Holding onto memory is like holding to a cupping handful of water - it just slips away and leaves only a hint of moisture. Like a river gone dry and exposing cracks of the earth, the handful of water appears to have made deltas of hand prints. Memory is like that - the deeper the experience, the more ingrained it is and also subject to great perversion in time. I came across this article this morning and it struck me odd for two reasons - one, it was so very well written (on as obscure a topic as temples in this particular part of India) and I had been there yet I felt so distant to the description.

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