I was 8 years old when the mosque fell. My uncle had gone for the kar sewa. I went to a fancy school in Lucknow. It was the only time when unexpected holidays were not a happy occasion. There was uncertainty because we didn’t know when would school re-open.

We had many Muslim classmates and we are all friends with each other. Religion never, never came in the way. This was Lucknow. But now there was an awkwardness in the air. I can’t forget the name of the Bengali class teacher, Mrs Sen.