![]() Winter still lingered on the leaves and in the wisps of fog that rolled over the delta and hung low over the bungalow. She shivered a little and rubbed her elbows as she made her way across the lawn. So, on the first morning of March, as on the first morning of every March for a decade, Rehana rose before dawn and slipped into the garden. ![]() The guests were always the same: her neighbour Mrs Chowdhury and her daughter Silvi her tenants, the Senguptas, and their son, Mithun and Mrs Rahman and Mrs Akram, better known as the gin-rummy ladies. There was a red-and-yellow tent in case of rain, lemonade in case of heat, cucumber salad, spicy yoghurt. She rented chairs and called the jilapi-wallah to fry the hot, looping sweets in the garden. She saved her meat rations and made biryani. Every year, Rehana held a party at Road 5 to mark the day she had returned to Dhaka with the children. ![]()
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