I’d fallen asleep on the drive from Delhi to Jaipur, so my arrival in the pink city felt all the more dream-like. Weaving past painted elephants and holy cows, the white scalloped arches and silver domes of The Leela Palace Hotel come into view like a glittering mirage, beckoning me like a siren call. Helped out of the car by my chauffer, he leads me to a courtyard paved with tiles so shiny I could skate on them.

In one corner a young man plays the hand drums. In another an older man sits in an arched recess playing the santur. All around me are women whirling like dervishes, the skirts of their dresses fanning out like flamenco dancers as they spin on the spot. Two men in vibrant fuchsia robes sing Rajasthani folk songs while playing the ravanahatha, a violin-like instrument with bel

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