During Ramzan, the month of fasting, we went to the movies as often as we could. After being shaken awake at five a.m. by my mothers assiduous hand; after pre dawn breakfasts of melon and sugared lime water, and especially on Sunday mornings, the Brass Monkey and I took it in turns (or sometimes called out in unison) to remind Amina: The ten thirty in the morning show! Its Metro Cub Club day, Amma, pleeeese! Then the drive in the Rover to the cinema where we would taste neither Coca Cola nor potato crisps, neither Kwality ice cream nor samosas in greasy paper; but at least there was air conditioning, and Cub Club badges pinned to our clothes, and competitions, and birthday announcements made by a compere with an inadequate moustache; and finally, the film, after the trailers with their introductory titles, Next Attraction and Coming Soon, and the cartoon (In A Moment, The Big Film; But First… !): Quentin Durward, perhaps, or Scaramouche. Swashbuckling! wed say to one another afterwards, playing movie critic; and, A rumbustious, bawdy romp! although we were ignorant of swashbuckles and bawdiness. There was not much praying in our family (except on Eid ul Fitr, when my father took me to the Friday mosque to celebrate the holiday by tying a handkerchief around my head and pressing my forehead to the ground)… but we were always willing to fast, because we liked the cinema.

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