If something itches, I scratch. It was the same whenever someone asked me to write about Leela Naidu. I’d grunt or shrug; or promise to, and do nothing. Sometimes I even said I’d forgotten how to write. After she died I thought I’d be left alone. But the petitions continued. Until, recently, a dear friend and excellent hostess in Bangalore, having handed me a after-dinner whisky, threatened to lock me up in a room and not let go unless I produced a draft! Gradually, this chor