”
    They shook their heads.
    “A long rolling pin, to make very big chapatis?”
    “Wrong again, Grandpa.”
    “I give up.”
    Roxana said to wait for Coomy, who called out from the dining room to go ahead and open it, she couldn’t stop what she was doing. To remind them she was in the background, getting things ready for dinner, she allowed plates and dishes to clatter from time to time.
    Roxana watched her father tackle