These men carried their own skies in their eyes; they saw a land through the lens of a traveller, which is to say they did not see it at all. A teacher knows you cannot understand a child's heart by watching from the classroom door. Every account of my home from an outsider reads like a recipe written by someone who has never tasted the salt—they note the colour of the turmeric, but miss the heat on the tongue. I have spent years mixing dyes to match the exact blue of a Jodhpur dusk; their words are like using a cheap synthetic, a poor imitation that bleeds and fades.
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