I now know what the expression “dirt poor” looks like. It is dawn in Jaipur, India. I am watching crowds of filthy, impoverished men on the side of a dusty road pour buffalo milk from large vats into smaller cups. They are hungry. The masala chai is brewing as emaciated cows graze in rubbish skips, unfazed by the armada of tuck tucks, motorbikes and buses that transports the masses in this extraordinary and extraordinarily beautiful...
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