My father, Hiralal, was a businessman. He dealt in jute. He visited farmers, stayed with them, dined with them, played cards with them and bought jute from them. After the price was agreed, jute was transported to his warehouse by a long line of bullock carts. As soon as the jute had been delivered, the drivers of those bullock carts would be invited to a lunch of basmati rice and a sauce made from lentils and vegetables, together with yogurt, papadams and pickles. My father and my mother were always very generous hosts.

After a simple act of processing, Hiralal sold the jute to craftspeople ...


There are approximately 632 more words in this article.

To read the rest of this article, please buy this issue, or join the Resurgence Trust. As a member you will receive access to the complete archive of magazines from May 1966.

Buy Issue Join Us

If you are already a member, please Sign in