New Delhi, Sept. 27 -- While I was growing up, evenings were special. As the dusk settled, there was a brief interlude between the day's chores and dinner. I would sit on the terrace with my grandparents-they would discuss events of the day over tea, and then inevitably go down memory lane. Often a power cut would act like a bonus as everyone else in the family would leave everything they were doing aside and join us outsides, watting mosquitoes and swapping stories. The inky blankness of the night would become a canvas for storytelling.

Amma, my grandmother-a natural storyteller-would recount stories of waiting for Mahatma Gandhi's gatherings as a teenager in Katra, Allahabad, and how the neighbourhood would prepare for this impending v...