There is a smell of 'neychor' (Malabar fried rice), and the wind carried from the kitchen an aroma of delicious chicken curry... We are telling those scariest stories - about jinns and thugs.... It rains out there and spatters in... the westerly wind blows the drizzle in.... When is it time for the dinner, mum? Or shall we have to wait again until all those grown ups finish?
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