When I was little, my grandmother used to live in a big house on the outskirts of Delhi. It was a very big, old house, and it had its share of the usual bumps and moans that one would expect.

Well, one night I was in the living room getting ready for bed. My grandmother had been in bed for almost an hour, or so I presumed. I was brushing my teeth, and the phone started ringing. I ran to answer, and I picked up the receiver. My grandmother's old, cracking voice came on the line saying, "Come in to the bedroom now!"

I ran down the long marble hallway as fast as my legs would carry me, and when I arrived at the bathroom, I found my grandmother's body sprawled out on the bedroom floor. I clasped her cold hands in mine, and that was when it hit me. She was dead!

I ran back down the marble hallway as fast as my legs would go for the phone. Once I found it, I dialled my mom's cell number. My parents along with an ambulance were rushed in my grandmother's driveway, and I was being bombarded with questions before I even realised what happened.

I recounted my story to them. But the doctor turned towards me with a weird look and said, "Listen, that's not possible. There is no way you could have received a phone call from your grandmother. She's been dead for almost an hour and a half." I was stunned and confused by the events.

My parents stared at me bewildered by the fact. A few months later, we sold the house and moved to Kolkata.