“Colonel Walker,” I say. “The opportunity to eat food from home, however modified, is a rare privilege.”
After the soup plates clear, we sit for several minutes. Suddenly bagpipes are heard producing their unique sound, excessively loud in a small space. The durwan holds open the door to the drawing room. A piper enters and walks around the table playing Scotland the Brave.
I haven’t felt so joyous since I arrived in Calcutta. “Colonel Walker,” I shout, “this is wonderful.”
Behind the piper, the khitmutgar carries a large platter above his head. When the piper departs, the khitmutgar places the platter between Miss Smail and Colonel Walker. The khitmutgar and his assistant begin serving our plates.
I look at the brown minced meat on my plate, hardly daring to define it. “Can it be haggis?”
“Depends,” Miss Smail says quietly.
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