I remember Mrs Devadawson. She was thin and dark-complexioned. She taught us English language at the convent where I studied in Delhi and we were verily petrified of this tiny four feet, an eight-inch martinet. I was an exemplary student. In the eighth standard, she asked us to write an essay on ‘My Favourite Character’. I wrote one about an aunt who had a red nose because she used to sneeze perpetually. My essay was read out in class as an example of ill-felt, ill-expressed, and hurtful characterisation. When I was in the tenth standard, just blooming into a radiant...