The clock was running down on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It was time. Resolutely, I stifled the sniffles, pulled myself together and phoned home. I knew instantly something was wrong. It was the way my mother lifted the receiver: ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’ I had never heard the like of the wail of utter desolation in which my mother declared: ‘Laurie didn’t marry Jo – again!’ So it was true. We sobbed together, unapologetically.

James Heartfield’s history tells the story of a dynamic organisation campaigning between 1836 and 1909 through the midst of highly fluctuating colonial enterprise. As notions of Empire evolved and became engrossed in competing socio-political ideologies, the Aborigines’ Protection Society attempted to place humanitarian concern for indigenous populations at the forefront of colonial policy.

It was my last night in that city. I’d been looking for her all day, dodging the traffic, the beggars, the rumours of war. Life is beautiful but cheap there. Even the poor buy flowers, they are a necessity.

A person suffering from autism stands in front of the camera and makes us witness the scars of the whipping and electrocution on his chest, legs and arms. His eyes are swollen, his cheeks black and blue, his lips split, yet he continues to smile. He is happy to be filmed and to soak up the attention.

I always thought mum would want to be buried in Pakistan. I understood the appeal of being buried in one’s ancestral graveyard. There’s a romance in being laid to rest in the company of your loved ones.

A poster on a Facebook page of a friend declared: ‘PAKISTAN Lovers before doing any Bakwas in the name of Aman ki Asha… read about this hero first’. The reference to ‘Pakistan lovers’ alludes to those in India who believe that it is possible for India and Pakistan to have much better relations.

I am a very unfashionable woman. I grew up in the only Wahhabi household in North London in the late 1970s. My father had studied in the strict Salafi universities of Saudi Arabia, and our understanding and idea of Islam was therefore very different to the cultural Islam practised by the vast majority of Asian Muslims.

It was blurry. She could make out only shapes and figures. The tension in the air was palpable and she had the distinct feeling that all eyes were upon her. An entire life had been building up to this occasion, and now it was time. ‘Here, take this,’ said a voice she recognised and yet didn’t know.