At home Papa liked to say, when asked about his faith, “Yes, I have a belief. It’s called working until my arse aches!’ Shahid and Chili had been taught little about religion. And on the occasions that Tipoo prayed in the house, Papa grumbled and complained, saying, why did he have to make such noises during repeats of his favourite programme, The World at War? Now, though, Shahid was afraid his ignorance would place him in no man’s land. These days everyone was insisting on their identity, coming out as a man, woman, gay, black, Jew — brandishing whichever features they could claim, as if without a tag they wouldn’t be human. Shahid, too, wanted to belong to his people. But first he had to know them, their past and what they hoped for. Fortunately, Hat had been of great help. Several times he had interrupted his studies to visit Shahid’s room with books; sitting beside him, he had, for hours, explained parts of Islamic history, along with the essential beliefs. Then, clearing a space on the floor, he had demonstrated what to do.