India, Sept. 8 -- It was the first week of June in 1983. The results of the Class 10 exams of the Haryana board were out a few days ago and I had done well. Schools were closed for the summer break and I along with my friends, though nervous about our future, were singing and dancing with gay abandon under a neem tree behind our ramshackle kutcha house at a village in Ambala district. Suddenly, a green Fiat car came to a halt near us. As we gaped in awe, a man in his thirties stepped out of its rear door and walked towards my house with a confident gait. As soon as I realised that my youngest maternal uncle, DL Sharma, had come calling, I rushed home....