India, Oct. 10 -- Aunty M died a while ago. She was in her late-70s. The funeral was a quiet affair.

Her husband cried softly where he sat. I saw tears in my wife's eyes. The choir played the songs Aunty M had loved. And yet the eulogies felt like they could have said more. The stories felt incomplete. This was someone who had lived life so fully.

I sat there and thought of the evenings I would pass her by, still seeing, in her elegant face, the 25-year-old that had once been serenaded by suitors.

As the rituals progressed, I wondered: Why did I never ask her what was life was like when she was young. Everything I know of her comes from my wife, who still speaks of the gracious parties Aunty M hosted, the gatherings at festivals and ho...