New Delhi, Nov. 30 -- It couldn't be someone knocking on my door, could it?

I was in a building that was over a hundred years old, and it seemed alive. It wore its quaintness like an extra layer, as if its age invited doorways of conversation-a walk through a museum rather than a stay in a building.

I was in one of the many forest rest houses that dot India. This one was in Uttarakhand, and standing next to an old banyan tree, the house creaked just as much as the tree did. It was nighttime, not late by city standards, but in the jungle, mornings are early and so nights must be too.

A spotted owl screeched. Another answered. And there was the sound of shuffling outside my door again. These sounds are normal for old buildings, a part of...