Mohini Kent sits under the giant Husain canvas in her apartment and says she is tired. Her play — Rumi: Unveil the Sun — has had three sold-out shows at Shaw Theatre, off London’s West End, and the pace has been hectic. Flying in a troupe from Delhi is never an easy task, and the phone is ringing non-stop. Even getting the money from the box office is her job. “Give them a deadline, we have no money,” she tells the organiser. Somehow she doesn’t sound demanding enough.

Given that the principal sponsor of the play is her husband, Sir Gulam Kaderbhoy Noon, the official Curry King of Britain and head of a multi-million empire, money and box office takings should be the least of her worries. But if there’s one thing Mohini Kent likes, it is to be her own person. And if that means being a general dogsbody for the production, so be it. She retained her maiden name even after her marriage to Noon in 1998 (she shares her wedding anniversary date with Prince Charles and Camilla) and led to the raising of a few eyebrows when she took her title as “Lady Mohini Kent Noon” after her husband was knighted. If Noon had reservations, he chose not to impose them on her. “I think he simply had to accept it. I have always written under my name and I wasn’t going to change it. After all, we are adults,” she said. I am beginning to sense a quiet determination under the gentle exterior.

She confesses, however, that the day of the knighthood was a blast. Noon wore a top hat and tails, Mohini a red sari and the couple were photographed standing in front of a portrait of Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace. It was one of those rare occasions when she actually enjoyed the high life and the ceremony that goes with being Lady Noon. “I am not a party animal, I am a very private person and would rather curl up with a book and do my own thing,” she says.

After graduation from Lady Shri Ram College in Delhi, Mohini came to Britain to study graphics, photography and film-making at an art school in Swansea. Always interested in the arts, she went on to direct a stage version of the Ramayana, which was attended by Prince Charles. She dabbled in fiction, writing a quirky novel about American Indians, Chief Longhooknose and Trader Jim and scripted and directed a documentary film, Curry Tiffin, which looked at Indian history through food following the culinary traditions of the Hindus, Muslims and the British in India. The documentary had a commentary by Ben Kingsley. She wrote a regular column for India Today in the Eighties and had a slot on BBC Radio 5 Live. “An OB van would follow me on Sundays, even if I was at a restaurant with friends, and I would go down and go on air to discuss any Asian issue of the day. I’ve worn many hats,” she laughs.

Born in Amritsar to a traditional Sikh family, Mohini’s paternal grandfather, Shamsher Singh, was a medical student during the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. He protested after the killings and was debarred from returning to his medical college. Singh left for England for his medical studies, cut his hair and added a “Kant” to his name since he did not want the anonymous surname of Singh. Over the years, Shamsher Singh Kant’s name metamorphosed in England into “Kent”. “He would have married his Liverpool landlady’s daughter with whom he had fallen in love, but the family summoned him back to India with the oldest trick in the book: a telegram from a neighbour saying “Mother ill. Come immediately”,” says Mohini. He was met at the docks by his family and a “prospective bride to be” and they were married within days. “They were very happy together,” laughs Mohini. “My grandfather lived the high life. He allowed his wife to come with him to parties and balls. They would dance the fox-trot and enjoy themselves.”

In contrast, Mohini’s own wedding to Noon was a simple private ceremony. “We went to the registrar’s office and got married.” Noon had popped the question a few weeks before. “We had known each other socially for years. Somewhere along the way, I guess we fell in love and then one day he proposed.” It was Noon’s second marriage. His daughters from his first marriage are partners in Noon Products, the business empire that he runs from Southall, supplying frozen Indian curries to supermarket shelves all over Britain. “I take no interest in the business, that is his domain,” says Mohini. “I do my own things — writing and research — and Noon (she calls him that) respects my space.” The only major difference the marriage has made to her lifestyle is the whirlwind round of socialising and formal banquets. “That is inevitable, it is part of his life, and I have accepted it,” she says.

On the unpleasant side was the major political scandal last year when Noon became part of the “cash for peerages” investigation and had his name withdrawn from becoming a member of the House of Lords. It was revealed that Noon had given £250,000 to the Labour Party as an undeclared loan. “I felt very bad for him. It was something not of his own making and he had got caught up in it. It was very hurtful,” says Mohini. The extensive press coverage left her saddened, but she says there were an equal number of people who called up and said they were sympathetic and felt Noon had been given a raw deal. With so many Indians already filling up the benches in the House of Lords, it must have felt cheated to be left out, I ask her. Mohini lets slip that there were more white people than Indians who called up to sympathise.

“Noon was going to give them (Labour Party) a donation. The party said “give us a loan instead” and he did what they asked him to. It was not declared by them. He got caught in the middle,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice. Had it damaged his relations with the Labour Party?

“That is in the political arena. It is not for me to comment on. It is Noon’s territory,” she says, but adds, “Personally, I think the Labour Party is more democratic. It cares more for the have-nots, and I believe in supporting the have-nots. We have to take care of people. There are many people out there who are vulnerable and who cannot take care of themselves. As a society we should be responsible for them.”

Her mother, Amrit Kent, walks into the room. She is an Urdu scholar, singer and poet and the co-author of Rumi. “My mother researched the Persian texts, translated some of Rumi’s songs into Urdu and even composed the music for a few of the songs,” says Mohini. “I then decided that we should turn the episode in Rumi’s life into a play and dramatise it.” The project took five years to complete with mother and daughter coordinating long-distance between Delhi and London. The play, which is timed to mark Rumi’s 800th anniversary this year, was described by veteran playwright Habib Tanvir as “riveting”.

Rumi: Unveil the Sun focuses on the period in Rumi’s life when he meets Shamsuddin Tabrizi, a wandering dervish, who transforms his life. The passion is so strong that Rumi neglects his academy, his students and his family and spends hours locked in discourse with Shams. The relationship becomes controversial and eventually Shams is killed by Rumi’s own son.

“I think what is fundamental to Sufism is the message of love, and that was what Rumi wrote about. He is the most popular poet in the US,” says Mohini, whose prized possessions include a rare first edition of the English translation of Rumi’s The Maznavi. “In these troubled times of terrorism and communal violence, his message of total surrender to love is so poignant.”

She is taking the play, directed by Sohaila Kapur, to Delhi on December 17, to mark the death anniversary of Rumi, and is tinkering with the idea of making a feature film based on the play. Noon, ever supportive of his wife, has said he will back it financially.

“Feature films require huge funds,” she says reticently. “Besides, I’m 40 pages away from completing my novel. There is so much to do. At the moment I want to take the play around India and possibly Pakistan, when the situation improves there.” Spreading the message of love is clearly Mohini Kent’s priority. As for the novel? “I might just put it on the Internet for people to read…” she says dreamily. It’s what Rumi would have done, I guess.