The three women sat in the corner of the upper terrace of Shalimar Gardens which during the Mughal era had been the special space reserved for Emperor’s favourite harem. But for the women that day, because of the heavy smog which descended on Lahore every December, it was torture, The women were expected to make two hundred garlands for a wedding party and supposed to finish by sunset so that the flowers could be hung in the arched walkways of the garden.

The women sat close together on the cold marble floor, their brightly coloured cotton dupattas covering their heads, their deft hands stringing the pearls and flowers together. Every now and again they sprayed the small, white blooms from the gunny sack with rose water. The flowers revived but when the women sprinkled their faces, it did not lessen their discomfort. The morning the air was dense, and their eyes stung. They joked about the bride and groom coughing in each other’s faces during the ceremony.

By eleven o’clock, the atmosphere was grey and thick with a burning smell. The women checked the lower terrace to see if the mist there was any less, and indeed it looked like it was getting clearer. But they knew from experience it was just a mirage, and in reality, there was very little difference.

At noon, there was still a light haze in the atmosphere, but at least now the women could see their fingers. They could also see the other workers around the gardens, sweeping the marble floors and dusting the cobwebs from the lattice in the arches.

‘Look there.’ Shaan sounded annoyed. Her arm pointed to the lower garden where a man had taken off his shirt and was exercising in a pair of tight-fitting gym shorts. His hair was tied in a bun. Even with the distance, it was easy to see his body was toned and muscular…