“Your great-grandfather was a station master at a tiny junction called Lonavala,” Aaji begins, sprinkling flour like snow. “Every Saturday, the 7:12 PM local from Mumbai would bring the office clerks home to their wives. But one Saturday, it brought a young woman with a bamboo basket. She had no ticket, no money, no name that made sense to the constable. She only said one word: Jhansi .”
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