She was leaning against the door, her head and face half-covered with her chunni, only exposing her big brown eyes.
‘Instead of draping the chunni gracefully, I kept clutching on it and stood stiff,’ she says laughing.
She has been holding on to my chunni just as I have instructed her and as we settle down, I crane my neck to see if I can spot the Pakistani woman across the divide.
They wiped their eyes with the corners of their chunnis, weeping for joy at his success and the sorrowful knowledge he would not come back.