Rajastan is the part of India that you see in coloring books. It’s bright and broadly drawn, immediate and jubilant. It’s where florid jungle forests cradle castles built above baby blue lakes and men who are mostly mustached dance on endless, fluffy blankets of crème colored desert. It’s the India with helpful elephants and lonely tiger cubs and monkeys that try to wear your hat. It is the India you want to curl up and snuggle with.

I coast down the hill near my house - I’m not looking forward to climbing it tonight. Maybe I’ll ride back on Hayes Street instead.