India, March 29 -- This Monday, I went with my wife to a cemetery to exhume her father's remains.

It was a hot day. The kind that doesn't just make you sweat, but makes your skin feel like it is being slow-roasted. The kind of heat that makes silence thicker. Even the shadows seemed reluctant to move.

We were there because the lease on his grave had ended. His bones would be moved to a small niche with his name etched on it. This would be his final resting place.

There was no ceremony. No priest present. Just the administrative closing of a chapter.

The undertaker who met us was brusque and in a hurry. This was just something that had been pencilled into his schedule. There was no exchange of pleasantries. He made it clear this task w...