Jaipur

The pink wasn't pink. It was a tired rose. A rose that had been at this a long time and was, frankly, doing its best.

I love a city that wears its age openly. Jaipur does not pretend. The forts are old, the city is older, and the conversations on the steps of Hawa Mahal are older still.

I had chai with my grandmother's cousin and we did not need to talk much because we were already related, which is its own language.