Our dialogue would begin in much the same manner. She would breeze in with a loud "Hi Khushee!", plant a kiss on each cheek, and put her handbag on the chair beside mine. "Help yourself," I would say to her. She would go to the tray on which Scotch, gin, rum, ice-bucket and a couple of sodas were laid out. She would pick up the bottle of Scotch, tilt it sideways, read the label and ask, "Haven’t you got anything better?" I’d snap back, "It is Black Label, premium brand." She’d snort, "I prefer Single Malt." However, she would pour out two whiskeys and say, "You must get better glasses. These are desi imitations. Get French, German or Czech cut crystal glasses. Next time I go abroad, I’ll get you some. They make all the difference." She’d pour soda and a couple of ice cubes in mine, hand it to me. Then go to the fridge, fetch a bottle of mineral water to add to her whisky and take her seat and say "Cheers". After a sip or two she would open her handbag, fish out a card and ask, "Have you got this?"