The Kohinoor was inspired by an idea Sorayah had when she was a teenager and even three years after its opening, it remained unsurpassed. She felt the stirrings of pride; a warm tingling that left her giddy, empty and full at the same time. It was one of those ‘wow’ moments Nazia was always telling her about. I wish Naz could see this! She realised with a start she’d hardly mentioned her family business to her London friends. It seemed seedy and backward, like driving taxis or working in a mill. It wasn’t the high status job Asians hankered for; her abbu wasn’t a doctor, a lawyer or a teacher. She looked away from the Kohinoor, pride smothered by shame.

It fell into place then, how Pakistani Manchester was. London pulsated to a different Asian rhythm. From Edgeware Road to Green Street, Southall and all the other boroughs and districts in and around the capital, there was a greater Indian or Bangladeshi influence. Here life was more earthy, more alive. With the growing number of Arab boutiques, takeaways and restaurants springing up on the Mile she could see the glimmer of London’s Marble Arch rising above the skyline.

“It’s really changed,” Sorayah murmured.

“It looks different every day. New people come. The old change. Even Sanam. It’s been refurbished.”

“Sanam’s having a facelift? That I can’t believe!”

Then Sorayah saw the local grocery shop. Haji Khan used to give her sweets as a child and even as a teenager.

“You okay, Sorayah?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You looked a little lost then.”

“I was, but now I’m found,” She said. I’ve come home.

Zahid Hussain