I first met journalist, author and memoirist Mr Sathnam Sanghera in 2011 after a mutual friend suggested that he was perfect for me “on paper”. We were both media types of a certain age looking to make the next steps. Tick. We were also both single Sikhs in the city. Tick tick. Frankly, I was glad to not be subjected to the tyranny of an internet encounter – and Mr Sanghera, I figured, was a known quantity.
It wasn’t a blind date exactly. I already knew his chops from the byline photo on his Times column, and his smash-hit memoir The Boy With The Topknot – which felt comfortably familiar. There was a certain schadenfreude in reading the account of another human being navigating the jittery horrors of growing up in a dysfunctional Indian family. It made me feel less alone.