India, May 15 -- I don't know what it is about that lane in Ambala cantonment, but the city seems quietly drawn to it. Early mornings and evenings find people gravitating toward this stretch, almost instinctively, as if pulled by something more than routine.

Perhaps, it is the wall of greenery formed by age-old banyan trees, their thick trunks steady and their aerial roots hanging down like pillars. Perhaps it is the clean, uncluttered expanse of the Mall Road, or the simple certainty that traffic will be kept out during walking hours. Whatever the reason, the moment one steps onto this road, the usual urgency of the city seems to loosen its hold.

There is music too, gentle and unobtrusive, floating down from speakers placed so discreet...