New Delhi, Aug. 9 -- Sunita Bua died, and suddenly there was nowhere I could go to see her. And then, almost as suddenly, she seemed to be everywhere.

Perhaps this is death's strangest contradiction.

While someone is alive, they occupy a place. A chair. A room. A city. A telephone number. A seat at the table. They can be in Delhi while you are in New York. They can be travelling when you want them home, sleeping when you want to speak, busy when you suddenly need their voice.

Death removes the address.

The person becomes physically unreachable and, mysteriously, geographically unlimited. My Sunita Bua was actually my father's cousin. But Indian families have never needed genealogy to tell them the truth about relationships. She was hi...