By Tehmina Kazi It could be any Midlands mosque. Statuesque, with a dome as white as paste and a pencil-sharp minaret. The scent of chai – all liquorice, cloves and cassia bark – pervades the air, although the polystyrene cups do not do justice to the flavour. Half a spoon of sugar? No, I want three, and proper milk, please. None of that long-life stuff. The chai-walla’s thumb turns an unsightly shade of crimson after pressing the latch for the hot water tank – and narrowly missing the…
Islam, race and interracial marriage
